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 Thirty-One: Fairy Wings and Secrets

Any day with Niecy is always a fun day—especially when she’s got a secret!
 

Ethan didn’t like surprises. Not lately, he didn’t.

He especially didn’t like them when they came in the form of his mother’s cheerful voice ringing from the kitchen as he poured a bowl of cereal.

“Sweetheart! Don’t dawdle—we need to get you into your costume! Niecy will be here in thirty minutes!”

Ethan blinked at the cereal box in his hand.

“Niecy?—” he called, wary. “What costume?”

“Yes, darling. I did tell you, didn’t I?” Colleen’s head poked around the doorway, her eyes bright with suspicious innocence. “I volunteered you to babysit Niecy today. Mrs. Jackson’s got the movers coming to help them into their new place and you’re just so good with Niecy so I…”

“But I was supposed to go to the movies with Dani. The sequel to that superhero movie just came out and—”

“You can do that another time,” Colleen cooed, stepping fully into the room with her arms folded. “I know for a fact that Dani’s going to be busy doing other things today. Besides, this is more important. It’s Saturday and the day care is closed, so Mrs. Jackson needs our help. And you know Niecy—Emily is the one she adores.”

Ethan set the cereal box down with a sigh, already knowing he’d lost. His shoulders slumped.

Colleen beamed. “Thelma said Niecy wants to show Emily her ballerina costume, so I thought something along the lines of a fairy princess might be appropriate, don’t you?”

 

* * *
 

The costume had been made weeks earlier for a display window: a frothy confection of pink and lavender tulle, with delicate puffed sleeves and a bodice scattered with glittering sequins. Ethan had actually designed and made most of it, never suspecting that he would end up wearing it—though in retrospect he should have known better. All of his tinkering had come back to haunt him: the skirt flounced daringly short, revealing the silvery petticoat beneath; the low neckline, showing off his collarbone; the snug, shirred bodice hugging his flat chest; the high waist, just below his ribs, which—having worn pants for most of his life—always made him feel vulnerable. A pair of sparkly ballet slippers and a rhinestone tiara completed the look, and of course, Colleen had just the right shimmery lip gloss to match.

Ethan groaned when he saw the cursed costume hanging in the sewing room, but by then his fate had been sealed. He sat quietly as his mother buttoned him in, fixed the oversized butterfly wings to his back, and fluffed out the bangs of his blonde wig—the one with the dangly ringlet curls—beneath the tiara.

When he looked in the mirror, the person who blinked back wasn’t twelve-year-old Ethan Martin.

She was ridiculous.

She was radiant.

She was Emily.

 

* * *
 

The doorbell rang at precisely nine o’clock. Ethan minced over to open it, his skirt bouncing with each step. He tried not to blush.

“Emily!” Niecy squealed, hurling herself into the cross-dressed boy’s arms with enough force to send his wings fluttering crooked.

The six-year-old was wearing her pink ballerina costume—a little leotard with a gauze tutu, her hair an energetic puff of curls. Her black patent slippers squeaked excitedly on the tile as she jumped up and down. In her hand she held Li’l Niecy, the dark brown ragdoll Ethan had fashioned for her by hand—it, too, was adorned in similar ballerina regalia, also a product of his talents.

“You’re dressed like a fairy!” she declared. ”Look, Mama! Emily is a fairy princess!”

Thelma Jackson stood smiling, a paper bag of snacks in one hand. ”I can see that,” she said sweetly. “You always look the part, don’t you, sweetness?”

Ethan’s face was red with embarrassment at the compliment. “Yes, ma’am—I, um, try.”

“You do and you succeed,” she replied with a playful wink.

“I love you so much, Emily!” the little girl squealed. ”You really are the most magical girl in the whole wide world!”

Ethan—Emily—laughed in spite of himself. “You look pretty magical yourself.”

Thelma approached. ”Thank you again, Eth-… I mean, Emily,” she said, brushing the boy’s cheek lightly. “I can’t tell you how much this helps. Moving into Penelope’s apartment building is exciting, but it's such a chore. Having somewhere safe for Niecy to go while we take care of this is a blessing.”

