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 Twenty-Nine: Jolie’s Little Adventure

Ethan—or is it Emily?—saves the day, but at the expense of his… her? Well, okay, somebody’s dignity is at risk!
 

“I feel like a traffic cone,” Ethan muttered into the hallway mirror, giving his reflection a withering glare.

His outfit—if it could even be called that without invoking some sort of public safety ordinance—was a wildly cheerful two-piece halter-style sundress in a floral pattern of bright oranges and lime greens. One of his own design experiments, the crop top left his belly button exposed and the short skirt flounced out into a bell-shape that ended somewhere just below modesty. Underneath, the rustle of a stiff crinoline teased his bare thighs, and below that, white ankle socks trimmed with lace and dainty white sandals completed the girly ensemble.

“It’s not too awful bad,” he whispered to himself. “It looks like something Claire and her friends might wear. Maybe if I used material with a different print—”

Colleen swept past him with her purse in one hand and her car keys in the other. “You look very nice, sweetheart. Now grab your sunhat and let’s go. Quickly, please!”

“What?” Ethan blinked. “Go where?—”

“No time,” she said cheerfully. “Mrs. Halbrook’s Turkish carpet is in danger! Think of the rug!”

Seconds later, Ethan was being hustled out the door and into the car, a white sunhat pulled low over his dark brown hair and a growing lump in his throat. The only thing worse than being seen dressed like this was being recognized dressed like this.

“Is this really necessary?” he asked as he buckled up. “I mean, couldn’t I at least put on some pants or something less embarrassing?”

Colleen gave his hand a motherly squeeze as she slid into the driver’s seat. “Don’t fret, darling. Something happened to Gloria’s car and I have to pick her up at DeeDee’s garage. I’ll be back in no time. I know it sounds silly, but she’s been gone too long and someone needs to let that little dog outside long enough to do her business. Her mother is afraid she’ll ruin her carpet if we don’t. I promise, you’ll be back inside before anyone even sees you.”

Ethan didn’t believe that for a second.

“Nice job on that outfit, by the way.” She gave him a quick once-over as she maneuvered the car through traffic. “I like the bare midriff—very stylish, very summery. We might want to put that in our modern youth line-up—though I’m not sure about that particular print.”

“I hear that,” the flustered boy said with a sigh.

They pulled up to the Halbrook residence, a prim little house with manicured hedges and an absurd number of ceramic gnomes lining the walkway. Colleen reached beneath a flowerpot and retrieved a jangling key.

“There you go,” she said, pressing it into Ethan’s hand. “Gloria said Jolie should be in the kitchen. Just take her outside to do her thing, but whatever you do, don’t let her off the leash.”

Ethan scowled. “I still think I should’ve changed first.”

“Well, we didn’t have time, darling,” she said pointedly, with a little smile. “Seriously, you look adorable. Now go along before we have a mess to clean up.”

“Mother, please…”

Colleen winked. “Have fun, my love!” And with that, she was gone.

Inside the house, Ethan found the tiny poodle waiting for him—tail wagging, tongue flapping, eyes wide and untrustworthy. She looked like a living cotton ball with delusions of royalty. He clipped the pink leash to her rhinestone collar and opened the back door.

Mrs. Halbrook’s garden was a marvel, with all sorts of paths and ponds and flowers of every kind. And more gnomes, of course. Above all else, it was well-hidden, with tall shrubbery and fencing that provided the kind of privacy a boy in a flouncy sundress could appreciate. It didn’t take long for Jolie to do her business, but Ethan wasn’t in any hurry. He felt relaxed as he wandered about, letting Jolie lead the way.

This isn’t so bad, he thought as he minced along in his socks and sandals, smiling at his own silliness and enjoying the feeling of the crinoline brushing his legs and the freedom from prying eyes and wagging tongues. No wig, no worries, nobody around to give me grief… I could get used to this—if it weren’t for other people…

For several minutes, things went well. Jolie sniffed the shrubbery, pawed at a flowerpot, and did a few revolutions in the grass. Ethan twirled around in sync with the little dog, laughing happily as he did his best to keep up. Too bad Niecy isn’t here—she’d love this garden.

