A broad grin swept my mother’s face when I presented myself to her.
“You look even more gorgeous in real life!” she said,
looking me up and down, complimenting my legs before asking if I chose the shorts and top.
“No Laura did,” I replied.
“And how long does your hair have to stay in all those knots?” she asked.
“Err… about an hour.” I replied.
“Who did you say he looked like?” Laura asked.
“Bjork,” Mum replied.
“Who’s that?”
Mum described the Icelandic singer.
She showed us the video to Big Time Sensuality on her I Pad, which we all enjoyed.
“I didn’t think anyone would wear their hair like this to go out,” I commented
I watched the video of Bjork dancing around on the back of a truck. “It looks quite cool.”
“It was a fleeting trend back in the 90s,” Mum said.
She had that reminiscent look in her eyes.
Mum had plenty of pottering to do so she was in and out, up and down all over the house.
She couldn’t keep her eyes off me when our paths crossed.
Neither could my sister.
For the bag of nerves that I was, I actually felt quite comfortable in my thick tights,
little flouncy shorts and a simple top.
“You’re going to have to let your hair down soon,” Laura said.
“…and Mum’s going to want to see you doing it yourself,” she added,
before reminding me how she carefully unwound my plaits and teased out the curls a fortnight ago.
“Just try to remember what I did and Mum won’t suspect a thing.”
“OK.” I gulped.
I felt so self-conscious as I stood in the lounge,
facing the mirror,
removing the bobby pins and placing them on the mantle.
Mum said I looked like Medusa with all my random plaits.
“I know,” I replied as I began removing all the bobbles.
“Mind if I watch?” Mum asked as I began unravelling my plaits.
I said I didn’t mind but I’d rather she didn’t watch as I carefully separated each one.
Laura joined the audience as I began teasing out all the curls and pushing my fingers up my scalp to give my hair some body.
I spent a good five or ten minutes before facing them and asking if it looked OK.
“It’s the nicest your hair’s ever looked,” Mum said.
“…and you learnt that from YouTube?”
“Yeah.” I casually lied.
“But I did steal the gel, pins and bobbles off Laura,” I said.
“Plus my bra and top!” Laura added.
“Jewellery too if I remember correctly,” Mum said, before asking if I was wearing shorts or a skirt or something else in my profile picture.
“…the picture only shows your top half.”
“Jeans,” I said.
“Your own or some of Laura’s?”
“Mine,” I replied.
That fact felt like the first truthful thing I’d said all day.
“Hmm.” Mum responded.
“I’d have thought you’d have worn a skirt…
after going to all that trouble with your hair and make-up.”
“I quite like it when say…
Janelle Monáe or Taylor Swift wears a pair of scruffy jeans and trainers with a little top and still look fantastic.” I said, speaking entirely off the top of my head.
“Bottom half is dressed down, top half dressed up.” I added.
“That’s what I was going for.” I claimed.
“I see.” Mum replied.
“So you have a few style icons then?”
“I dunno… no one in particular.”
“You’ve certainly got style Marty.” my sister said.
“You look great and Mum’s right…
that’s the best your hair’s ever looked.”
I turned toward my reflection.
“It looked better last time.” I replied.
“You wore a barrette didn’t you?” Mum quizzed.
“Yeah.” I said.
Mum told me I look just as good today and bashfully,
I thanked her.
“Gosh is that the time?” Mum exclaimed, reading her wristwatch.
“I’d best go and see Gran.” Mum said.
“Are you both sure you don’t want to come?”
I certainly wasn’t going dressed as I was and Laura cited her hangover and wanting to hang out with me as her reasons.
“Tell her I’ll come next week.” I said.
“And please don’t tell her I’m dressed as a girl.”
“She’s seen your FaceBank picture.” Mum chuckled.
“Everyone has.” she added.
Mum left, saying she’d only be a couple of hours and complimented my appearance one last time.
Laura suggested I make some coffee,
insisting on proper coffee instead of instant.
