The Fashion Towne Chronicles

Understanding

Milo turned toward the bathroom door and carefully opened it.

He peered out into the hallway and listened. He knew he was alone in the house, his mom had gone off shopping trying to score some Black Friday deals and his Dad had gone to work.

His mom had finally agreed to let him stay home by himself for the first time, since she thought he was getting old enough and there was someone home next door if there were any problems.

He stepped through the door and into the hallway heading toward the living room.

He only made it a couple of steps when he suddenly heard a voice call out from behind him.

"My dress!" his mother gasped in shock.

Milo spun about, his sheer nylon encased feet sliding easily on the hardwood floor.

"Oh!" was all that escaped his mouth as he stared at her with tears beginning to sting his eyes.

After a moment of stunned silence between them, he rushed back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

"Milo?" his mother called from outside the door. "Why are you wearing my dress?"

He couldn't answer her. He stood at the sink, trembling. He tried looking at himself in the mirror but he couldn't see anything, the tears filling his eyes blurred the world around him.

"Milo?" she called out louder this time as she once again banged on the door. "Milo, honey, are you alright? What's going on? Why are you wearing my clothes? Milo, answer me!"

"I . . . I'm fine," he finally managed to speak. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Hurry up, I'll be waiting for you in the kitchen."

Milo listened and heard the soft thud of her soft, canvas, tennis shoes as she walked away.

How did she manage to come into the house without him hearing her? She must be making a quick stop and didn't come through the garage like normal. That door made enough noise to hear through the whole house and he had been counting on it as a heads up.

He grabbed a towel and dried his eyes. He could see himself now, in the mirror. The dark brown dress with no sleeves and round collar was long on him because at not quite thirteen years old, he wasn't as tall as his mother. It came down well below his knees. It was a straight dress with a little skirt around the waist above the bottom part of the dress. He didn't know the word peplum yet.

He began working his way out of the dress, then peeled off the pantyhose and the silky plain white panties which were too big for him, and carefully stacked everything on the toilet seat while he put his own clothes back on.

At last, he opened the door and took the clothes back to his parent's bedroom. Even though his mother had seen him he still went to great efforts to put everything back exactly as he had found them. He hung the dress back in the closet and made his way to the kitchen.

The closer he got the worse his stomach felt.

Finally, he stepped into the kitchen where he saw his mother patiently waiting for him.

"Milo, come in and sit down," she calmly invited. "I've had some time to think about things and I have a couple questions for you, then I think it might be best if we wait to talk more about this tonight when your father gets home."

A look of terror formed on Milo's face.

"Do we have to tell him?" He pleaded as he sat in the chair opposite his mother. "Can't we just forget this if I promise never to do it again?"