He plucked the hem of his dress and lifted it up, marveling at how the sunlight lit up the material, sparking second thoughts about the flamboyant color combination; he then let it go and watched happily as the skirt swirled about.

Maybe I can talk Mom into using this pattern after all, he thought, giggling. She’ll probably think I’m crazy but—

He had just reached up to adjust an errant bra strap when Jolie unexpectedly yanked the leash, slipped out of her collar, and bolted. Out the side gate, along the path and toward the front of the house.

Ethan stood there for an instant, not quite believing what had just happened. “Dang it! I don’t know why I’m so surprised…”

Yip! Yip! The sound of the little poodle’s barking interrupted his train of thought. He gave a sigh and took off down the path.

“Jolie!” The cross-dressed boy shouted as he chased after the little poodle. His sunhat flopped wildly atop his head as he ran along the sidewalk, his sandals slapping the stone pavers, skirt fluttering scandalously around his thighs.

Through the gate and down the street they went—Jolie a blur of white fluff, Ethan trailing behind like a windswept tulip. He did his best to keep up, but running in socks and sandals—and such a short skirt!—proved both difficult and humbling. It wasn’t long before he lost sight of Jolie… and began worrying about attracting attention.

“Jolie! Come back here, you stupid dog!” he yelled. Remembering himself, he forced his voice to soften as much as he could while at the same time crying out: “Jolie, sweetheart—come to Emily! Come on girl, come to Emily!”

“Just my luck,” he muttered to himself. “Of course she had to do this while I’m in this goofy dress.”

And so he ran—well, pranced, as running in public was out of the question given his prissy attire—and desperately following the sounds of yip! yip! in the distance.

This wasn’t the first time Ethan had been out on his own while dressed as a girl, but this time he was without his wig and that in itself was cause for worry. He was far enough away from his home neighborhood there was a chance he might not get recognized. Or so he hoped.

“Jolie!” he half-cried, half-whispered. “Where are you, darn it! Jolie! Come to Emily! Jolie, please… why did you have to do this to me?!”

A small boy on a bicycle watched him pass, eyes wide. “Are you in a race?”

“No!”

“Are you running away from someone?” asked a girl with pigtails and a popsicle.

“Yes—no—I mean—Jolie!”

He darted past two elderly ladies walking side by side. One turned to the other. “That poor girl. She looks positively frantic.”

“Do you think she’s lost?”

“No dear, she’s chasing something. Oh, look at the lace on her socks—how precious.”

“Mmm, that skirt is way too short. But she does look cute in it, don’t you think?”

Ethan finally slowed, panting, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and exertion. He glanced down to see his bare midriff showing, the short skirt flipping about, his bare legs shining, his sandaled feet too cute for comfort.

Why didn’t I just tell Mother no? Why didn’t I just wear jeans? Why does my life feel like a comedy written by someone with a thing for ruffles?

He tugged the sunhat lower over his face and wandered up and down the block, peeking under shrubs and calling Jolie’s name in a high, singsong voice.

“Jolie! Jolie! Come out come out, wherever you are!”

A lady speedwalking in a purple tracksuit paused for a moment. “Lose someone, honey?”

Ethan nodded. “A little white poodle, about so big,” he squeaked.

“Sorry, but nope. I’ll let you know if I see it. Cute dress, by the way!” Then she was gone.

“Jolie! Jolie!” he called. “Come on, you stupid dog! I need to get back before—”

A group of boys—five in all, maybe third graders—suddenly appeared from behind some bushes. Two wore plastic army helmets and carried toy guns. They looked at Ethan, then his orange and lime colored crop top and skirt, and they giggled amongst themselves. He braced himself for an onslaught of teasing and mockery, but they kept marching along, though a couple of them did turn around, pointing and whispering to one another.

“I sure am glad I’m not a girl,” one said just loud enough for Ethan to hear. “Going around looking like that!”

The other laughed and squealed, “Me, too! She’s a fancy Nancy!”

I’ll fancy Nancy him, Ethan thought. He looked down at his outfit. It’s not that bad, I don’t think. Maybe.

A young mother pushing a baby stroller waved him down. “Are you all right, honey? You look like you’re upset. Is someone chasing you?”