“She’s no trouble at all, Mrs. Jackson.” Ethan smiled. “I’ve got plans for us—”

“Hey Sissy!” A familiar voice from outside called out. “Lookin’ good in them there fairy wings!”

Ethan blanched. It was the movers Colleen mentioned.

His cousin Dani. And Aunt Deedee.

The two were standing at the bottom of the steps. Dani wore a battle-worn T-shirt with a heavy metal logo on the front, DeeDee her trademark sleeveless blouse tied in a knot just below her breasts—both had on faded jeans with leather gloves tucked in their waists, ready for a day of hard work, hard play and mischief. Behind them was a large truck marked “Double D’s Auto Repair and Restorations.”

“Oh no—” Ethan bit his lip to see them taking delight in his fairy costume. He fought the urge to run upstairs and hide in his room—instead he took a deep breath and bravely stood his ground.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Princess,” DeeDee shouted, loud and proud. “You take care of that pretty little prima ballerina—us women-folk got this end of the job.”

“Yeah, Sissy, don’t hurt yourself picking up any dolls,” Dani mocked. “We’ll do all the heavy liftin’ and packin’, no sweat.”

“Make that plenty of sweat,” muttered DeeDee.

The cross-dressed boy seethed, but didn’t respond to the teasing. “I see you got some help,” he murmured.

Thelma chuckled. “Oh yes, DeeDee and Dani have been very generous with their time. They keep me laughing, even when the work is heavy. Your whole family is a blessing.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Mother and daughter exchanged hugs. Thelma tapped Niecy on the nose, smiling. “You be a good girl, darlin’, and don’t give Emily a hard time, all right?”

“I’ll be good, Mommy. I promise!” The little girl stepped onto the porch, dragging Ethan with her. “Bye-bye, Cousin Dani, Aunt DeeDee,” she called out. “Thanks again for helping my mama!”

“No worries, sugar. You can always count on us O’briens to do the dirty work.” DeeDee blew a kiss at Ethan, beaming wickedly. “Bye-bye, Emily. Have fun!”

Dani snorted. “Yeah, Sissy, have fun in Girlyville!”

Niecy giggled—Ethan fumed. “I keep telling her I don’t live in Girlyville,” he murmured.

“Those two—” Thelma turned to Ethan and gave him a hug. “You’re an angel,” she whispered conspiratorially. “More mature than most men—and maybe some women I know.” She winked. “Thanks again, sweetness.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Jackson.” Ethan thought for a moment. “Um, if you want to keep Aunt DeeDee happy, stock up on root beer.”

“Good advice,” she said with a wink.

 

* * *
 

The morning flew by in a swirl of tiaras, fairy wands, and backyard giggles.

They’d slipped next door to Penelope’s garden to play: Niecy tiptoed through the flowerbeds like a guardian sprite, dancing between sunbeams and “protecting the Queen Bee’s magical garden.” Ethan, wings askew, did his best to keep up as she twirled and leapt with the unrestrained grace of a six-year-old with nothing to prove. The little girl showed him a few moves she’d learned in ballet class—pliés, arabesques, even a grand jeté that ended with a triumphant spin.

Ethan’s own attempts were less… elegant.

He wobbled. He stumbled. At one point—while attempting an arabesque—he tipped over and landed backward into the birdbath. The good news was it didn’t have any water in it.

“Emily!” Niecy shrieked with laughter. “You’re not supposed to fall in!”

Colleen, watching from the kitchen window, laughed until she had to wipe her eyes. Seeing her twelve year old son running about, posing and acting so… girlish… made her heart flutter with delight. She took a few pictures to share with Niecy’s mother. And Penelope… and DeeDee… and Dani, of course.

Eventually Ethan managed a few simple moves that Niecy applauded.

“You’ll be a real ballerina one day,” she said seriously, taking his hand.

“Doubtful,” Ethan said, then added more softly: “But thank you.”

 

* * *
 

Later, they set up their tea party under the garden arbor.

