I kept my hands behind my back until the music began.
"It's not catching," Barbara said. "It's just eczema."
"I know that," I told her.
"You act like you're scared to touch me."
"Don't be silly," I said and I grabbed her hand. It felt very rough, like sandpaper.
"And hop, step together, close … " Mrs. Rappoport repeated as she clapped to the music. "That's it … one, two, three … and hop, two, three … now spin your partner … very nice … "
When the bell rang I let go of Barbara's hand and ran for the row of sinks where I washed myself all over and lathered my hands at least six times.
At the end of the day, right before dismissal, Miss Greenleaf, my homeroom teacher, called me up to her desk and handed me a note. It said:
Please send Deenie Fenner to see me in the gym after school. Thank you.
Eileen Rappoport
It must be about cheerleading, I thought. Somebody must have quit and I'm going to be her replacement. Janet was right—her chicken's foot did bring me good luck!
Midge was waiting for me in the hall downstairs but I told her I had to see Mrs. Rappoport.
"What do you have to see her about?" Midge asked.
"I'm not sure," I said. I didn't want to tell her the good news yet.
"Should I wait?"
"If you want … and if I'm going to be long then I'll come tell you and you can go home without me."
I ran down to the gym and said, "Hi, Mrs. Rappoport. You wanted to see me?"
"Oh, yes Deenie. I'd like to talk to you about something."
I smiled.
Mrs. Rappoport ran her hand through her hair which is bright reddish-orange. She said, "I noticed it yesterday, when you were trying out for cheerleading, and again today, during gym class."
What was she talking about? Maybe it didn't have anything to do with cheerleading after all.
"What is it?" I asked, thinking it might have something to do with Susan Minton—about her wanting to be my friend and me not being very nice to her. Or did Mrs. Rappoport notice that I didn't want to hold hands with the Creeping Crud? Maybe I was going to get a lecture about that.
"I want you to bend over and touch your hands to your toes, Deenie."
I did what Mrs. Rappoport told me, all the time trying to figure out what touching my hands to my toes had to do with Susan Minton or the Creeping Crud unless this was how Mrs. Rappoport punished kids who weren't nice to other people instead of sending them to Mrs. Anderson's office to sit on the bench.
Mrs. Rappoport circled around me a few times. Then she said, "Okay Deenie … you can stand up again. This time I'd like you to walk across the room slowly."
As soon as she said that I knew it wasn't Susan Minton or Barbara Curtis that Mrs. Rappoport wanted to see me about. And it didn't have anything to do with cheerleading either. Which is why I suddenly shouted, "It's my posture, isn't it? That's why I didn't make cheerleading. That's why I didn't even make the finals!"
"That has something to do with it, Deenie," Mrs. Rappoport said. "Do you know your skirt is longer on one side than the other … and it was the same way yesterday, during try outs."
"I told my mother about that but she says it's because I slouch. What should I do … walk with books on my head forever?"
"No, nothing like that. There could be some exercises that might help, though. I'll be in touch with your parents about it. We'll talk more another time. You run along now … and thanks for stopping by."
Midge was waiting for me outside. "That didn't take very long," she said. "What'd Mrs. Rappoport want?"
"Something about my posture," I told her.
"What about it?"
"I'm not sure. Do you think I have bad posture?"
"I never noticed. Let me see you walk."
I walked a few feet and turned around. "Well … did you notice anything?"
"Nope. You look just the same as always."
"My mother's going to kill me. She'll say I'm slouching on purpose."
"So don't tell her."
"Don't worry … I won't. But Mrs. Rappoport's going to call. She said she'd be in touch with my parents."
"Maybe she'll write them a letter."
"Maybe … but either way my mother's going to be plenty sore. You can't be a model if you don't have good posture."
"So you can be something else."
"Try and tell that to my mother!" I opened my purse, pulled out the chicken's foot and dumped it into the trash can on the corner.