“No ma’am,” Ethan gasped. “Just looking… for a… runaway poodle.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I haven’t seen it.” The mother smiled sympathetically. “Please, slow down… you’re a fretful sight. I do like your outfit, though. Very stylish!”

“Thank you, ma’am. Gotta go!”

At last, near the corner grocery store, he spotted a tall, handsome man walking a large German shepherd wearing a vest that said “Service Dog.” He looked safe enough. And being a dog owner he might be of some help.

Taking a deep breath, Ethan summoned his best “Emily voice”:

“Excuse me, sir… I’m looking for a small white poodle. Her name is Jolie and—”

The man turned and smiled. “Jolie? Oh, Mrs. Halbrook’s little diva? From over on Maple Street? She slipped her leash again?”

“Her collar, actually.” Ethan nodded, holding up the useless leash and collar while at the same time clutching the brim of his hat. “She, um… she got away from me.”

The man chuckled. “Don’t worry. That little booger always makes a big show of escaping but she never goes far. I’d bet my lunch she’s back on Mrs. Halbrook’s front steps by now, waiting for a treat.”

Ethan blinked. “Really?”

“Really,” the man said, giving a wink. “She’s a rascal. Good luck, miss.”

Miss. Ethan thanked him with another curtsy—why did I do that?!—and hurried back toward the house.

Along the way he saw the speedwalking woman in the purple tracksuit. “I think she went home,” he said breathlessly as he pranced along. “Thanks for your help!”

He ran into the boy on the bicycle and the little girl with the pigtails. “Think she’s back home. Gotta run!”

It seemed like it took forever to get back to Mrs. Halbrook’s house—by the time he got there his feet ached and he was worn out from all the hurrying about.

Thank goodness, Jolie was lounging on the porch like a fluffy little queen, tail wagging proudly beside the closed front door.

Ethan was so happy he almost forgave her for running away. But his attitude changed when he tried to get back in the house.

The key—he had left it inside.

 

* * *
 

Ethan sat rigid on the warm stone steps of Mrs. Halbrook’s porch, feet pigeon-toed, knees pressed tightly together beneath the swishing hem of his garish sundress. He’d tried getting back into the garden but the gate had latched behind him and he couldn’t get it open.

The good news was he’d managed to get Jolie’s collar back on, so at least something was going right. One hand clutched the loop of the pink leash, while the other flattened the pleats of his skirt with nervous little strokes. The white sunhat shaded his eyes, tilted forward at just the right angle to hide his face—but not enough to block the gentle breeze, or the mounting embarrassment.

Jolie, of course, had no such concerns. The little poodle swaggered around in circles, wagging her fluffball tail as if proud to be the star of this farcical production.

People passed. So many people.

A pair of toddlers toddled by with their mother. “Doggie!” squealed one. “Look, Mommy! Look at her! So cute!” said the other.

“Thank you,” Ethan muttered weakly to no one in particular, cheeks positively burning. He wasn’t sure which “her” that child meant—Jolie or him—but either way, it stung.

The parade continued. A cluster of teenage girls in matching tennis skirts walked by, spotted him, waved, then gossiped and giggled behind painted nails.

“That dress is just awful!” said one. “Who wears orange?”

“Oh, shut up, you!” said another. “I think it’s awesome!”

"I don't know,” said a third. “That color combination is a pretty bold choice,"

Jolie barked—Ethan scoffed. “You tell’em, Jolie. Everybody’s a critic.”

An older gentleman with a cane doffed his hat and said, “Good afternoon, young lady. Mind the sun now.” Ethan nodded politely, gripping the leash tighter.

Then came the real terror: a bunch of boys he recognized from school biking down the sidewalk—Marcus Epperson, Benji Thompson, Travis Wilson and Dylan Mitchell, of all people! He’d bumped into each of them at one time or another as Emily, but without his wig knew he just knew they’d see through his meager disguise.

Ethan’s breath caught. I’m dead! They’re gonna see me in this stupid dress and they’re gonna kill me. Worse, they’re gonna tell everybody I know about seeing me… I’ll have to move to Australia….