Colleen brought out a tray with peanut butter and apple butter sandwiches cut into triangles with the crust cut off—”Oooo, these are fancy!” exclaimed Niecy—little bowls of sliced fruit, two cups of peppermint tea, and one cookie with lemon icing each. Ethan had spread a pink cloth over the table and brought out real china, which Niecy handled with awe and reverence.

“This is the bestest day ever,” she whispered, cradling her teacup like a duchess.

Ethan smiled shyly and nodded.

By early afternoon, the two had retreated to “Emily’s Room” where they lined up their dolls: Li’l Niecy, in her ballerina costume, and Ethan’s Susie Homemaker with her vacuum, mop, and ironing board, and several old Barbie dolls that once belonged to Colleen when she was a child. While Niecy busied herself with the dolls, Ethan fetched a hairbrush and carefully played with her hair; it was springy and much more dense than his own—and his wig—but he’d babysat the child long enough to know what he was doing. Soon he fashioned Niecy’s locks into a proper ballet bun.

“Wow, I look just like a ballerina!” Ethan grinned with pride as the little girl danced around the room, stopping every once in a while to stare at herself in the dressing mirror, and then danced some more. “I’m gonna be a famous dancer one day!” she shouted, her green eyes glowing with a frenetic energy only a six-year-old could possess.

“I believe it,” the cross-dressed boy replied.

Then it was Niecy’s turn to pretty up her babysitter. With intense care and seriousness, she applied glittery pink lipstick to Ethan’s lips and a bit too much rouge and eyeshadow and declared him “even prettier than the fairy queen.”

“Ain’t we a pretty pair?” she squealed as the two primped and posed in front of the mirror. “This is so much fun, I can’t stand it!”

Ethan laughed. “I can hardly stand it, too, Niecy,” he said. The irony of that statement was not lost on him.

The afternoon light turned golden and childish energy waned. The “girls” eventually climbed onto Emily’s fairy princess bed where they lay side by side on the quilted bedspread, their hands clasped gently between them, whispering and giggling quietly until their breathing slowed and they drifted into the soft lull of naps and dreams.

 

* * *
 

The house was hushed, as if respecting the nap of two precious dolls left to rest on a cloud-like bed fit for fairy nobility. Outside the sun was almost gone and lightning bugs had awakened.

Colleen tiptoed upstairs, phone in hand. The bedroom door was open, so she paused and peeked inside with the excitement of a child doing something almost naughty.

There they were: Niecy and Ethan, lying side by side in the soft glow of a fading day. Their hands were still linked. Niecy’s hair was in a perfect ballerina’s bun, her little tiara slightly askew, and Ethan’s sparkly wings were half-folded beneath him like a butterfly resting mid-flight.

She quickly, and quietly, snapped her photos.

And then, smiling to herself, padded back down the stairs.

 

* * *
 

Collen had barely left the room when Niecy stirred and opened her eyes. She listened to the creaking of the stairs before moving a muscle.

“Emily?” she whispered softly. “Was that you? Emily? You ‘wake?”

She looked over and saw the fair-skinned girl lying next to her. Sparkling wings, pale blonde, almost white hair … and sparkling, pink painted lips like rose petals curled in a soft smile, Emily breathed heavily but steadily. Niecy bit her lip, resisting the urge to disturb her friend. It almost felt improper, watching such a beautiful creature sleeping so close, so peacefully.

“I got a secret,” she sang ever so softly. “I got a secret. Shhh, Niecy. Don’t wake Emily.”

Adults often think that little children never listen. The fact is, they sometimes don’t, and they sometimes do; and sometimes they hear things that weren’t intended for little ears. Niecy saw much and listened even more. She remembered her mother talking to Emily’s mother on the phone, something about a boy named Ethan.

Ethan? she’d thought. What a funny name. I never heard of anybody named that before. Oh well…

Since then she hadn’t thought much about the mysterious Ethan—she didn’t care for boys at all, not after all of the bad things that happened at their old home—but the seed had been planted. And so it was right then and there, in the fading dusk, in a pink and white bedroom illuminated by fairy lights, that her curiosity sprouted and blossomed.

