Ethan’s World

by Daphne Childress

Ethan Martin and his mother live a simple life in a small Southern town... with a twist: She makes dresses to pay the bills and he helps out as best he can.
 

Chapter Nineteen: Babysitting in Bows

Ethan’s resume gets an update.
 

Ethan stared at the yellow sundress as if it might lunge at him.

“This is so not fair,” he muttered.

His mother hummed a cheerful tune as she slid the dress from its hanger. “It’s perfectly fair. You’ve been getting paid quite well for your recent… let’s call them ‘appearances.’ This one’s a charitable gesture.”

“I don’t even like kids.”

“That’s not what you’ll say by the end of the night.”

Ethan groaned. “Why Emily? Why can’t I just go as me?”

“Because,” his mother said sweetly, “Little Niecy is terrified of older boys. Her father hasn’t been around in a while, and there’s been trouble, in their family, in their neighborhood. She associates boys with yelling and fighting, terrible things. Mrs. Jackson was looking for a girl, but not many like babysitting. Not like they used to. Fortunately—” she gave him a very meaningful look— “I happen to have one I can lend out.”

“I feel like I’m being trafficked.”

“Oh, hush,” she said, handing him his purse. “It’s charity, darling. Sometimes you have to give.”

“Charity in lip gloss,” he muttered.

 

* * *
 

The transformation took almost an hour. Clad in panties and a simple training bra, Ethan sat dutifully in front of the mirror as his mother worked her magic. She brushed out the golden wig, smoothing the curls and pinning a pale yellow bow just above the right ear. The result was astonishing. A soft, sunlit innocence framed his delicate face, and for a moment—even in his own eyes—he looked like a shy elementary school girl ready for her first recital.

The sundress was sleeveless with thin ruffled straps and a high waist so popular on little girl frocks. The fabric was light cotton, covered in a pattern of daisies and tiny honeybees. Colleen helped him step into it, zipping up the back and adjusting the smocking to fit properly over his slim torso. He couldn’t help but flinch slightly as the hem settled around mid-thigh. It was short. Too short.

“Yellow suits you,” Colleen murmured, crouching to adjust the hemline and brushing imaginary dust from his knees. “It makes your skin look creamier. Radiant, even.”

“Mom, please—” Ethan bristled. He hated that word with a passion.

“Can’t forget your footwear, can we?” Colleen held up a pair of sandals. “They’re just what this outfit needs.”

The cross-dressed boy pursed his lips. The sandals were white and strappy with a tiny faux pearl buckle at each ankle. “Mother,” he said reluctantly, watching as she knelt to fasten them, “you know I don’t like how these show my toes.”

“That’s why you needed to paint your nails,” she said sweetly. “Besides, what proper young lady wears sneakers with a sundress?”

He caught sight of himself in the mirror again. The bow, the wig, the delicate shoes, the fluttering hem. A boy in a girl’s body. Or perhaps… a girl with secrets. He looked away, conflicted. There was a whisper of pride in the way the outfit came together, how smooth his legs looked, how he couldn’t spot a single boyish feature in his reflection.

But there was shame too. A warm, creeping heat that tickled his ears and turned his stomach. The kind of shame that would have sapped the strength of any other boy. And yet…

“Do I look—okay?” he asked as he quietly applied a touch of lip gloss. He stared into his compact mirror and pursed his lips—the taste of strawberries added to his bewilderment. “I feel like I’m supposed to be eight years old.” He flicked a pink-tipped finger at one of the honeybees that decorated his dress.

Colleen straightened and put her hands on his shoulders. “You look adorable, sweetheart. Just remember, polite voice. Don’t get carried away and use that high pitched thing again, please. It sounds like you’re trying too hard. Just think soft and lilting. Let the words float out, don’t push them like you do when you’re annoyed.”

Ethan sighed again. “Yes, Mother.”

“Say that again.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Say it like Emily would. Remember what I told you—ladylike.”

“…Yes, Mother,” he repeated, softening his voice to something featherlight, giving it a dainty, polite edge.