He turned away slightly, clutching the leash and adjusting his hat like a veil. The foursome zoomed by, shouting and laughing about who knew what. Benji tossed a soda can at Marcus—and missed. “You suck!” the other boy shouted, and then circled around, ramming his bike into Benji’s. The two yelled at each other as they tried to untangle their wheels, Travis and Dylan riding around them, egging them on.

“Smack’em, Benji!” shouted Travis. “Don’t take that crap from him!”

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” yelled Dylan, laughing happily. “Come on, you pussies, stop playing around—let’s see some real action!”

“Suck it, Mitchell. Mind your own business!”

“Fuck you, Epperson! And the horse you rode in on!”

Ethan watched with a mixture of fear and fascination as the boys argued and struggled to free their bikes. Jolie, of course, started yipping and yapping at the commotion, which he just knew would draw their attention—and when that happened he knew he would be doomed.

The quarreling boys pulled their bikes apart and began chasing one another again, hollering and cursing and making a terrible racket. At one point they swerved onto Mrs. Halbrook’s driveway and Ethan almost wet himself, thinking they were about to ride right up to him.

But then, just like that—they were gone.

The wary boy sat still for several minutes, relieved. He suddenly gasped—he’d been holding his breath the entire time. His heart thudded beneath his colorful crop top.

They didn’t see me. I don’t think… He frowned, pondering what could have been but wasn’t. At least it wasn’t Samuel Torres—if he saw me looking like this my life would definitely be over!

Jolie suddenly gave a delighted yip, sensing no danger, but something: and then, as if on cue, a voice—rich and low—came from the sidewalk.

“Well, there you are.”

Ethan turned toward the sound, wide-eyed.

A tall figure approached, leash in one hand, German Shepherd at his side. The man was broad-shouldered, classically handsome, with warm brown eyes and a slight, teasing smile. Ethan recognized him instantly: the kind stranger from earlier.

Only now he wasn’t just a stranger. After the close call with the boys, Ethan was actually glad to see him.

“Mother’s little fugitive finally found her way home,” the man said, smirking as Jolie barked happily in reply. “And I see her new dog-walker is still on duty.”

Ethan stood quickly and gave him another awkward curtsy—why do I keep doing that?

“Y-Yes, sir. She didn’t run off again. I kept her right here.” He thought for an instant. “Wait, Mrs. Halbrook is… your mother?”

“Hard to believe, but yes, she is.” The man stepped closer, giving the cross-dressed boy a thorough look with smiling eyes. “Impressive,” he said, his voice warm enough to cause Ethan to blush.

“Pardon?”

“I was thinking, most teenagers would’ve gone running off themselves, but you hung in there. It’s happened to us before. Jolie might be tiny, but she’s a handful.”

“I, uh… I like dogs,” Ethan replied in his softest “Emily” voice.

“I can tell.” He extended a hand. “Jeffrey Halbrook. And this is Roxanne.”

Ethan hesitated, then reached out—tentatively, uncertainly—and weakly shook the offered hand. He suddenly felt exposed in his skimpy top and flouncy skirt. “Emily,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Ah, Emily, of course.” Jeffrey’s eyes twinkled with curiosity. “Nice to meet you, Emily. You know, my mother talks about you constantly. Always going on about what a helpful and polite young lady you are.”

Ethan giggled—a nervous, fluted sound. “She’s very kind.”

“She can be. Though… she said you were blonde?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Ethan’s mouth opened—nothing came out.

Blonde? Of course, stupid… the wig! He tugged the sunhat down over his head, blushing. “Yes, well, um… it normally is… but—”

Desperate to change the subject, Ethan nodded toward Roxanne.

“So, you’re not blind or anything right?” He winced as he realized how ignorant he must have sounded. He shyly pointed to Roxanne’s vest. “Sorry. I mean, I see she’s a service dog and—”

“No, I’m not blind or anything.” Jeffrey laughed. “But you’re right. Roxanne is a service dog. She’s my best buddy. I was in the war and kind of had a hard time when I got home. Roxie keeps me company whenever I feel down.” He knelt down and scratched the huge dog affectionately—in turn, she eagerly licked his face, practically hugging him with her immense paws. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Ethan nodded. He’d heard of such things, but seeing it up close, the love between this man and his dog was obvious, sincere—and it tugged at his heart.

