A Charming Visit to the Museum
By the time they reached the museum, Edward felt as though he had entered a world completely separate from his normal life. A couple of banners fluttering outside announced the exhibition they were here to see. Edward felt his stomach sink as they walked up the stone steps to the entrance. He felt so visible arriving in his yellow party dress as he minced behind his aunt and mother. The sun caught the satin sash at his waist, the little embroidered flowers near the hem, and the bright yellow bow in his hair. Seeing those boys in their baseball uniforms at the coffee shop had only made him feel even more formal and sissyish than before, and he cringed to be dressed this way in public.
Aunt Patricia took charge the moment they entered the museum, consulting the map to head straight to the special exhibition rooms. Edward’s eyes drifted toward signs for the military history wing and a sunlit corridor that seemed to lead to a sculpture garden, but his aunt drew them briskly past both. “Those might be very interesting another day,” she said as she bypassed them, “but this exhibition will literally be gone tomorrow, so will spend our time there.”
Inside, the exhibit drew them at once into a suite of softly lit rooms where mannequins stood in careful rows like silent guests at an old-fashioned ball. There were walking dresses in dove gray and moss green, evening gowns with pearl-trimmed bodices, striped silk day dresses with tiny waists, velvet capes, lace collars, embroidered gloves, feathered hats, and slippers so small and delicate Edward could hardly believe anyone had once crossed real streets in them. Aunt Patricia was enchanted. She began moving with Edward in tow from case to case with shining eyes, reading the labels aloud and murmuring over the workmanship. “Look at the hand stitching, sweetie,” she breathed. “And that pleating! Imagine the patience. Bespoke, every inch of it.”
Edward followed exactly as he had known he would, dragged along from one display to the next while Aunt Patricia marveled at all the dresses and styles. The exhibit was somewhat crowded, and he soon noticed something that made his cheeks grow warmer. Nearly everyone there was female. Ladies stood in careful clusters, pointing at details through the glass. Mothers guided daughters from mannequin to mannequin. A pair of teenage girls studied a velvet bustle gown and whispered. Edward saw no boys at all. Even the few men present were museum guards or attendants standing discreetly near doorways.
Of course, his darling yellow dress made him stand out. More than once, a woman smiled at him as they passed. “What an adorable dress,” one older lady said warmly, nodding toward him with a smile.
A girl of perhaps nine stared openly at Edward in his frock before telling her mother, “Her dress is as pretty as the ones in the cases.”
Another visitor leaned down and said, “You look like you belong in the exhibit yourself, dear.”
Each comment seemed kindly meant, but Edward felt them land with painful force. They made him feel as though the dress had grown brighter and wider around him. He was so conscious of his daintily puffed sleeves, shiny polished nails, frilly anklets and snug corset. The ladies were trying to be pleasant, but it just reinforced how much he looked the part of a pretty little girl. He felt an unwanted stirring in his panties, and he felt cool air in the museum on his bare legs. His glossy Mary Janes clicked softly on the marble floor with each step.
Of course Aunt Patricia made sure he showed his gratitude to every compliment, and Edward’s face burned as he murmured thanks each time, his voice small and careful.
Aunt Patricia accepted the comments as if they confirmed her best judgment “Doesn’t he look sweet?” she would say, gently but unmistakably emphasizing the word. “My nephew is helping with a very special portrait project.”
This revelation always produced a surprised pause, followed by widened smiles and fresh compliments that made Edward feel even more exposed. It was bad enough when strangers complimented the dress. It was worse when Aunt Patricia made sure they knew the blushing child was in fact her nephew.
In the second gallery, a docent in a navy jacket approached them after noticing Aunt Patricia lingering before a breathtaking cream silk gown trimmed with tiny glass beads. Aunt Patricia needed no encouragement. Within moments, she was explaining the whole situation of the old photograph, Edward’s resemblance to his great-great grandmother, and the portrait. Edward stood meekly beside her, wishing the polished floor would open beneath his shiny Mary Janes.
The docent listened with professional interest, then turned to him with a kind smile. “That is quite an undertaking,” she said, “and may I say, you look very lovely today.”
Edward’s blush deepened until he could feel it in his ears. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Aunt Patricia beamed as though the docent had praised them both.
