Free A Trick of the Light by Lois Metzger Page B

you know, tell? Take one look at me and figure it out?”
    Amber: “Doctors are idiots. They’re so easy to manipulate. Just tell them what they want to hear.”
    Mike: “And what’s that?”
    Amber: “They practically tell you what to say. It’s like being in a school play and they’re feeding you your next lines.”
    At the doctor’s office, Mike’s mom paces in the waiting room.
    Mom: “My doctor’s not here. She has a family emergency. You have to see someone else.”
    Mike drinks another paper cup of water. It’s shaped like a cone with a sharp needle point at the bottom.
    Mike: “It’s fine.”
    Mom: “It’s not. I don’t have a good feeling about it. I don’t know this doctor.”
    It could be Dr. Seuss, for all Mike cares. He really has to go to the bathroom. He drank a gallon of water at home and he’s gulping down another gallon here.
    Mike and his mom are called into the doctor’s office. The desk is covered with piles of papers. Mike’s mom stiffens at the sight of it.
    Doctor: “I’m Dr. Steiner.” He’s over six feet tall with deeply lined skin and black hair that curls over his forehead. He probably dyes his hair. “Hello, Michael, nice to meet you.”
    That’s good. Michael is an adult, mature name. Mike sounds too curt and abrupt, or like the object you talk into so your voice can be heard.
    But Mike’s mom has to put in her two cents: “Nobody calls him that. It’s Mike.”
    Mike: “It’s okay. Nice to meet you, too.”
    Doctor: “Do you mind, Mrs. Welles, if Michael and I speak privately?”
    She minds, all right, but she leaves the room. She even closes the door behind her.
    Doctor: “Your mother’s very concerned about you, Michael. Is there anything you wish to tell me?”
    Tell him what’s going on, how your mother can’t cope.
    Mike: “My parents just split up. It’s really hard on my mom. She can’t leave the house. I mean, she left today, but not usually. She sleeps a lot during the day. She takes baths that last for hours.”
    Doctor: “I see.”
    Mike gets a stab of guilt. I try to tell him to ignore it, but he says, “Lately she’s better. She goes to a therapist. She’s working again.”
    Doctor: “Mm.”
    No matter—the damage is done. The doctor thinks Mike’s mom is unhinged.
    Doctor: “Now, Michael, I want to ask you a few questions. Just between us; your mother will not be privy to the answers. Do you take drugs?”
    Amber was right. The doctor is practically shaking his head as he asks this.
    Mike: “No.”
    Doctor: “Are you sexually active?”
    Mike: “No.”
    Doctor: “No trouble at school? No failing grades?”
    Mike: “I’m getting all As.”
    Doctor: “Excellent. You’re not dieting, are you, Michael?”
    Mike: “No.”
    Doctor (grinning): “You seem fine so far. Let’s check you out, shall we?”
    Dr. Steiner leads Mike to a cold room with a doctor’s scale and a metal table covered with crinkly white paper. The doctor tells Mike to put on a paper gown and discreetly waits outside the door. Mike badly needs the bathroom. Dr. Steiner comes in and tells Mike to stand on the scale.
    Don’t worry about the number. What matters is how you look, not what you weigh.
    Doctor: “According to your record, you’ve lost about thirty pounds since the spring.”
    Ha, with all that water, make it closer to thirty-five.
    Doctor (raising the bar that measures height): “You’re five nine and a half.”
    Mike: “I didn’t grow at all in six months?”
    Doctor: “I’m sorry—what?”
    Don’t worry about it. Growth comes in stages.
    Mike: “Never mind.”
    The doctor moves on to Mike’s blood pressure. It’s taking all of Mike’s concentration not to pee.
    Doctor: “Well, Michael, your weight’s a little low for your height, and your blood pressure’s a little low too. Do you exercise? That might explain it.”
    Mike: “I run.”
    Doctor: “Good for you! So do I, when the knees don’t bother me. You’ve got to watch the