Six
Every night after supper Helen takes off for Myra Woodruff's house. They do their homework together. I can't believe my sister has that much studying to do. Nobody expects much from my schoolwork so I get by with hardly ever cracking a book as long as I don't bring home any D's or F's.Ma says Helen is excused from helping with the dishes because she works at the library twice a week and she baby sits every weekend, so she needs all the studying time she can get. I'm never excused from helping in the kitchen. Ma usually does the washing and I dry everything and if, God forbid, I put something away that's just a teensy bit wet I never hear the end of it. My mother's very fussy about the kitchen. Well, she's fussy about the whole house. She spends hours and hours cleaning the place. She says our floors are so clean you could eat off them, not that anybody is thinking about doing that, but you could. One thing I'm sure of is I don't want to spend my life cleaning some house like Ma. Sometimes I think Helen's lucky. She'll be a doctor or lawyer or engineer and she'll never have to do those things. But if I don't make it as a model, then what?
The phone rang just as I was putting away the last pot. I hollered, "I'll get it," and ran to the front hall.
It was Mrs. Rappoport. I recognized her voice right away and she knew mine too because she said, "Hello Deenie. May I speak to your mother or your father please."
I thought about which one I should call to the phone and decided on Daddy. If Mrs. Rappoport was going to discuss my posture Ma might get upset.
"Who is it?" Daddy asked, when I told him there was a phone call.
"It's Mrs. Rappoport, my gym teacher," I said, covering the mouthpiece with my hand.
I stood right next to my father while he said, "Hello, this is Frank Fenner."
After that he didn't say anything except a couple of "uh huhs" and one "yes, I see." He motioned for me to go away so I went back into the kitchen, wondering exactly what Mrs. Rappoport was telling him.
"Who was on the phone?" Ma asked.
"Mrs. Rappoport, my gym teacher."
"What does she want?"
"I'm not sure," I said.
Ma sprinkled some cleanser into the sink. "Did you do something wrong?"
"No Ma … nothing like that."
She rinsed the sink clean and polished the faucet with the dish towel. "Then why is she calling here?"
"I don't know."
"Well," Ma said, putting down the dish towel, "I better find out."
Daddy was hanging up when we got to the hall.
"What was that all about?" Ma asked him.
"When was the last time Deenie had a check-up at Dr. Moravia's office?" Daddy said.
"In April," Ma told him. "She had to have one before junior high. Why?"
Daddy looked at me. I don't think he wanted to say anything else but he did. "It seems that Mrs. Rappoport thinks we should take her for another one."
"What for?" Ma asked, turning toward me. "Deenie, do you feel sick? Is there something you haven't told me?"
"No, Ma," I said. "I think it's my posture. That's all."
"That's right," Daddy said. "Mrs. Rappoport noticed it and thinks we should look into the situation. There might be some exercises that Dr. Moravia could recommend."
"You're talking in circles," Ma said.
Daddy gave her a sharp look which meant he wasn't going to discuss it in front of me.
Ma said, "Deenie, you promised to practice standing very straight and tall."
/> "I tried," I said.
"I don't think so," Ma told me. "I think you've got other things on your mind so you forget what's really important!"
"Thelma … " Daddy began.
"Frank, that girl has got to learn … "
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," I called, racing up the stairs.
I got undressed and stood in front of my mirror. Helen doesn't have a full-length mirror in her room but I let her use mine whenever she wants to see her whole self, which is practically never. I turned around and around, trying to see myself from all angles. There wasn't anything wrong with my posture! I wasn't round-shouldered and my stomach didn't stick out either. So what was Mrs. Rappoport so excited about that she had to call my parents?
The next afternoon, when I got home from school, Ma said, "We have to be at Dr. Moravia's office by four. Aunt Rae's coming to pick us up in a few minutes. Go and wash your hands and face and make sure your underwear's clean with no rips."
"Oh Ma! Who cares about my underwear?"
"I do," Ma said. "So get going."