Niecy held tight to Emily’s hand for fear of waking her bestest friend ever and spoiling the moment. She used her other hand to reach over and caress the sleeping girl’s blonde tresses, carefully twisting one of the ringlet curls between forefinger and thumb, marveling at the soft, angelic color and texture. It was unlike her own hair in so many ways, in touch and in shine and flow—she was fascinated.

“So pretty,” she whispered.

The little girl then moved in close, so close she could feel Emily’s breath mix with her own. So close that her lips nearly brushed those of the sleeping girl. But her focus wasn’t on her babysitter’s face; rather, it remained on her hair… more specifically, where the golden locks met the pale, unblemished forehead.

Niecy’s excitement grew as she slid a finger—then a second—under the flaxen bangs. Careful not to wake even the fairest of princesses, she followed the soft locks to their roots… and felt something stiff, not at all like the skin of an angel.

“Oh gosh… what’s that?”

She took a deep breath and held it as her fingertips pushed up against the hard material … and saw a hint of something dark beneath. She slipped her fingertip under the cap and lifted it ever so slightly. There it was, another layer of hair, dark brown and damp and tangled, not at all like the beautiful curls of a princess ballerina.

Emily was wearing a wig!

“I knew it!” Niecy fought to contain her excitement as she whispered the words. “I knew it I knew it… I just knew it!”

The urge to jump up and down was overwhelming, but she held her enthusiasm in check. She’d discovered something wonderful, something amazing: Emily the babysitter—the prettiest, most fun fairy princess she knew… her favorite babysitter, her bestest friend in the whole wide world… the maker of beautiful dolls and even more beautifuller doll dresses—was not a girl at all.

She was a boy! A real live boy!

“She’s both a girl and a boy,” the astonished child whispered her wide eyes sparkling like jade in the last of the sunlight. “She really is a magical girl!”

Niecy’s excitement turned into pride. There had been a time when she would have been nervous, scared even, in the presence of a boy—especially being so up close to one. But this was different. This odd, peculiar boy—this magical boy, since he was also a magical girl, it seemed—didn’t scare her. Not in the slightest. He was no different than her beloved Emily, not much different than herself, in fact. True, his skin was light and fair while hers was dark and brown, but it was also soft and smelled sweet and warm to the touch, much like her mother’s.

She leaned forward and kissed the pink, sparkling lips, ever so lightly. She wondered if that would turn Emily back into a girl or completely into a boy, or maybe even turn her into one. The temptation to giggle was fierce, but the giddy child managed to hold back for fear of breaking any fairytale rules—as she understood them—and ruining the moment.

“You gotta be careful, Niecy,” she whispered as she pulled away. “Don’t you mess up the magic spell—”

All of a sudden Emily sniffed, then moaned… and reached her hand up to where Niecy had kissed her. The fairy princess—or was she a prince?—scratched her chin, sniffed once more and, with that same beautiful, angelic smile, resumed her slumber.

Niecy laid down, her hand still gripping Emily’s, and she glowed in the glory of her discovery. Life was so wonderful, so amazing and so full of surprises. She gave the enchanted girl beside her one last long, loving look… and she closed her eyes.

“I love you, Ethan,” the little girl whispered softly as she drifted off to sleep. “I.. love you… as much as… I love… Emily...”

 

* * *
 

A while later, the front door creaked open and Thelma Jackson entered softly, pausing when she saw Colleen waiting in the parlor.

“She’s been asleep for quite a while,” Colleen whispered. “They’ve had a long day of hard playing.”

The two women chatted for a while, about the move, about Thelma’s new job, Niecy's new school, and things to come. Their bond was solid and growing—no, not as friends, more than that, more like sisters... family. A family brought together not by bloodlines, but by common experience, shared tragedy, and mutual joy and love.

“My new hours aren’t anything like working at the salon,” Thelma said, excited, grateful. “The work is nowhere near tiring and I have so much free time now, I would love to be of help.”

