Kirsten’s hand trembled while she carried me through the hospital, knocking me back and forth while she made her way to Dr. Kirillova’s office. My check-up wasn’t for another couple of days, I had thought, but Kirsten insisted it was today. I didn’t quite buy her explanation that my perception of time was still adjusting to the biosleeve, but there was not much I could do to resist: her fingers seizing me around the chest made it clear I was going with her, whether I thought it was today or not.
We stood at the receptionist’s desk, Kirsten holding me about level with her navel, and waited to be acknowledged. “Yes, can I-“ the receptionist began before her brown eyes caught sight of me. She adjusted her glasses awkwardly. “You must be Mr. Fletcher!” Her bubbly voice was a dozen decibels too loud for me, making me think she was either terribly inconsiderate, or Dr. Kirillova didn’t have too many patients my size. “Please, have a seat. I’ll inform the doctor that you’re here, and let you know when she’s ready for you.”
There was not even enough time for Kirsten to find a seat before the receptionist cleared her throat and called out, “Mr. Fletcher, the doctor will see you now.” Seeing that Kirsten had her hands full, she hurried to the door and opened it a crack, just enough that my wife would be able to shoulder it open. When we passed, I saw that I was being held about level with the receptionist’s chest, and she was looking down at me in wonderment. “Ma’am, can I just say that I think your husband is completely adorable?” Kirsten simply smiled and nodded, then shoved her way into the adjacent office.
Before Kirsten was even two steps into the office Dr. Kirillova greeted us warmly. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher!” she said, standing up from behind her desk. She walked around the side of it, her shiny high-heeled shoes clicking as she made her way toward us. “Now, Mrs. Fletcher, I understand that it would have been infeasible for your husband to be here without you carrying him. Unfortunately, I must insist that you set him back on the floor now and leave. The battery of tests I’ll be running requires only the two of us, and your presence could potentially interfere with them. I’ll let you know as soon as you’re done so we can discuss what, if anything, needs to be done.”
Kirsten looked down at me in the center of her still-trembling palm. “You gonna be okay, big guy?” she asked.
“Yeah, I should be fine,” I replied. “Unless you’re worried about the doctor trying to keep me because she’s fallen in love, there’s a real risk of that.”
Kirsten grinned and squatted, lowering me toward the floor. Slowly she turned her hand downward, forming a long ramp with her fingers. I trudged down them and stepped off her fingertip onto the white tile floor in front of her. When I was clear Kirsten stood back up, took a second to tower over me, and went to leave the room, her enormous ballet flats thudding along the floor during her exit.
The door latched with a soft click, and two tremendous crashes grabbed my attention. I spun to look back to the desk and saw that Dr. Kirillova had already taken one gigantic step toward me and was in the process of another. Her heel hit tile with an enormous bang, followed by her toes swinging down with a catastrophic rumble no more than a foot away from me. While I staggered to remain standing from the force of her step she brought her other foot alongside it, driving her sole hard into the ground. She had positioned herself so that I was perfectly centered between the toes of her shoes, and I looked up her long legs clad in dark stockings to see her gazing down at me impassively.
“Mr. Fletcher,” she began, “does my height still surprise you?” I could only gape up at her silence while she waited for an answer. “It seems yes, so I’ll give you some hard numbers. Right now, I appear to be over four hundred feet to you. My receptionist outside, about three-fifty. The sooner you get over this, the quicker we will be able to get to work.” Still I found myself unable to say anything, and to her credit Dr. Kirillova kept any exasperation cleared from her face.
“It seems a more concrete demonstration is required,” she declared, and lifted one of her feet. Quick as a lighting bolt it raced toward me, her heel slamming into the ground just in front of me. I scarcely felt the force from that before the rest of her shoe crashed against the floor, making my bones rattle inside my body as I scrambled around to stay upright. It was a miserable effort, and the shock from her foot laid me on my back after a couple steps trying to remain stable. On my back I looked up at a smooth surface arcing upward until it came to an abrupt stop, with a gold-leaf emblem I didn’t recognize in the middle and the number twelve near its base.
“In case there is any confusion, you are currently underneath my shoe, where you should find enough room to live comfortably. I would not suggest doing so, however, as it would be remarkably easy for me to crush you, albeit shockingly unprofessional.” She lifted her heel, and subtly ground her foot back and forth against the tile. “Now.” Dr. Kirillova swung her leg away from me, setting it back where it had been with a resounding click. “Do you still find my height distracting in any way, or do you require a more concrete demonstration?”
I definitely did, but I also had no desire to see how much further she could take these demonstrations. “No, I’m good now,” I shouted up to her, though it didn’t register on her face in any way. Her stoic demeanor was even harder for me to deal with than the possibility of her crushing me. “So, what sort of tests will you need to run today?” I wasn’t particularly interested in the answer, I just needed an excuse to break the silence in a way that made me appear unconcerned.
