Theme: Flower
Food: Vegetables
Bridget smooths the sides of his dress and fluffs the bow on the front of his garment. He turns to the bear reclined on the rocking chair and breathes in with closed eyes. He thinks about what girls do, what they say. Then he runs his maid's words over his head:
Girls don't play in the mud.
Girls don't run in the house.
Girls don't curse.
"Bridget!" his father's gruff, gentle voice calls.
"That's my cue," the young boy says cheerily.
Each movement is carefully orchestrated, from the delicate steps down the stairs to the sweep of his hand, fingertips gliding down the handrail. At the foot of the stairs are party guests, waiting to greet the young mistress of the manor. Immediately he is bathed in an applause of mutters about how beautiful he is, how sweet, how charming, how girlish.
"Like a little doll," he hears an old lady say.
"Hello."
Bridget crosses one leg in front of the other and curtsies. He doesn't need to take his act to the extreme but he wants to be excruciatingly convincing.
Years ago, Bridget would have refused to put on such a girlish charm, preferring to kept to himself near the vegetable hors d'oeuvres (where not many ventured) with his yo-yo. The boy was a far cry from anti-social; his reason for staying secluded at parties was because his acting natural shocked the guests. In a way he was rebelling against his situation. Being restrained in women's garments only worsened his need to prove himself a man.
OooO
"Bridget, something is wrong, isn't it? Don't deny it. I'm your mother."
There wasn't a book in her hands. This would be a long talk. The boy nervously turned away.
"We're not going to bed until you tell me," she pressed gently.
"..."
Bridget lifted his head. "Sometimes I wish I didn't have to dress as a girl."
"I figured as much." The woman had frowned. "I wish you didn't either."
"And now I'm expected to act like a girl." He pouted, rolling his eyes.
His mother's blue eyes had lit up like sapphires, hearing the word act.
"Did you know that in Shakespeare's time men played the women's roles?"
"Why?"
"Women weren't allowed on stage. The theater was a man's grounds back then."
She ran a hand through his hair. "We're not asking you to be a girl, but to act like one. You're my little actor, right? I'd like to see your portrayal of a young lady. if you don't mind."
OoO
From then on. each morning he viewed the sun as the curtain rising. At night the curtain fell partially-- almost out of the role but not quite.
The best part about acting was the encore, when you knew the part you played was convincing. But when he left the village, his act off he began to hate the encore- it existed even when he wasn't playing the part.