She beamed. “That’s better,” she cooed, pulling out her phone. “Let me get a picture!”

“Mother!”

 

* * *
 

The Jacksons lived in a narrow two-story duplex with a patchy lawn and a plastic tricycle tipped on its side near the porch. Ethan—now “Emily”—clutched a small purse with his emergency wig brush, lip gloss, notebook and a few essentials. His mother gave him a peck on the lips, straightened his bow, and rang the bell.

“You taste yummy,” she murmured just as the door opened.

“Mother—”

Thelma Jackson answered wearing a tired but warm smile. She was a tall, slender woman with an ebony complexion and a frizzy ponytail and eyes that looked like they’d seen too many sleepless nights. “You must be Emily. Thank you so much for helping.”

Ethan curtsied. Automatically. “Yes, ma’am. I’m happy to help.”

The woman blinked, then chuckled softly. “Well, my stars. Aren’t you just the most proper little thing?”

She leaned in conspiratorially toward Colleen. “She’s too pretty for babysitting. You sure this sweet little thing… is a boy?”

Colleen only smiled. “She’s exactly what Niecy needs.”

Inside, the six-year-old was clinging shyly to a worn bald baby doll and watching cartoons. When she saw Emily—wig bouncing slightly, dress twirling—she gasped. “Wow! You look like the princess in my storybook!”

Ethan melted just a little. “Hi there. I’m Emily. I’ll be watching you today. We’re going to have so much fun.”

Niecy’s smile gleamed in contrast to her dark skin, emphasizing her delight. “Oooo, I like your dress,” she said, touching the hem of his sundress. “Look Mommy! Emily’s dress has honeybees! Yellow’s my favorite color!”

Ethan smiled. “Me too… I think.”

His mother gave him a light swat on his butt. He winced as he realized his voice hit that high, singsong pitch, almost cartoonishly bubbly. Too much. He tried again, softer. “Do you want to show me your toys?”

“Yes please!” the little girl squealed.

Colleen offered Mrs. Jackson a ride to work and the two women headed for the car.

“Have fun, Emily,” his mother sang a little bit too sweetly. “Call if you need help.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Ethan followed Niecy into her bedroom. There he saw a small collection of dolls that were worn at the joints and barely had enough clothes between them. Ethan found his heart aching a little. The little girl had so little, and yet she was so proud, so eager to show him everything—her dollies, her tea set, her plastic wand with one missing star.

The next hour passed in a whirlwind of tea parties, glitter stickers, and the world’s most off-key rendition of Let It Go. Niecy was delightful and chaotic—she asked a million questions a minute and barely waited for the answers.

But it wasn’t until she proudly showed off her dolls that Ethan softened fully.

“This one’s name is Tina,” she said, holding up the brown plastic baby with the bald head. “And this is Lily. But I don’t have many clothes for them. Mommy said we can’t afford new ones yet.”

Ethan looked down at the sad smattering of yard sale doll clothes, all ripped velcro and faded sleeves. He felt a pang of guilt. Here he was, sulking about in his sundress and wig while Niecy only had a few ratty doll outfits and didn’t complain at all.

“Hold on,” he said. “I have an idea.”

He called his mother.

“Can you bring my sewing kit?” he asked. “And that box of fabric scraps from our old projects? And that yarn from Aunt DeeDee’s project that she’s never going to finish? I want to make something for Niecy.”

There was a pause.

“Yes, Mother… my Little Miss sewing kit, please.” He sighed. “Thank you, Mother.”

Colleen arrived ten minutes later, handing over the pink plastic box filled with needles, thread, thimbles and scissors. She also had a box with a ball of yarn and a rainbow of discarded cloth. She peeked inside Niecy’s room, where the little girl was setting up a tea party. She saw the dolls and raised her eyebrows at her son.

“Please, Mother,” Ethan said delicately, “don’t tease me.”

She smiled but said nothing. “Emily” was in full bloom.