“Nothing excessive, simply some checks to see how treatment is progressing,” Dr. Kirillova replied, her confident voice booming from on high. “Since your treatment was an all-new body they should come back negative, but it’s protocol. Additionally, your diminutive height necessitates the use of a magnifying glass for some. Are you ready to begin?”
“No time like the present,” I answered, hoping that one of the tests would not involve her coming fractions of an inch from smashing me again.
Wordlessly Dr. Kirillova lowered herself into a squat and reached into a cavernous lab coat pocket to retrieve her tablet. For a moment everything in front of me was eclipsed by the dark nylon clinging to her shapely legs, but after she adjusted herself a waterfall of blond hair appeared and two serious, gray eyes found me. “First tell me your full name, height, weight, date of birth, and what day it is.”
“Julian Michael Fletcher, 5’3,” 130 pounds, August 6, 2063, Saturday.”
She hesitated. “Could you repeat your height and weight please? They match neither my records nor my observation.”
I sighed. “One inch, about half an ounce.” She made a satisfied nod and flicked sideways on her tablet.
Dr. Kirillova let the tablet rest on her thighs while she reached into her pockets again, this time withdrawing a small flashlight and a magnifying glass. She lowered the enormous lens toward me until a single one of her distorted eyes filled it, and held up the light against its rim.
“Do your best to follow the light using only your eyes.” With a click the light came on, temporarily blinding me with its spotlight. I raised my hands to shield my eyes, but by the time they were in place she had already nudged it away. “I realize the light is bright, but please keep your eyes open and uncovered during this, Mr. Fletcher.” The light returned, and I cringed while it beamed down at me, but managed to stay focused while it flicked on and off of me.
She clicked the pen off and slid it back into her coat, then raised her empty hand. In a flash she swatted the floor, just missing me and creating a cacophony from her skin slapping the tile. I flinched away, and a second later she withdrew her hand to rest it on her knee. “Reflexes look good,” she muttered, tapping away at the electronic device on her knee. While I waited for an explanation she simply held up the tablet, its screen showing “COGNITION TEST.”
“I’m going to show you twenty pictures, and I want you to describe them to the best of your ability using five or fewer words.” She tapped the screen to begin the test, and as the pictures rolled past I couldn’t help but think she had tailored this for me somehow. There were shoes of various type and color, extremely zoomed-in eyes, an open mouth, and one, which I described as “gigantic woman wearing dark stockings,” which seemed to just be a photo of her taken from ground level. When it was over though she gave another quick nod set the tablet back on her thigh.
“Everything looks normal so far, Mr. Fletcher, you’re doing great,” she said. “Some things I would describe as irregularities, but nothing too severe, as expected. I’ll just need to do a quick scan to confirm everything looks good and you’ll be on your way.” Her hand raced toward me, causing me to flinch again, but this time she set it down with only the tips of her fingers touching the floor, forming a loose cage around me. Narrow metal rods ran the length of her fingers, and I noticed only now that she was wearing a glove, invisible except for the metal parts. After a brief flash she pulled her hand away, leaving me slightly dazed on the floor but no worse for the wear.
“None of your results indicate anything physically wrong with your head, but some of your answers did concern me. Part of your check-up is a meeting with a therapist, if you permit I’d like to share the results with them so that you can discuss it.”
“Yeah, couldn’t hurt,” I said. “I don’t remember any mention of a therapist before now, though.”
“It’s usually not part of procedure, but due to your unique treatment method and current relationship status I’ve arranged for you and your wife to meet with a relationship counselor regularly. I assure you though, Dr. Brooks is more than capable of acting as a therapist as well, and has a reputation of utmost professionalism.” Dr. Kirillova placed her hands on her thighs and stood, seeming to take a second to relish towering over me before she stepped away. “Now stay right there, your wife will be in shortly to take you to your next appointment,” she remarked over her shoulder, her voice still quite clear over her thunderous footfalls. As she sat down she tapped her ear and said, “Janet, could you bring me a privileged information release form, and then have Mrs. Fletcher join us?”
A few seconds of silence passed, then the latch clicked, and the doorknob began turning. The enormous door rushed inward, followed by a white high heel with black toe at the base of a slender leg. There was a crash and the ground shuddered, then Janet’s hurried footsteps brought her fully inside the office with another bone-shaking rumble. I had barely even registered she was inside before her other foot had passed the opposite ankle, bringing it on a course directly for me. My eyes widened when the mammoth column set down with a boom, sending me stumbling backward from the shockwaves, while the rest of her shoe swung down. Its tip landed near enough for me to touch with a heavy enough impact to immediately topple me onto it. I fought the urge to vomit from discomfort while I rested against Janet’s shoe, but her gait continued unabated.