Colleen laughed. “Well, I can use all of that I can get—the orders are beginning to wear me down. Ethan will be going back to school soon, so I can give you as much work as you can stand. I’ll pay you a percentage for each piece. I do the same with Marianne Johannnson—she’s been such a blessing. It probably won’t make you rich but I know how it is when—”

“I’m not doing this for the money, sweetness,” Thelma interrupted, warm and assuring. “You all have done so much for us, it’s the least I can do.”

“Nonsense. Good work deserves good pay.” Now it was Colleen’s turn to be grateful. “I have a new sewing machine on order. I can get DeeDee and Dani to bring it over, or you can work here, whichever you like…”

After some negotiations—and tea, which would serve as their contract until the end of days—they climbed the stairs together, then peeked into Emily’s room. Thelma gasped quietly at the sight of her daughter, safe and warm and smiling in sleep. She pressed a hand to her mouth.

“She’s always so peaceful when she’s with Emily.”

Ethan stirred as they entered, blinking up with sleep-drenched eyes. For a moment, he looked like a little boy again. And then—seeing his skirt, the glimmer of glitter on his arms, his bare legs—he remembered who he was supposed to be.

He sat up quickly and adjusted his wig, which had some how come loose, partly exposing his boyish hair. “Mrs. Jackson! I—sorry—I must have—”

“You were perfect,” she interrupted, kneeling beside the bed. “You always are.”

Niecy yawned, stretching. “Emily?” she mumbled.

“I’m here,” Ethan said gently, smoothing the child’s hair.

Mrs. Jackson gave her daughter a long hug, then turned to Ethan.

“I brought a gift for you… Emily. A little thank-you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary—” Ethan started.

But she was already pulling something from her handbag: a small jewelry box, aged and velvet-lined. She opened it to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a tiny angel charm.

“It’s just a piece of costume jewelry,” she said, almost apologetically. “I got it when I was younger—I wanted to give it to my baby…” She looked sad. “That doesn’t matter. Water under the bridge.”

There was a long pause. Ethan put his hand on hers. “Ma’am, are you all right?”

Thelma smiled. “I was just thinking about something from long ago. I thought… I don’t know. I thought you, well, maybe Emily might like this.”

Ethan stared at it.

The charm was no bigger than a thumbnail—an angel in flight, her hands folded in prayer. The chain caught the light like a whisper.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he said softly.

“Say thank you, sweetheart,” Colleen murmured from the doorway.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jackson,” Ethan whispered. “It’s… it’s priceless.”

The smiling woman nodded, then moved in close. “May I?”

He nodded, his cheeks coloring. He turned about with the grace of a ballerina in training—according to Niecy, anyway—lifted his blonde curls and bowed his head just so.

The clasp clicked gently. The chain settled softly against his collarbone.

Niecy clapped her hands and hugged the cross-dressed boy, squeezing him so hard he could barely breathe. “Wow, Emily, you’re a real angel now!”

Colleen laughed, and Mrs. Jackson’s eyes filled with tears she refused to shed.

Ethan glanced toward the mirror. The sparkly dress, the ridiculous wings, the glittery eye makeup and lipstick, the tiara tilting behind his bangs—and now the tiny silver angel resting just below his throat.

He swallowed hard.

“I know I’m not supposed to like these things—” he said quietly.

Mrs. Jackson tilted her head. “Who says what you’re supposed to like, sweetness?”

“I’m… well, you know, not what I seem.” He felt his cheeks burn red hot.

Well, I—” the woman shook her head, then nodded toward her daughter— “we … think you are.”

Ethan looked down at Niecy and he marveled at the love that shone from her face.

“I just… like when people are happy,” he admitted.

Colleen came over and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Then you’re doing everything just right, my love.”

“Your mama’s right,” Niecy said happily. “She’s right, Mama’s right, you’re right, and I’m right!” She leaned in and—imitating Colleen—gave his lips a playful smooch. “See? We’re all all right!”

Ethan didn’t reply. He only smiled—and the wings on his back fluttered ever so slightly as the little girl studied the angel pendant, her green eyes glowing with delight.

 

Next up, The First Day of School