 

* * *
 

Niecy was spellbound. Ethan showed her how to measure doll bodies, sketch outfit ideas, and pin little paper templates. She picked out the colors, he did the cutting, and soon he was stitching together a surprisingly cute little jumper made from a floral scrap of leftover apron fabric and some lace. He even made hair for Tina using black yarn and contact cement.

“Can you make her a party dress too?” Niecy asked.

“Of course,” he said. “We’re going to make a whole collection.”

Colleen wanted to stay and watch, but instead of smirking or gloating, she blew him a kiss and quietly left the two to their fun.

 

* * *
 

“You made Lily look like a movie star!” Niecy gasped. She held up a fashion doll that until a moment ago had spent most of its life naked. “I never had a sparkly dress for her!”

Ethan smiled, flushed with pride. “Every doll needs a special occasion outfit,” he said, slipping back into the gentle singsong voice that had come more naturally as the day wore on. “And she definitely deserves one.”

He was perched delicately on a folded throw blanket—legs neatly tucked to the side, just like his mother had taught him—his little yellow honeybee and daisy sundress pooling lightly around his thighs. The back bow of his apron was tied just so, and his blonde wig still sat perfectly in place, the hairbow fluttering slightly whenever he turned his head.

“How do you know how to make dresses for my dollies?” Niecy was lying on her stomach, chin resting on her fist. “Did your mommy teach you or did you go to dolly dressmaking school or something like that?”

Ethan snorted. “Well, my mother makes dresses for a living and I help her. I practice on my—um, my dolls for fun. I never really thought about it, so I guess that’s how learned.”

“You make people dresses?” Niecy looked at him as if he said he’d hung the moon. “And you have dollies, too? What kind? Do they have names? Aren’t you too old for dollies? Do you play with them or just look at them? How many do you have? Do any of them look like you?”

While the two “girls” chatted about dolls and dresses “Emily” decided to fix lunch—Mrs. Jackson left a note with instructions for pot pies, but when he saw there were only two in the freezer and not much else, he called his mother. Twenty minutes later Colleen showed up with a basket containing chicken salad, tomatoes, lemon crinkle cookies and bottles of iced tea wrapped in dish towels.

“Oh wow!” Niecy was so excited as Ethan began laying out their meal. “Can we have a picnic in my room? Please, Emily, pleeease?” She drew the word out like a song lyric.

“I suppose.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “You have to help me clean up, though. I don’t want your mother mad at me.”

The little girl jumped up and down, hands clapping. “I will! She won’t! I promise!”

Colleen smirked as she headed for the door. “Have fun, girls,” she cooed. “And Niecy, you make sure Emily here behaves, okay? And Emily, I don’t want any bad reports from Niecy on you, young lady!”

Niecy giggled. “I will, Mrs. Emily’s Mom!” She grinned at Ethan. “Your mommy is so funny!”

Ethan huffed. “You can say that again.”

A blanket was found and a picnic spread prepared in Niecy’s bedroom. The two “girls” had just finished up their cookies and were cleaning up when Niecy tugged on Ethan’s skirt.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, gazing up at him with big, honest eyes. Ethan noticed with surprise how they glowed bright green.

How odd… I didn't know black folk—

“So, are you a regular girl, or a magical girl?”

Ethan’s heart skipped. “Why, um, do you think I-… I’m not a girl?”

“Mmm, I dunno.” Niecy shrugged. “I mean, you’re a girl, for sure. But you seem more like a magical girl than a regular girl. Like in cartoons. They change clothes and become someone new. Then they do magic, like this.” She giggled and shook Tina so her braids wiggled wildly about.

The question made something ache and twist deep in Ethan’s chest.

“I guess I’m a little bit of both,” he said quietly. “Emily is kind of… special.”

Niecy seemed to accept that. “Well, you’re the prettiest babysitter ever. And my favorite. Even if you’re only a little bit magic.”

 

* * *
 

By the time Mrs. Jackson returned, the coffee table had become a catwalk. The dolls—Tina and Lily—were now clad in dazzling new outfits. More were laid out neatly, awaiting their debut. Niecy clapped gleefully while Ethan, still in his yellow sundress and now with sewing threads stuck to his sandals, walked the dolls along the table like runway models.