With her next step Janet’s foot tilted forward, causing me to slide off the toe and land in a crumbled heap on the floor. She stepped over me without a second thought and continued on her way, the sheer power of her steps tormenting me as I lie helpless on the ground. “Here you are, doctor,” she said. Her voice would have been sweet were it not distorted by being several hundred times my size. “Anything else?”
“No, just send Mrs. Fletcher in here,” the doctor said, her voice much stronger. “And give Dr. Brooks a call, let her know her next appointment is on its way.”
“Yes ma’am!” Janet declared, clicking her heels together with a tremendous racket. She turned to leave, putting her shoes back on a collision course with me. I made myself an even smaller target by curling up into a ball while she approached, each step shaking me as though it were an apocalyptic earthquake. Her shadow passed over me, joined an instant later by the sound of the floor cracking open and a hellacious vibration all around me. In the brief second, I registered the plain, white surface over me with its familiar arch, then it was gone with as much speed and violence as it has come.
Before the door was even fully shut it swung open again, and Kirsten stood in place while it closed behind her, enormous toes twitching in her flats. “Is Julian still on the floor?” she asked, anxiously scanning the ground between herself and the desk.
Dr. Kirillova carefully looked at the path her assistant had just trod before answering. “Yes, he’s just in front of your right foot.” If anything, she was understating it: I was practically beneath the lip of her shoe. “If you want you can pick him up and carry him closer since we don’t have all day, but I insist he stay on the floor during our discussion.”
Kirsten bent over and shifted her foot out of the way, then plucked me off the floor with a pair of loose fingers. She walked toward Dr. Kirillova’s desk hunched over so that I wouldn’t be raised for only a few seconds before she set me back down again, sparing me the rapid ascent and descent in quick succession. Her fingers released me beside the towering arm of the leather chair before she sat in it herself, pulling her foot back so it came to a stop next to me and crossing one leg over the other. Her loose foot dangled above my head while she asked, “So, how’s he doing?”
“Mrs. Fletcher, your husband is making an excellent recovery,” the doctor replied. “I saw no evidence that his cancer is coming back, and his cognition seems to have not been affected in any way. To be fair, since he has an entirely new body this is what we should expect, but I can’t release him entirely from my care. Since we know he’s pre-disposed toward cancer his biosleeves may develop it as well, and due to his previous body’s quick onset I’d like to examine him again once every month.”
“I see,” Kirsten said, shifting her foot nervously so that it bumped against me. “If that’s what it takes, then so be it.”
“And before you leave, I feel I should tell you about some concerning answers he gave during his evaluation.”
“Concerning? How do you mean?”
“Not in a way that makes me concerned for his physical health, I assure you.” Dr. Kirillova slipped a foot out of a shoe while she spoke and gently set it on the floor beneath her desk. “However, he initially gave his height as his old one, and took several minutes to do anything but stare at me, which I feel was related to our relative sizes.” She began slowly tapping her exposed foot on the tile, just hard enough to make a quiet slap each time it touched against the tile. “Additionally, his object recognition test did not yield the results I expected. Every item should have registered as a threat for him, but I saw nothing to indicate an autonomic nervous system response, and when shown a woman from his vantage point he specified that she was ‘gigantic.’” Tellingly, she had left out the picture was of her, and the whole time she described it she lifted her heel and lightly grinded the ball of her foot against the floor. “I’m telling you this only because there’s a good chance it will come up in your session with Dr. Brooks.” Her heel dropped back to the floor with a thud, then she surreptitiously slid it back into her shoe. Something about the whole show had unnerved me, and I suspected she may not be as trustworthy as we first thought.
“Well, thanks for the heads up,” Kirsten said, reaching down for me again. Her fingers easily worked their way around me, and she plucked me from the floor with a firm grip before standing. I quickly ascended past her knee and the hem of her skirt to reach her waist, then she held me steady when I was level with her navel again. Fortunately, her hand had stopped shaking by now. “We’re on our way over there now, but do you have a quick second?”
Dr. Kirillova nodded. “Go ahead, I’ve got time.”
“Listen, doctor, we’re really appreciative of all the help you’ve given Julian, and we know it’s not ideal but we all know he wouldn’t be alive now if not for your treatment. Would you please come have dinner at our place tomorrow as a thank you? It’s the least we can do for you saving his life, and I know it’s not much, but it’d really mean a lot.”
“Mrs. Fletcher, I have a long-standing policy of not getting involved in the personal lives of my patients in order to remove any suspicions of impropriety,” she began. “However, you are not my patient, your husband is, so I would be delighted to join you! Do you mind if I bring my husband, too?”
“Oh, you’re married?”
“Yes, but I try not to mention him too much. I don’t think he’ll be a big deal, you’ll barely even know he’s there.”
“Of course, it won’t be a problem. See you tomorrow at eight, then!” With that Kirsten turned and left the office. Janet waved at us as we passed, entirely unaware that she had nearly smashed me minutes before, and we continued on our way to Dr. Brooks’.