She went to her room and returned five minutes later with my black plimsolls hanging from her fingers.
“Put these on.” she said.
“Why?” I cautiously asked.
“So we can sit at the end of the garden and smoke this.” she said,
revealing a joint.
“I didn’t know you smoked weed!” I exclaimed.
“Well I’m good at keeping things secret.” she smugly stated.
“Come on.” she chirped.
Our back garden is long and apart from the patio section right at the back of the house,
it’s relatively secluded at the far end.
I pulled on my plimsolls and tied the laces.
“This feels really daring.” I said.
“Going outside dressed like this.”
“You look ace.” Laura said
. “I wish the world was more tolerant and allowed guys to wear girl’s clothes.” she mused.
“No one bats an eyelid when girls dress like boys.” she said, glancing down at herself.
“You’re hardly dressed as a boy Laura.” I commented.
She too wears plimsolls, along with a little pair of frayed denim shorts, yet her legs are bare and tanned and smooth.
Her fitted T shirt is baby blue and peppered with tiny purple butterflies.
Her hair is brushed into a high ponytail and plaited and unlike me,
she wears minimal make-up.
“But compared to me…” I added.
She grinned.
I was a bag of nerves as I stepped outside.
The paved patio has a table and chairs and is in full view of the neighbour’s windows.
A tall trellis up which a huge clematis climbs marks the boundary between the patio and the rest of the garden,
beyond this a long lawn,
a few fruit trees,
the garden shed and a secluded seating area with raised flower beds at the far end where a tall privet hedge grows.
Once beyond the trellis, I can relax,
but with my bouncy hair and flouncy shorts,
a simple stroll over the lawn and down the garden is nothing short of thrilling.
The warm summer sun streams right through my thin top.
Its heat is warm and welcoming on my back.
At the end of the garden, we put our coffee cups on a wall and sit on the bench.
“You like those tights don’t you?” my sister tells me.
“Every time you sit you can’t keep your hands off them.”
“They do feel nice.” I confessed.
“They look OK too.”
“They look more than OK!” Laura said.
“Your legs are easily as good as mine.” she reckoned.
I disagreed.
“Shave them and get a tan and they would,” she advised.
I watched in awe as she lit the spliff and took a toke.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all morning,” she said.
“Do you smoke down here often?” I asked.
She nodded and exhaled.
“Does Mum know?”
“Course,” she replied, handing the spliff to me.
“Doesn’t she mind?”
“She was nineteen once…
she’d rather I smoke down here than in the house.”
“Or in an abandoned cricket pavilion.”
I added before taking a toke.
“Is that supposed to happen?” I asked,
seeing my glossy pink lipstick imprinted on the roach.
“Yes.” she grinned. “You’re not going to set fire to the shed are you?” she jokingly asked as I took a second drag.
“No!” I chuckled.
“I’ve not smoked any weed since the pavilion,” I told her.
“How come?” she asked as I handed the spliff back.
I explained that I’d left my entire stash in the pavilion and after reading the newspaper report,
I knew the police had my tin with my prints on it.
All they needed was my fingers and if I got nabbed buying weed they’d get my prints.
“…so I decided not to buy any more weed and not do anything that might result in the police getting my fingerprints.” I said.
“Smart.” she said.
“Then you told me.” she grinned.
“Yeah…
I regret that more than burning the pavilion down.” I dryly retorted.
“No you don’t.” she grinned.
“Even you didn’t know you were a tranny ’til I dressed you up.” she said.
“And now look at you… you look fuckin’ ace, Marty.”
“Yeah.” I coyly replied. “It does feel nice,” I said, taking the spliff from her.
“This is taking the edge of my nerves,” I said.
“Good.” Laura smiled as I took a toke. “Just don’t tell Mum…
she’d go bananas if she found out I’d got you stoned.”
“Well, I might have to make you buy my silence,” I said, jovially.
“Give me a few days and I’ll dream up a fitting forfeit for you.” I grinned.