‘Not true,’ you protest as you think of something nice to say about us. ‘Little People’ or maybe “Height Challenged’ you’d call me and insist you’d never discriminate against me or my kind. ‘Oh. You’re so cute,’ I’d heard exclaimed so often it made me want to puke.
‘Fuck you, you bastards!’ I’ve lived seventeen years and I can guarantee you that the only two people in the world who’ve treated me like a human being were now arguing about me and my condition across the dinner table. The rest of you have treated me like shit my whole life.
“He’s coming to dinner tomorrow night Patty and that’s that,” I heard Mom insist with a finality that brooked no more argument as I came out of my reverie and rejoined the world.
“But Mom,” Patty cried in frustration, knowing she’d never change Mom’s mind.
“Who’s coming,” I asked, coming out of my reverie.
“A bloody old German,” Patty spat out, “he’s not even a practicing doctor apparently. Supposedly retired three years ago,” she added, her dripping sarcasm of course aimed at her mother.
“Don’t listen to your sister Jimmy,” Mom directed at me, “Herr Professor and Doctor Clickstein is a world famous authority on Leprechauns, well you know, midgets, and he’s coming to see you tomorrow.”
“Yes Mom,” I agreed meekly, surprised that I was happy we were back on the trail of a cure for me.
“You two,” Patty groaned in exasperation but I knew she was as excited as Mom and I.
It’s been about fifteen years since Mom realized that something was wrong, that I wasn’t growing like other children. And since that day she (and later Patty) has been trying to find a cure for my condition.
Actually, in one way I’m supposedly lucky. I’m what the doctors call a ‘proportional dwarf’, which means that, unlike ninety-five percent of midgets, I am perfectly formed, just small. I don’t have the large head, the disproportional upper body, or the short legs of so many of my kind, my brother freaks – yes, that’s what most of you really think we are, me and my kind.
But the doctors, first in Boston and later here in Miami had been able to do nothing to help me. Oh, they had poked and prodded, had pontificated, had given me various drug cocktails…but basically they were full of shit, happy to study me, always promising hope that was continually dashed.
Mom had pulled me out of the last study I’d been in about fifteen months ago, finally disgusted with the self serving asshole who had been playing with my head for the previous two years. We had all agreed after that debacle that there wasn’t anything more we could do, that I’d just have to live with my condition.
And now Mom was at it again…
~~~~~
“So, at last, you’re here, the person who’s causing all these problems,” were the first words that met me as I stumbled into the living room the next night, greeted by the most extraordinary sight, an impossibly tall, old man with wild, frizzy gray hair and scraggly beard.
Who’s this weirdo, I thought to myself as I stared openmouthed at this apparition who stood at least six and a half feet tall, dominating the room. “Huh,” I finally mumbled as my eyes fell on Patty sitting in the corner, clearly trying to stifle an ‘I told you so’ smile.