Twinkle Toes

"When did you first notice this condition, Mr. Pendergast?" the doctor asked, his eyes focused on the clipboard in his left hand.

"About a week ago", said Chuck, sighing heavily. "I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and when I flipped on the light there they were." He stared forlornly at his left foot and the Ace bandage that encircled it.

His choice of words captured the doctors attention. "They? Most people don't refer to abnormal growths as 'they'. Don't you mean it?"

The condescension in his voice was apparent, and Chuck suddenly found himself angry at the physician and the arrogance his training had given him. Chuck began to unwrap the bandage. "Tell ya what, doc", he said, fixing the man with a sullen stare. "Why don't you have a look and see what word you'd use."

The bandage fell away and the doctor glanced down at the foot. His eyes widened in shock and he fell back into the chair that sat in the corner of the room. Chucks toes had been replaced by five tiny, perfectly formed human heads. There was a long moment of silence. Chuck stared at the doctor. The Doctor stared at the toes. The toes stared back. Finally, the doctor spoke.

"That's, uh...that's unusual", he said. Chuck nodded.

"Do they cause any discomfort?" asked the doctor. "Any pain or irritation?"

"No", said Chuck. "They feel fine. They don't seem to mind when I walk on them and my balance doesn't seem to be affected. Theyre just......there, you know?"

The doctor stared at the toes, transfixed. The pinky flashed him a cheerful grin. The doctor tore his gaze away and focused on Chuck. "Are they functional? I mean, do they.....um....well, do they talk or anything like that?"

"I was afraid youd ask that", said Chuck. "Okay guys, show him."

The big toe drew in a deep breath and hummed a single note. The other toes joined in, uniting in a dazzling five part harmony. They held the chord for a moment and then launched into a lively rendition of Mr. Sandman.

"Amazing", said the doctor.

"Yeah, yeah, its fascinating", said Chuck. "So how do I get rid of them?"

The doctor looked at him with puzzlement. "How should I know?" he said.

Chuck exploded. "What do you mean, how should you know? You're a doctor, didn't you go to school for stuff like this?"

The physician puffed himself up in an attempt to regain his composure. "Mr. Pendergast, I graduated at the top of my class from Johns Hopkins, and I never missed a day of instruction. I'm sorry if they never covered what to do when a patient grows a few extra heads. If you are determined to get rid of them, you may find a physician who would be willing to amputate them, but I suspect most of them would consider this an unnecessary surgery since there appears to be nothing physically wrong with them."

"Nothing physically wrong?!" screamed Chuck. "Are you out of your fucking mind? Ive got five singing human heads where my toes used to be!" The heads had finished their first number and moved on to Birdland.

The doctor had regained his former arrogance, and he now added a healthy dose of condescension to his demeanor. "Mr. Pendergast, you have told me they cause no discomfort. I suspect the source of your irritation is purely cosmetic, in which case the problem is mental, not physical. I suggest you consult a therapist and learn how to accept the situation. Good day, sir."

That evening Chuck sat brooding in front of the television set. He tried to divert his mind from the problem of his unwanted vocal quintet by watching "American Idol", but he found it hard to concentrate. The toes were singing a medley of pop standards and ignored his repeated shushing. Finally, Chuck muted the volume and ordered them to take five.

"Look guys", he said, "I know you enjoy singing and everything, but I'm trying to watch the show." The toes looked up at him, an expression of sorrow on their tiny faces.

"Oh, come on", he said. "Don't pout. It isn't that I dont enjoy your music, I do. I mean, you guys are much better than most of the losers on this show. Its just that...." He trailed off as an idea began to percolate in his head. It was true. His toes were much better than most of the singing groups he had heard. So what was stopping them from hitting the big time? Smiling, he picked up the telephone and made a call.

When his toes made their debut on Idol the following season, they were an instant success. He had named the toes Inky, Blinky, Pinky, Clyde and Ricardo, and the public went wild over their carefully orchestrated vocal stylings. The fact that they were a genuine medical oddity piqued the curiosity of many casual viewers as well, and the popularity of the group skyrocketed. They won the contest in a landslide, and quickly inked a lucrative record deal. Their first album, Toe Jam, was a smash, reaching Number One the moment it hit the shelves. Fan clubs began to spring up over the country, and the general consensus was that Ricardo, the big toe who sang bass, was by far the cutest. The frenzy reached a level not seen since the days of John, Paul, George and Ringo, and the money rolled in.

All was rosy in Chuck's life until late one night after a particularly dazzling concert. He had imbibed a bit too much alcohol, and fallen into a deep sleep. When nature called, he awoke and shambled off to the bathroom. However, he was unfamiliar with the floor plan of the hotel he was residing in, and he neglected to turn on the lights before he tried to make his way to the loo. Thus, the inevitable occurred.

He stubbed his big toe.

He came awake in an instant and fumbled for the light switch. Ricardo stared up, glassy-eyed. He did not move. Chuck tried to revive him, but Ricardo did not respond. In a panic, Chuck grabbed the phone and called the front desk, screaming for an ambulance. Medical personnel arrived within seconds and whisked him to the hospital, but it was too late. Ricardo was DOA.

The news of the tragedy swept the nation, and the public mourned. Not since the death of Valentino had an entertainer been so loved. Fans sent hundreds of copies of the poem Footprints to the late singers estate. Elton John penned a tribute song for the departed digit, and the remaining toes sang it during the televised tribute to their fallen comrade. After the performance, they fell silent, vowing never to sing again in honor of their lost brother.

And when it was all said and done, America was a bit better off as a result of the tragedy. The country and its people had a heartwarming habit of banding together in a moment of crisis, and this provided them another chance to do so. And perhaps it was fitting that they themselves had engineered the success, and therefore the downfall, of the group. Through their tears, they remained philosophical.

They had experienced the thrill of victory. It was only right that they experience the agony of the feet