She and Grandma showed me how to brush in long graceful movements,
starting at the ends and moving toward her scalp,
smoothing with my fingers after each stroke.
They had me count to 100 for each section of her hair – 500 strokes in all.
In the end, her hair shone like nothing I had ever seen.
I could smell its fragrance.
I couldn’t keep my hands off of it.
Finally, I put my arms around Mother from behind and buried my face in it.
Mother exclaimed,
“Well now, I think my sweetie likes my hair, don’t you dear?” Grandma chuckled approvingly.
“Oh yes, Mother, it is so beautiful!”
“Then you will help me brush it twice a day?”
“Oh yes, Mother! Please let me!”
I was completely intoxicated.
“Of course you can, honey.
You do it very well, almost as well as Grandma.
And if you want, I can show you how to make it into braids and pretty buns and up-dos.
Would you like that?”
I was so drunk on her curls,
I forgot to be embarrassed.
“Oh yes, Mother, that would be lovely!” ‘Lovely?’
That’s a word I never used before.
But before I could cover my tracks, Mother said.
“You have been very sweet to Mommy,
so now you can go out and play if you want.”
Nothing was further from my mind,
but I went just to break the spell a little.
I stumbled around in the yard, looking at the fields and the sky, still reeling from my experience of my mother’s beauty.
Gradually, I remembered who I was supposed to be – a boy who had contempt for girlish things.
My expression hardened; I tightened my jaw.
I marched back into the house, determined to resist the perils of living with two women.
But as soon as I entered the house, my Grandma resumed the attack on my fragile boyhood.
“Chrissy!”
I hated it when she called me that.
“Your Mommy says you are going to help me with the housework.
Time to get started.”
Her voice came from the kitchen –
I followed it, determined to make my excuses,
but she ambushed me as soon as I entered,
thrusting my arms into a frilly apron.
Before I knew what had happened,
I was wearing it and she was behind me, t
ying the apron strings into a pretty bow.
It was a light blue and white gingham, with white lace trim, and it was too large for me.
The long and flouncy front made me look like I was wearing a dress.
Mother came in as I turned to face Grandma and threw her arms around me.
“Oh! How darling!
My old apron –
the one I made in home ec when I was a girl! Mom,
I can’t believe you still have it!
And honey, you are so sweet to wear it for me.
You really know how to cheer Mommy up, don’t you?”
Her arms swallowed me and she began to weep a little.
Still, I resisted.
“But Mommy… I mean Mother!”
I couldn’t believe I’d said that.
I hadn’t called her Mommy in years,
but they had been saying it so much recently,
I just fell into it.
Mother saw my embarrassment.
“Oh honey, you can call me Mommy if you like!
I think it’s sweet. It makes me feel younger.”
And before I could say more,
“Now dear, I want you to help Grandma prepare dinner.
She’s going to teach you how to do so many things,
so you can help while I’m not feeling well enough,
just like you said you would.”
“But I never said I’d wear an apron.”
“Of course you must wear an apron, dear!
Housework gets messy sometimes,
and I can’t have you ruining your clothes.”
“But it’s so … girly.”
“Is that what’s bothering you?
OK, sweetie.
Next time we go to town,
I’ll let you pick out a nice new apron all for your own.”
I pictured myself trying on aprons in public. “Never mind!”
Later that evening, it was time to brush Mommy’s hair again.
This time, I knew what I was doing and it was just as wonderful as before.
When I’d finished, she gave me a big hug and a kiss.
“Honey, you’d better go hang your apron in the kitchen before you go to bed, OK?”
I couldn’t believe it – I was still wearing it!
Hours after I stopped helping Grandma.
Why hadn’t I taken it off?
I blushed with embarrassment.
Mommy noticed, took me by the shoulders, and put me in front of the mirror.
“I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed to wear my apron, honey!
Everyone knows aprons are just for keeping clean.
And you look so nice in it, too. See?”
She smoothed and spread it over my shorts and it looked even more like a dress.
Then she took her hairbrush and touched up my hair a bit, to improve the effect.
It dawned on me that I hadn’t been to the barber in weeks.
Not since Dad had died two months ago, in fact.
It was beginning to cover my ears and felt funny. I swallowed and said.
“Don’t you think I should get a haircut, Mommy?”
“I guess it has been a while, dear.
If you want to.
I’ve kind of enjoyed seeing it grow out a little.
You know, you have hair exactly like mine, sweetie.
The same texture and color.
It’s a shame you can’t wear it any longer, but I understand.
We’ll get it cut tomorrow.”
I looked at Mommy’s shimmering hair and had second thoughts. My fingers still tingled from caressing it. It’s fragrance still hung over me. I wondered what it was like to have such a heavenly cloud of softness swirling about my shoulders.
“Well, maybe it can grow a little longer, but not much.”
“Whatever you say dear!”
As Mommy rubbed cold cream on her face,
I lingered and stared absentmindedly at the mirror,
one hand playing with my hair,
the other spreading the lacy hem of my apron.
Suddenly, I looked like a girl!
Startled and scared,
I raced out of her room to the kitchen and took off my apron,
tossed it onto the peg on the broom closet door.
I was breathing heavily, wondering if Mommy had noticed me preening in front of the mirror, just like a girl!
Home school with Mommy and Grandma was much more fun than regular school.
I learned how to make things,
how to cook,
how to sew.
I couldn’t believe they were counting housework as schoolwork.
There was a lot of reading to do, though.
Grandma said that it was time for me to read all of Jane Austen’s novels, and I really enjoyed them.
The three of us talked about the stories and the characters quite a bit.
We even acted out some of the scenes.
Every week, I had to write an essay on a subject she gave me.
Like, “Describe Elizabeth Bennett’s sisters –
what they look like,
how each one feels about getting married,
which of the men in the story would make the best match for them and why.”
One day, she showed me a paper doll book of fashions from the early Nineteenth Century.
we had loads of fun picking dresses and hairdos for the different characters.