Edward stood very still, terribly aware that the docent, his mother, Aunt Patricia, and several nearby visitors were all looking at him. A girl standing with her mother whispered, not quietly enough, “Is that really a boy?”
Her mother hushed her at once but then smiled apologetically at Edward. “It is a very cute dress,” she said gently, as if hoping to repair the moment.
Another woman added, “The color suits you beautifully.” The words made Edward’s stomach flutter with shame and confusion. He wanted no one to notice him, yet every polite smile seemed to indicate that they had noticed everything.
As they continued through the stuffy rooms, Aunt Patricia became more animated. She compared the dresses to the gown Edward was wearing for the portrait sittings. She admired the narrow waists, full petticoats and ornate collars. Edward listened because he had no real choice, though he found himself recognizing details despite himself. A lilac afternoon dress reminded him of “his” portrait gown. A yellow silk visiting dress, displayed near the end of the gallery, drew Aunt Patricia to a stop. “There now,” she said delightedly. “Look, Edward, this one has a delicate floral motif just like yours! It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
Edward glanced at the mannequin and then down at himself. The museum dress was older, and grander, but the echo of design was obvious enough. Nearby, two girls about his age looked at him and giggled behind their hands. “Yes, Aunty,” the befrocked teen muttered.
In the final room, the exhibit included a set of interactive displays. Three large glass-fronted installations stood along one wall, each built around an elaborate dress with a camera and mirror arrangement positioned before it. A museum sign explained that visitors could stand on the marked spot, look into the mirror, and align their reflection with the gown, as if they were wearing it themselves. The first display held a little girl’s pink dress with tiny pleats, a beribboned sash, and lace cuffs no wider than Edward’s thumbs. The second showed a white Victorian bridesmaid’s dress with a wreath of silk flowers suspended above it. The third was a pale blue evening gown with a dramatic hourglass shape, wide shoulders emphasized by puffed sleeves, a full skirt, and a waist so slim Edward could scarcely believe the silhouette was real. The mirror softened the edges of the dresses so that each visitor seemed, for a moment, to step into the past.
Aunt Patricia was delighted. She insisted they try the displays, though Edward would have been happy to view them from a distance. An attendant explained that the camera could take a souvenir photograph and print it at a small kiosk nearby. Edward stood stiffly on each marked spot while the mirror lined him up first with the pink child’s frock, then the bridesmaid dress, and finally the pale blue evening gown. He found the effect disorienting. The reflection was obviously an illusion, yet the sight still made his cheeks warm.
It seemed Aunt Patricia was seeing not a museum novelty, but further proof of what she already wanted to believe about him. When the three little printed photographs slid out of the kiosk, Aunt Patricia clasped them as if they were treasures. The computer had added in the background of a crowded Victorian street behind him in the photos, and the software had edited his head onto the gowns in the scene. “Oh, these are perfect,” she said. “A sweet little memento of our educational afternoon.”
In the gift shop, there were custom souvenir pewter frames for sale for the photos with three small openings arranged beneath a scrollwork heading engraved with the museum’s name. Of course, Aunt Patricia bought one. “You can keep it in your room and remember today,” she smiled. To Edward’s dismay, his aunt also a rack of replica Victorian accessories. Among them was a yellow parasol with a carved handle, scalloped edging, and lace-like trim that almost exactly matched the shade of Edward’s dress. Aunt Patricia picked it up with a delighted gasp. “How could we possibly leave without this?” she said. Edward’s heart sank.
So, when they left the museum, Edward carried his yellow parasol folded against his shoulder, feeling even more conspicuous than when he had arrived. The afternoon sun shone on the museum steps, and Aunt Patricia immediately decided it was too perfect an opportunity to waste. “Just a few photographs, darling,” she said, guiding him to stand beside one of the stone columns. “Open your parasol. There! Chin up.” Edward obeyed, mortified as passersby watched him posing so girlishly in front of the museum in his yellow dress with a matching Victorian parasol. Aunt Patricia took several pictures while praising how sweet he looked.
Standing so daintily in his darling frock, Edward felt completely sissified as his Saturday was overtaken by smothering girlishness. With a pained feeling, he thought of how much fun those boys must be having at their baseball game.
“Just one or two more, darling,” his aunt instructed, “and smile for me!”
“Yes, Aunty,” he replied. He forced a weak smile.
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Topic: The Portrait of Edward Gray (Read 5016 times)