Colleen, blessedly, drove up before the subject got back to Emily’s hair. She got out of the car with Mrs. Halbrook trailing behind her, the two of them laughing and chatting away as if they’d just spent the afternoon shopping.

Ethan frowned. I bet that’s what they were doing all the time I was chasing that stupid dog! It would be just like my mother to—

“Jeffrey!” the old lady looped an arm around Ethan’s shoulder. “I see you met Emily. Isn’t she the sweetest?”

“Yes, Mother, she is very sweet.” The grinning man winked at Ethan. “I think you owe Emily a bit of thanks. Jolie slipped off her collar again and the poor girl spent most of the afternoon chasing after your little darling.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry, sweetheart!” Mrs. Halbrook looked at Ethan. “I hope you didn’t—say, have you done something with your hair? Wasn’t it..?”

Ethan looked at his mother, eyes wide with fear.

Colleen just laughed. “Oh, Gloria! I see you’ve noticed Emily’s new hairdo! We’re experimenting with styles and colors lately, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

The blushing boy nodded dumbly, grateful for the rescue.

A sudden yip! yip! caught Mrs. Halbrook’s attention. She scooped up Jolie with all the affection of a grandmother retrieving her wayward grandchild. “Oh my precious baby! Was Mommy gone too long? Did my little angel behave?”

“She was good,” Ethan mumbled.

“I hope she didn’t give you too much trouble, Emily,” the old woman cooed. “You know… I might just hire you as her regular walker. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Ethan gave a small shake of the head, so subtle it was almost imperceptible. Colleen noticed, of course. She laughed lightly and said, “We’ll see, Gloria. Our girl has quite the schedule already. Modeling, housework, school… but we’ll let you know.”

Jeffrey smiled. “Well, Emily, it was lovely meeting you. You were very brave today.”

Ethan blushed so hard his freckles nearly disappeared. “Thank you, Mr. Halbrook.”

“Jeffrey, please.” He gave Ethan—well, in his eyes, Emily—another long look, as if something didn’t quite add up, but he wasn’t in a hurry to solve the puzzle. “See you around.”

Colleen ushered Ethan back to the car, placing a protective hand on his bare back. They slid into their seats, the car doors closing with finality.

“So, sounds to me like you had quite the adventure,” Colleen said as she started the car. “You must have been quite a sight, running around the neighborhood in that dress. I suppose you attracted a lot of attention?”

Ethan huffed, his arms crossed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right then, then don’t.” His mother laughed. “I just wish I’d been there to see it,” she added playfully.

“I figured as much,” he said, his mouth somewhere between a pout and a smile.

They drove off slowly, Jolie’s yipping echoing faintly in the distance.

After a few minutes, Colleen reached over and tickled his arm. “Hey, you… would ice cream help?”

Ethan nodded. “I suppose,” he said, sighing.

“Then help is on the way.”

“That… that man,” Ethan stammered, voice trembling. “That was… Mrs. Halbrook’s son?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Colleen smiled sweetly as she hit her turn signal. “Quite the looker, isn’t he? Did you know he’s a pilot?”

“A… pilot? You mean, like flying airplanes?”

“Mm-hmm. Well, a helicopter, I think. Whatever. He was in the war, but now he flies for the local news stations. He’s quite successful and popular, it seems.”

“Does he… know?” Ethan asked warily. “About… me?”

Colleen grinned. “Hard to say. Maybe. Would you like to go back and ask him?”

“No!” he yelped.

There was another round of silence, then: “Jeffrey… Mr. Halbrook… he thinks I’m a teenager.”

“He does? That’s interesting.” Colleen glanced over and gave her son a once over. “I guess you do look older, wearing a dress like that.”

“Oh, Mother—”

The scenery changed as they left the old neighborhood and made their way to the ice cream shop. Ethan leaned against the armrest, sunhat clutched between his fingers, gaze fixed out the window as he pondered the events of the day—his dress, chasing after Jolie, the people he ran into… meeting Mrs. Halbrook’s son. He couldn’t decide if he should be upset or… something else….

“Life is getting really confusing,” he muttered.

Colleen burst into laughter, her hand reaching over to tousle her son’s hair.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said. “You’ve no idea.”

 

Next, Ricky and the Panty Boy