Cadaver Dust

“I was a hooker. I left my small town for a better life in the big city,” Joel said to Catherine in between bites of Hershey Bar Cheesecake at TGI Fridays. She just stared at him. “I was about 13 when the World’s Fair came to Flushing, Queens. I hated dull Eastview, but I loved the glamourous big city.  I stole some coins from Ma, got on the Harlem bound train, changed at Grand Central, and stepped through the Fair gates to start my new life. I never went back home.”

Catherine kept staring at Joel, her mouth in an “oh” shape. This was their second date, and this was not going as she planned.

“Um I’m a bit confused Joel. When was this exactly?”

“May 25, 1939.”

It was March 2, 2023. Joel was a male aged 47, not an old lady. Joel and Catherine had met at work about six months ago at an old We Work space that became a new Me Work space. Because their cubes were right across from each other they exchanged hellos and chit chat for some time prior to Joel asking Catherine to dinner. Their first date started off great—the conversation never stopped. They had so much in common! Pickleball, Apple tv, Harlan Coben books and Boba. The second date was inevitable 20 minutes into the first date. And now, almost an hour into date #2 this random, weird stuff comes out of Joel’s mouth. Catherine didn’t even know how to engage further.

“What new life Joel?”

“It’s Serena actually.” He said. “You know I didn’t start out as a hooker. I worked in one of the hotels right by the Fair as a housekeeper for a while, but I could barely make ends meet, always scrambling for a place to sleep. So one thing led to another and... It wasn’t all bad, but it sure as hell wasn’t all good. You know, I was almost 95 when I died in November of ’21. I lived a long life filled with heartbreaks and adventures. I have no regrets.”

“Is this a joke? What’s happening here?”

The date ended soon after.

Joel played pickleball with his partner Matt every Tuesday at 5:30pm on the courts at Harry A. Lyon Park. Joel was a strong player with the advantage of being a leftie. The pair also hit the tournament circuit all around Ventura County on the weekends. In April, the duo played in the 40-50 year old pairs tournament in Camarillo, losing in the 2^nd round. “What about Brody’s final serve? Way above his waist, right? He got away with a foul on that one,” Matt bitched as Joel was gathering up their racquets.

Joel looked up and said to Matt, “I was at the rally because that’s what we did that summer. I was 19 years old. MLK was killed a year before and we were sick of it all, the cops, the poverty, the beatings, ‘Nam. We had been feeling it for years but by ’69 I’d had enough. As a black man, I was lower than a snake in America’s eyes.”

“What??” Matt said.

“That’s why I got arrested. Just going to hang with my buddies. Walk down to the courthouse. Cops hated it when we were together. Called it a mob. Made ‘em nervous, I guess. Pop was arrested that day too. My cousin had to bail us out, but he didn’t have that kinda money. Took days for him to get it. Still don’t know how he did it. That one arrest stuck with me my whole life. I was never able to get a decent paying job, never able to get out of the cycle. When I died, I didn’t even have two quarters to rub together.”

Joel was a white man. Not a black man. Joel was 47 years old and alive. Not 73 years old and dead. Joel made over $95,000 a year as a product name developer at Quest Mark located in the new Me Work space on Highland Avenue.  Joel did not have a criminal record.

“Talk like this can make people crazy,” his mother told him after Joel blurted out his love of barrel aged whiskey, Ducati Multistrada motorcycles, and top grade cocaine and how they were a deadly combination. He told his sister Marta he was a one-legged surfer who lost the other leg in a freak propeller accident off the Kauai coast and died in 1986 and he told Catherine (who surprisingly still talked to Joel) that he was one of 12 people who perished in a private plane that went down in Saskatchewan this past Christmas. Catherine grabbed her coffee mug and scooted out of the staff break room. 

On a Saturday in April Joel went for his semiannual haircut. “How’s it going Joel? Haven’t seen you in a while. Same cut?” Angus the barber asked.

“Never finished middle school. I drowned in Jessie Seaver’s pool. Got my foot caught in the filter during his swim party,” Joel said to Angus.