"Okay," I told her, heading upstairs.
I don't mind Dr. Moravia as long as I don't need a shot or that tine test which he always says will feel like a little mosquito bite, when it really feels more like a big bee sting. But I had that in April. So probably he'll give Ma a prescription for some vitamins and tell her to stop worrying because I'm just going through the awkward stage. Or maybe I'm going to get my period again. I had it once, last June. The booklet I sent for says when you start out it might be a long time before you get regular, like Helen. So maybe that's why my posture's funny. Except I never heard of bad posture as a symptom of getting your period. But if that's what it is then Ma can't be mad at me, so I hope it is.
My mother doesn't drive. Aunt Rae takes her every place she has to go. Or else she goes by bus. But since Aunt Rae has nothing better to do she doesn't mind driving Ma around. Especially since she has a new car. It's bright blue and Aunt Rae takes such good care of it I wouldn't dare spit my gum in the ashtray like I do when I ride with Daddy.
When we got to Dr. Moravia's office there were three kids ahead of me. Ma's always saying the best place to pick up germs is waiting at the doctor's office. By now I know better than to sit near anybody who's coughing or looking sick.
At my last check-up Dr. Moravia filled in a bunch of forms for junior high. I got weighed, measured and had my blood pressure taken first. Then Dr. Moravia looked into my eyes, up my nose and down my throat. He also listened to my heart.
This time when he called me into his office he told Ma to wait outside with Aunt Rae, instead of coming in with me.
"How's everything, Deenie?" Dr. Moravia asked.
"Just fine," I told him.
"Good … good … let's see how much you've grown. Step onto the scale please."
"You've gained a half pound since last April and you're an inch taller," Dr. Moravia said, when he was done weighing and measuring me.
"Do you think I'm going to be huge?" I asked.
He laughed a little. "You're going to be just right."
"My mother wants me to be a model so it won't hurt if I get really tall."
Dr. Moravia smiled. "Now Deenie … I'd like you to bend over and touch your hands to your toes."
"My gym teacher made me do the same thing."
Dr. Moravia pressed his hand against my side.
"I really try to stand up straight," I said.
"It has nothing to do with that," he told me. "You can come up now, Deenie."
"It's not my posture?" I asked, straightening my clothes.
"No. It's your spine, I think. But I'm going to send you over to see a friend of mine just to make sure. His name is Dr. Griffith."
"What's he going to do?"
"Oh, just take some X-rays and look you over."
"You think something's broken?" I asked.
"No. But something might be growing the wrong way."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I can't say for sure, but Dr. Griffith is a specialist—an orthopedist—and he'll be able to find out exactly what the trouble is."
"Do you think it's something bad?"
"Nothing that can't be fixed," Dr. Moravia said, opening the door to his office and calling my mother. "Deenie, you can sit in the waiting room now. Your mother will be out in a minute."
I sat down next to Aunt Rae. She was reading a magazine called Today's Health. She closed it as soon as she saw me and asked, "What did he say?"
"I'm not sure," I told her. "Something about my spine."
"Your spine?" Aunt Rae said.
"Yes … why … is that bad?"
"I don't know," Aunt Rae told me. "You're sure he said your spine?"
"Yes … I think so." He did, didn't he? Now I was getting all mixed up. Or did he say my tine? Maybe my tine test came out wrong. But if that was so why didn't he give me another one back in April?
In a few minutes Ma came out of Dr. Moravia's office, clutching a piece of paper. "What's that?" I asked. "Is it a prescription? Did you remind him I can't swallow pills?"
"It's nothing," Ma said. "It's just a doctor's name and address."
"Oh … Dr. Griffith … right? He's a friend of Dr. Moravia's. Did you know that?"
Ma didn't answer me. She just said, "Let's go."
When we were in the car I asked, "Well … what'd he tell you?"
"Nothing definite," Ma said. "We have to see Dr. Griffith first."
"But it's not my fault. He told you that, didn't he?"
