( In the office, a short time back )

It isn't unusual for mothers to elaborate on their own fears through their children's complaints. A morbid fear of cancer will seek out every rib irregularity, every joint prominence, and skin blemish that a child can have. Two painful heels, from nowhere? Could be rheumatism. Aunt Stella had rheumatism. Could cancer show up as heel pain? Two cousins, and a grandfather... But sitting in a waiting room for a grossly overbooked children's orthopedist can be enlightening.

Mrs. Hallam began, "Maybe I could have saved you time and my insurance company your fee." Continuing at the smiling curiously facial prompt of Dr. Macaluso, "I recognized two other soccer moms, out there, their kids are also Susan's age. Same league. Same heel pain, too. So, are you going to give Susan the same temporizing heel lifts? Are walking casts in September, really needed? Can't she just stretch those heel cords herself?" The doctor sat comically bolt upright with his eyebrows raised. "Jeez. Well, that depends,.. Susan. Hi sweetie. How old are you?" Her answer was a shy gesture of seven fingers to a furrowed brow backdrop, then flitting around the exam table to sit out of sight on the floor.

"Walks on her toes, huh?"

Mother was surprised. A hesitant, uncertain n-nooohhh was drawn out as if to really say, "Is that what she's been doing?" Susan did hide it well. Her heels seemed to touch but not press down enough to actually take real weight. In sneakers, that was invisible. Only a subtle lack of wear at the heel edge gave it away - assuming that you looked for such things. The doctor sprang on all fours and cornered his escapee. "Aha. Gotcha. Lemee see those tootsies. Here. Off wit the sneaks. Oooooh smelly feet. Gak. Smelly feet," then to the laughter, "No. Just kidding. These are sweet toesies. The fragrance of posies," as quick ankle and toe flipping gestures quickly assessed the lack of suppleness expected of a seven year old girl.

Susan pointed at the doctor and accused, in a grand gesture which had a nasal twang, "You stinnk! Ha ha ha. He stinnks monmy. Donctor Macastinko. Ha ha ha."

"Susan!"

The smile was off the doctor's face, replaced by a quizzical skew of one eye. He gave a quick, unexpected, stroke of the sole of her one foot and then, before she could pull away, the other. As he dangled her back socks to her, "Here put these on. Knock knock."

"Who's there?" Susan reflexly answered while getting her feet back in sneakers.

"Egg."

"Engg who?"

"Egg going to keep you here much longer."

Mrs. Hallam couldn't repress a neck stretching grimace response to a poor joke as Susan was instructing how knock knock jokes are supposed to be done. The doctor listened very carefully and then just shrugged, "That depends on your belly button."

"Huh?" Susan dumbed momentarily as the doctor lifted her shirt and made four lightening quick strokes around her navel, then backed up and shrugged, "Nope. I guess you're right."

Susan was whispering, "Monmy. He's weirnd," as the doctor tapped Mrs. Hallam on the back of her shoulder, following her toward the door, "She gags a lot?"

This mother spun around with the surprise of someone who just beheld the dead walking. As she stammered her confusion, the doctor directed Susan toward the secretary to pick out a toy or lollypop. "Mrs. Hallam, we need to talk. Your daughter does not need casts, she needs a neurosurgeon. A good one."

Who knows what scope of recognition, melancholic projection, and panic can all explode in the mind at a single word uttered? They don't come from nowhere. These are things under pressure, pent up by denial. When denial shatters, well, the doctor was suddenly steadying a wobbly Mrs. Hallam by the arm while Susan, having a devil of a time blowing up her balloon, complained, "My head hurnts."

Macaluso wondered to himself how anybody could miss that distinctive voice. This was why mom was really here. Not the feet. He wasn't the one who had given those other girls lifts.