A Stop at the Coffee Shop
Soon, they were all in Aunt Patricia’s car for the ride to the city. After about twenty minutes, Aunt Patricia decided they should stop along the way for a light breakfast. She parked her sedan in front of a tidy little coffee shop with striped awnings and pots of red geraniums beside the door. When Edward reluctantly followed his mother and aunt inside, a little gust of fragrant air met him. The shop smelled of fresh coffee, toasted bread and the faint cinnamon sweetness of pastries and muffins. Cups clinked against saucers, and a low murmur of adult voices filled the room beneath the soft scrape of chair legs on the tile.
Edward was painfully aware of the way he was dressed, and he was conscious of the neat click of his Mary Janes on the polished floor. His aunt ordered breakfast sandwiches for all of them, and they sat at a cheery table near the window to eat. He perched carefully on the chair, feeling as if everyone was looking at him. He was clearly dressed more fancily than anyone else in the shop this Saturday morning.
They had only taken a few bites when the bell over the door jingled, and a small crowd came in from the sidewalk. Five boys about Edward’s age entered, laughing and talking over one another, all of them wearing baseball uniforms with dark caps, and their names stitched across the back of their jerseys. A few parents followed, herding them along for a quick breakfast. From the lively conversation, it was obvious they were on their way to a baseball game.
“I’m telling you, Coach said I might get to pitch today!” one boy insisted.
“Only if you stop walking people,” another shot back, and the others laughed.
Edward froze with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. The contrast between him and these boys struck him so sharply that he nearly forgot to chew. He was suddenly very aware of his polished nails glinting pink as he held his food. These boys looked so carefree. Their uniforms were clean now but would undoubtably get scuffed and dirty later. Edward, by comparison, sat in a charming yellow frock with his frilly socks ruffling above shiny black shoes. His corset pressed steadily around his middle, and the bright shop made him feel so displayed. “Mother,” he whispered, barely moving his lips, “do we have to stay here?”
His mother glanced toward the other boys, then gave him a gentle look. “Just eat your breakfast, sweetheart,” she said quietly, “no one is going to bother you.” After a pause, she lowered her voice further and added, “Don’t stare at them like that, dear.” She added, “keep your napkin in your lap, and you’ll be fine.”
Aunt Patricia smiled over the rim of her coffee cup, and she spoke in a normal tone of voice, “Oh Edward, you darling little buttercup, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You look perfectly sweet!”
Edward’s breakfast sandwich suddenly seemed much harder to eat neatly. He lowered it at once, afraid of dropping crumbs. Why did she have to call his name so loudly like that?!
Soon, the boys noticed him, of course. How could they not? One of them glanced over, his eyes moving from Edward’s yellow bow to the puffed sleeves and down to the polished black Mary Janes beneath the table.
Another boy had evidently heard his aunt say his name. He leaned close to his friend and whispered, “Is that a boy?”
His friend whispered back, “It can’t be!” But he didn’t look convinced, “Did she say ‘Edward’?
The two of them smothered quick grins as they tried not to laugh before one of their mothers quickly scolded them. “Leave her alone,” the mother murmured, then, after a brief uncertain glance at Edward, corrected herself awkwardly, “I mean—leave that child alone and behave yourselves!”
Mrs. Gray’s face tightened slightly, but she forced a polite little smile across the room. “Ignore them, sweetheart… those... 'baseball boys' don’t understand how brave you are being.”
No one said anything directly to Edward, but that almost made it worse. Their silence felt full of questions, and every clink of a cup seemed suddenly louder. He looked down at his lap, cheeks burning, while Aunt Patricia dabbed delicately at the corner of her mouth and seemed not to notice—or perhaps noticed very well and was perfectly fine with it.
“Please, Aunty,” Edward mumbled, “can we go soon?”
Aunt Patricia set down her cup with serene patience. “After you finish, dear. A young lady does not bolt from a room merely because she has been noticed, and you need your breakfast.”
Chastened, Edward listened enviously to the boys’ excited talk of the game ahead while his own day stretched before him. Quiet museum galleries and lace-trimmed exhibits loomed in his future. For some reason, his mother's stilted description of them as "baseball boys" lodged itself in his brain.
When they finally finished eating, Aunt Patricia gathered her handbag, but she seemed to take her time doing it. “There now,” she said at last. “Off we go. We mustn’t waste any more of the morning.”
Edward stood carefully, smoothing the front of his yellow dress and trying not to look toward the "baseball boys." Unfortunately, their crowded table stood directly between him and the door. There was no other way out.
He followed his mother and aunt toward the narrow space between the tables. The boys' table was a bright, disorderly island of baseball caps, crumpled napkins, orange juice cartons and excited voices. One of the "baseball boys" scooted his chair to the side so Edward, his mother and his aunt could get through. As Edward passed, their raucous table went noticeably quiet. Edward could feel their eyes on him and he blushed again.
“Good luck in your sporting match today,” Edward’s mother said politely as they squeezed past. The awkwardness of her wording was obvious, and it only seemed to reinforce how little their worlds had in common. Clearly, she knew little about sports.
Aunt Patricia, realizing Edward was almost shrinking beside her, added in a clear voice directed at him, “Come along, my dear… we have a busy day ahead at the museum!”
Then, one of the fathers smiled a bit clumsily, but still his response was pleasant and kind, “Thanks, and you… ladies have a great day too.” Albeit with some eye-rolling, the boys in the baseball uniforms murmured a series of “Thanks” and “Thank you’s” as well when he gave them a stern look.
Edward kept his gaze lowered meekly, and Aunt Patricia’s hand settled lightly between his shoulders, guiding him forward. Her gentle but resolute touch reminded him that he was unmistakably under her supervision and exactly where he would be for the day. By the time the coffee shop door closed behind them, Edward’s cheeks were hot, his throat felt tight, and the lively voices of the "baseball boys" had already risen again, as though he had passed through their world just long enough to be reminded that it was not his.
The rest of the drive into the city passed in a heavy quiet for Edward. Aunt Patricia chatted cheerfully with his mother about traffic, the portrait and of course the museum. Edward, however, kept seeing the baseball boys’ crowded table in his mind as he recalled how their energetic laughter and chatter had started back up the instant he passed. The scene replayed itself in his mind: the boys in their team caps with elbows and crumbs on the table, the sudden hush as he came near, and then the burst of voices returning behind him as the door swung shut. He relived the way one of the "baseball boys" had quickly averted his eyes and stifled a giggle as Edward passed. The memory made his cheeks warm all over again.
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Topic: The Portrait of Edward Gray (Read 3539 times)