Mrs. Jackson stood in the doorway, stunned.

“Did you make those?”

Ethan stood up sheepishly. “Uh… yes, ma’am.”

“They look store bought.”

Niecy ran to her mother. “Emily made them all! She even fixed Tina’s hair, Mommy! See?”

The amazed woman nodded. “I see, baby. She’s… beautiful.”

“And look at she fixed my magic wand!” The little girl waved it about, showing off the star Ethan had fashioned out of a piece of crinoline, some ribbon, glitter and glue. “Now I can do real magic!” she squealed happily.

Mrs. Jackson smiled. “I can see that,” she said softly.

“Emily’s my bestest friend,” screamed Niecy. She jumped into Ethan’s arms and hugged him with all her might. “My bestest friend and the bestest babysitter ever!”

Mrs. Jackson reached into her purse and pulled out a few dollars. “I don’t have much to offer, but—”

He shook his head quickly. “No, please—it’s okay, Mrs. Jackson. Really. I like making things and Niecy’s a lot of fun.”

The grateful woman examined the dolls and their clothes. She was fascinated by what Ethan had done with Tina’s hair.

“This little thing means so much to Niecy. Never in a million years…” She had tears in her eyes. “Your mother’s so right about you, sweetness. You make a better girl than most… other girls.”

Ethan blinked. “Thanks… I think?”

“Emily’s a magical girl!” Niecy threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “You’re coming back again, aren’t you, Emily? You have to come back again! You have to!”

Ethan laughed, cheeks red. “I’ll try.”

 

* * *
 

On the porch, as he waited for his mother to pick him up, Ethan sat quietly, watching the shadows stretch across the street. Purse in his lap, his Little Miss sewing kit beside him, along with his box of scrap yarn and cloth. His feet, still in white-strapped sandals, brushed the concrete step rhythmically. The sundress was wrinkled from the day, the bow on the back slightly lopsided, but he hadn’t fixed anything. He didn’t want to. Not yet.

Colleen’s car pulled up with a soft crunch of gravel, and Ethan gathered his belongings and minced down the walk, the hem of his dress fluttering about like a buttercup caught in the breeze.

In the car, Colleen said nothing for a while. Ethan rested his head against the seat, watching the passing streetlights.

Finally, she asked, “Ice cream?”

“Yes please.”

They sat in the car, licking their cones in silence. His sandals were dusty, and a little glue from a rushed hem job still stuck to his fingers.

“You put up quite a fuss about going,” Colleen said.

“I know.”

“You declared it cruel and unusual punishment. I was waiting for you to threaten to run off to Australia like you always do.”

“I remember, Mom.”

She bumped his shoulder with hers. “But look at you now. You made a little girl’s night magical. And her mother’s too.”

Ethan was quiet.

“Mrs. Jackson told me what you did with that one doll… she was thrilled.” Colleen looked at him fondly. “I’m so proud of you.”

There was a long silence as they finished up their cones.

“Do you think I’m weird?” Ethan suddenly asked.

His mother stopped mid-bite. “What?”

“I mean… I don’t hate this. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes—please don’t tell Dani—I kind of like it. Like tonight… with Niecy. It was actually fun.”

Colleen smiled. “I won’t say a word to your cousin.”

She then looked out over the park, the dusk casting gold against her face. “And don’t worry so much, my love. You’re so young, you’re still figuring things out. It will feel weird, yes, but it’s not at all weird. It’s just growing up.”

He didn’t reply. He only licked his cone and watched the night sky.

Is Niecy right? Am I magical girl?

“This is getting really confusing.”

She nodded. “Tell me about it. Some days I wonder who I like better—my fussy little boy or my beautiful daughter.”

“Very funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.” She took his pink-tipped fingers in her hand and kissed them. “You’re both. And you’re mine.”

They sat quietly a while longer, watching the stars and fireflies blink across the darkening sky.

 
Next, Auntie Vivian, Part Deux