The Tooth That Took Its Time (One Minute Memoir)

A Memoir About the Spaces That Fill When We're Not Looking

Setting: Summer 2025

One day last summer, Holden lost another tooth. A top one, on the left — the kind that creates the classic gap-toothed grin we all had once upon a time.

Every time they lose a tooth, it’s a scramble. I never have cash. I dig through my wallet, text my mom for singles, sometimes make a late-night run just to get cash back. We slide the tooth into a sandwich bag and tuck it under the pillow like it’s something sacred.

By morning, there’s money where the tooth used to be, and a small, bright space in his smile where something used to live.

At first, it looked strange. Different. His mouth rearranged. 

 

But then it didn’t.

I started to love it, that wide, goofy gap that made him look both older and younger at the same time. It gave his smile character. It felt like a season.

We waited for the new tooth. And waited. For weeks, nothing. Eventually, we stopped checking. The gap stopped feeling temporary and just became part of him.

Then one evening at dinner, mid-laugh, I saw it: a thin white edge breaking through the gum. He hadn’t noticed. I had him tilt his head back, mouth open, so I could take a picture. Proof that it was coming.

We thought he’d be gap-toothed forever. For weeks, nothing changed. The space just stayed there, familiar.

And then one day, it wasn’t empty anymore. Somewhere in the waiting, I'd forgotten that not every version of him would stay. I had gotten used to seeing that gap-toothed version of his smile.

I didn't realize it was already changing.

This post is part of my One-Minute Memoir series — short reflections on small moments that still manage to say something big.