More Teeth Than a Mouth

She was not sure what had prompted her to ask that first time. "Can I keep them?" had been out of her mouth before she had thought it through. She simply knew she wanted them. The teeth. The teeth that had, until recently, been in her abdominal cavity. 

"More teeth than a mouth," the surgeon had smiled, impressed in the way that doctors only get when your body is extra messed up. He was holding a plastic container full of them — 58 in total. They were hers and she had some right to them, she thought.

"Sure," the surgeon said. "We don't really have a use for them."

That was how she brought her second mouth home. Her first mouth being on her face. 

Now she asked the doctor each time. She had five jars lined up on the shelf above her synthesizers. Today she was adding a sixth.

"I will tolerate no bullying," she said, placing the new jar next to the rest, each numbered with exactly how many teeth were inside. "You all came out of my body and I can discard you just as easily."

"Why are its teeth so small?" said 45.

"I think they're cute," said 33.

"Thank you," said 60, the newest of the bunch, mostly made of baby teeth.

She sat down, beneath her teeth, and started noodling on a new song.

"Are you an alto," asked 33, "with those little teeth?"

"More of a soprano," said 60, "but in a pinch I can sing higher if needed."

"Thank god," said 45. "We don't need any more altos. We're absolutely overrun with them."

"Be nice," said 33.

"Try a hi-hat there," said 58.

She nodded, "Good idea."

They worked together for a while, as they did every day, she and her mouths. This was the way she liked it. Alone, making songs with her jars. 58 had a way with drum beats. 45, for all its grump, could weave a melody like no one else. 

The teeth and their wisdom had fueled quite the breakthrough for her. "I'm loving this new direction," her manager had said, and pitched a rebrand — a mysterious, anonymous songwriter pumping out smash hits that other people performed. What would she like her moniker to be?

"MOUTH," she had said, and her manager thought this was edgy and subversive and not literal. 

"I love it," he beamed.

MOUTH did not do interviews. MOUTH was a reclusive genius. MOUTH was the mind behind all your favorite tracks.

MOUTH was currently struggling with a transition.

"You're doing too much," said 58.

"Take out the flute," said 60.

"I like the flute," said MOUTH.

"Save it for another song, it's not working" said 58.

MOUTH huffed and took out the flute. They were right. The mouths were always right.

"We have an appointment soon," MOUTH said, "so I need to brush my hair."

"You always look beautiful," said 33.

"Suck up," muttered 45.

MOUTH brushed her long, stringy hair in the dirty mirror of her studio bathroom. For all her recently made money, she did not want a bigger place. She liked the cramped one-room apartment. She liked being able to hear her neighbors. She liked the smell. Besides, mouths should only be so big.

Someone knocked on her door. MOUTH answered it. A girl came in, blonde and wide-eyed and looking around.

"Wow," the girl said. "So this is where the magic happens."

"Yes," said MOUTH.

The girl held her phone in her hand, shaking a little. "Can I record? I can't believe we're actually talking. I can't believe it's actually you.” She was out of breath from either the stairs or the excitement. Or both. “I'm such a huge fan, and I know you don't do interviews so this is just so amazing."

"Sure," MOUTH said, and sat at her keyboard.

There was no chair for the girl, so she stood. "Okay, sorry, I'm just really stoked to talk to you."

MOUTH nodded, magnanimous.

"So, I wanted to start with your creative process. How do you come up with ideas for songs?"

"Well," MOUTH said, "usually they come to me naturally. I'll just think of a little melody or rhythm. It pops into my head, like magic."

From the shelf, 45 snorted. The girl looked up and then around. There was no one else in the room. She shook her head and continued.

"Okay, great. And once you have that idea, what do you do?"

"I sit down here, and I play it out." She played a melody on the keys. The girl smiled. Her teeth were very white.

"And then?" she asked.

"Then we make it good," said 58. The girl looked up again.

"She's terrible with bass lines," said 39. "That's my job."

"I help with syncopation," said 58. 

"And I write all the lyrics" said 51.

"These are my collaborators," MOUTH said.

The girl froze, phone still held out in front of her. Her mouth was open.

"We're a team," said 51.

"What are those?" the girl finally asked. Her voice was scratchy.

"These are my mouths," MOUTH said. "They came from inside my body. And now they help me make music."

"They came from..." the girl trailed off. 

"They're quite helpful."

The girl looked at the jars, and then at MOUTH, and then back at the jars.

"We're the secret to her success. Really," said 45.

"No one is going to believe this," the girl said. "I'm not sure I even believe this."

MOUTH shrugged. "It doesn't matter," she said, standing. She walked over to the door of her studio.

"What do you mean?" the girl asked.

"I'm sorry," MOUTH said. MOUTH was a lover of the arts, and so it was unfortunate that she had to do this next part. But teeth lived in mouths and mouths had a certain role in the world. Like music and math. With a click, she locked the door.

"I just have so many mouths to feed."