Ma acted like she didn't hear me.
Aunt Rae said, "Who wants to stop for a soda?"
Ma heard that because she said, "Let's go home. We'll have something there."
I said, "Ma, didn't Dr. Moravia tell you that it's not my fault?" I wanted to get that straight right away.
"Yes," Ma said. "Yes, he did tell me that."
"Good! Now you can't be mad at me."
"But I don't believe him," Ma said.
"Then you do think it's my fault?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what?"
"I mean … doctors make mistakes all the time."
Seven
Dr. Griffith's nurse called Wednesday night, saying that someone had cancelled an appointment for Thursday morning and that Ma should bring me in at nine-thirty.I phoned Midge to tell her I wouldn't be at the bus stop because of an important appointment.
"Another interview?" she asked.
"No, a doctor's appointment."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"I don't know … remember that business about my posture?"
"Yes."
"Well … this doctor I have to see is an orthopedist."
"That's a bone specialist."
"How do you know?"
"Because last year, when I broke my arm, I had to go to an orthopedist."
"Dr. Griffith?" I asked.
"No, Dr. Littel. He was nice."
"I wish I was going to him. At least you could tell me what he's like."
"Don't worry. It probably won't even hurt."
"I hope not. I'll let you know on Friday."
"Okay. Bye."
What really surprised me on Thursday morning was that Daddy didn't go to the gas station. Instead of Aunt Rae driving us to Dr. Griffith's office, Daddy was going to take us himself, which is what gave me the idea that there was something really bad wrong with me because why else did Helen actually talk to me at breakfast? For somebody who was so sick I felt fine. I felt just like always. So I decided I must have one of those weird diseases where you never know anything's wrong with you until the end.
Dr. Griffith's office is in the Medical Arts Building on West Jersey Street. We parked in the lot behind the building and took the elevator up to the third floor. The waiting room was full of people and most of them had some kind of cast on their arms or legs.
We sat in the waiting room until ten after ten when the nurse called my name.
Daddy and Ma stood up with me and the nurse showed us into a little office where another nurse told us to sit down. Then she asked us a lot of questions which Daddy answered, things like our address and phone number and what kind of medical insurance we have. When she got to that question Daddy took some cards out of his wallet and showed her the numbers on them. She must have been a good typist because as Daddy answered her questions she typed everything out on yellow forms, without ever looking down at her fingers.
After that the first nurse came back and told my parents they could go sit in the waiting room and she would call them when the doctor was ready to talk. She took me into an examining room and told me to take off all my clothes except my underpants. Then she handed me this white paper thing made like a bathrobe. "Tie it in the back, please. The doctor will be with you in a few minutes." She left the room and closed the door behind her.
I didn't like the idea of getting undressed, but I did. The paper robe was so big I had to wrap it around myself twice. And when I walked it dragged all over the floor.
I waited for the doctor for twenty whole minutes.
I know because I watched a big clock on the wall. It jumped every minute, same as the clocks in school. I checked everything in the room, wondering what Dr. Griffith would do to me, if he ever showed up.
There was a table of instruments but none of them looked too scary. A few looked like different sized scissors. I didn't see any needles or knives, and was I glad! The stool I was sitting on turned around and around and I spent some time twirling on it until I got dizzy. Then I read all the diplomas on the wall. I found out Dr. Griffith's first name is Harold. I also found out where he went to college, where he went to medical school and what year he got out of the army. There was an old fashioned picture of a football team too. I wondered if one of those funny looking guys was Dr. Griffith.
Finally the door opened and this huge man walked in. He was wearing a white coat so I knew he was Dr. Griffith. Another nurse was with him. She had a pin on her uniform saying miss vernon. "Deenie … this is Dr. Griffith," she told me.
Dr. Griffith closed the folder he'd been reading and put it down on the instrument table. "Hello there," he said. "Let's see what Dr. Moravia's talking about. Come over here please, Deenie."