“What?” Angus asked. “What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t get to hang with Olivia and Izzy anymore. Missed the dance show, never got to see Taylor Swift in concert, never learned to play the guitar,” Joel said.

“Jesus man!” Angus asked. “What’s going on?”

“I truly don’t know.” Joel said.

Over the past few months, Joel had been telling his friends, parents, and complete strangers the final stories of people’s lives. These were people Joel didn’t know, had never met before, nor had ever heard about.

It started because Joel broke his tooth eating Grape Nuts without milk. He never ate cereal with milk, but unsoftened Grape Nuts were not the right way to go. The tooth shattered and fell out into his cereal bowl. He got an emergency dental appointment and was told his upper right premolar #1 was beyond broken and his jawbone was in bad shape too. His remaining tooth parts had to be pulled. He’d be left with a gaping hole. The dentist suggested a dental implant rather than some type of bridge to repair Joel’s smile.

“Implants last forever. They take a long time because your jaw must rebuild bone, but you’ll be happy you went this route, trust me. By the way, dental insurance doesn’t cover this.”

“Ok. Let’s do it,” Joel reluctantly agreed.

Dr. Weiss, Joel’s dentist for 25 years, offered Joel two choices for step #1 of the implant—remove some bone from Joel’s hip and graft it to Joel’s jaw or pack the hole with cadaver dust.

“Cadaver dust is the generic name for ground up bones used in dental procedures. It is processed allograft bones that contain collagen, protein and other goodies that help regrow jawbone,” the nurse explained. Joel was told the material was 100% natural, without side effects and very responsive.

“It’ll act like your own bone material,” Dr. Weiss said. Joel hated pain and the thought of even minor hip surgery freaked him out, so he went with the natural material that was not his own. Joel’s credit card was charged $1500 for the initial procedure.

In May, Joel had his appointment for step #2 of the implant—insertion of the rod at a cost of another $1500. Joel tried to explain to Dr. Weiss what had been happening and knew he sounded crazy. “I’m them. That powder stuff you put into my tooth hole. It’s got to be what’s happening. That “natural” material you said would help strengthen my jaw. It’s made up of people, right? I’m channeling them! I’m telling their end of life stories.”  He didn’t know why it was happening, but he came to the conclusion about how it’s happening.

Dr. Weiss had never heard about this side effect from cadaver dust, but he had just changed vendors. He’d been using the same product from Gen Labs for eight or so years, but the lab recently went out of business. Some FDA issues, he heard. He was in a tight spot with a lot of implant appointments in the books, so he got his material from a lab he found online. They guaranteed the product and Shaq was their spokesperson.

“Ok then,” Dr. Weiss explained the next step regarding drilling the rod into the jaw. “The cadaver dust has done its job, and your jawbone is strong now. The rod will hold the fake tooth. It then takes three months to heal and rejuvenate and then we implant your new tooth. You ready Joel?”

Joel did not hesitate. “Let’s do it. I’m ready to move on and hopefully everyone that’s in me is ready too.”

Dr. Weiss spent the next 25 minutes screwing in the rod. By all accounts, that step was a success. Joel’s credit card was charged another $1500.

Joel went home and went forward with his life. He had no more stories to tell, although he remembered them all. His new tooth was implanted at the end of month nine and Joel felt comfortable smiling again. His life went back to normal. He had no more stories to tell.

He ran into Catherine outside Starbucks in late December. He hadn’t seen her in months. He heard she left the Me Work space for a job in an actual high rise over on Lyton Place.

“Hey Catherine! Happy holidays. How’s it going?” He said.

“The BBQ beef and chicken were really good. Emma said the guests would love it because it was so unique to serve finger food at a formal wedding, and she was right. The food was flown in from that joint in Texas. I was eating quickly and laughing and having a great time, until I couldn’t breathe. A chunk of something must have gotten stuck in my throat. With 200 people at our wedding reception, you’d think someone there would know about the Heimlich maneuver, but no one did. We were Mr. and Mrs. Stager for two hours. It was the most perfect day,” she said.

Joel stared at Catherine, nodded with empathy, and said, “Well, good to see you. Take care and tell Dr. Weiss I said hello.”

Catherine smiled toothlessly and waved goodbye.