he tries on his mothers dress

He sat on the edge of his bed for a long time, the boy shorts in his lap, the taste of cigarette smoke still faint on his tongue. The house was silent. The afternoon stretched ahead of him, empty and formless. He should go back to school. He knew he should. But his legs didn't move, and his mind kept drifting back to the same place — the bottom drawer of his mother's dresser.

He stood up. He didn't let himself think about it. He just walked down the hallway, opened his parents' bedroom door, and went straight to the drawer. He pulled it open. The swimsuit was there, exactly where he'd left it. But today he wasn't looking for the swimsuit.

He pushed it aside. Beneath it, folded neatly, was something else. A dress.

He'd seen it before — she'd worn it to a work event a few weeks ago. He remembered thinking she looked nice. He hadn't thought much else about it at the time.

He pulled it out. It was a sleeveless beige dress with a silver zipper running down the front. The fabric was soft, structured but light. It had pleats at the waist, flaring into a short skirt. It was simple. Elegant. Not something he would ever have looked at twice.

He carried it back to his room and laid it on the bed.

Then he stood there, heart pounding, and asked himself what he was doing. He didn't have an answer. He just knew that the boy shorts had felt right, and the swimsuit had felt right, and he needed to know if this would feel right too.

He undressed. Slowly, deliberately. His blazer came off first, then his shirt, then his trousers. He stood in just his boxers for a moment, then pulled the boy shorts out from under his pillow and put them on instead. That felt right. Then he reached for the dress.

He stepped into it and pulled it up over his hips. The zipper was at the front, so he didn't have to reach behind. He pulled it up slowly, and the dress closed around him like it was made for him. It was snug at the waist but not tight, and the pleats flared out just above his knees. His arms were bare. His legs were bare. The fabric swished softly against his thighs when he moved.

He turned to the mirror.

The person looking back at him was a stranger — but not an unfamiliar one. Not anymore. His shoulder-length brown waves framed his face, and his olive skin glowed against the beige fabric. His blue eyes looked wider, softer. His shaved swimmers' legs were on full display, smooth and long, and the dress ended high enough on his thighs that he felt a little exposed but not uncomfortable.

He looked... good.

He turned sideways, then back. The dress moved with him. It was the lightest thing he'd ever worn. He felt like he could float away.

He swallowed hard, then went to the kitchen.

He didn't know why he went to the kitchen. Maybe because the house was empty and he wanted to be somewhere other than his bedroom. Maybe because he wanted to see what it would feel like to stand where his mother stood every morning — by the island, with her coffee and her cigarette — wearing something like this.

He walked barefoot down the stairs, the dress swishing around his legs. In the kitchen, the sunlight was pouring through the window. He opened the drawer where his mother kept the matches — she never used a lighter at home — and struck one. He lit a cigarette, just like she did. Index and middle finger. A slow drag. He leaned against the island, the way she always did, and exhaled toward the ceiling.

He stood in her spot, wearing her clothes, smoking her cigarettes, and for a single, suspended moment, he felt like someone else entirely.

Someone he might actually want to be.

He finished the cigarette slowly, savoring it. Then he stubbed it out in the ceramic dish on the counter — the same dish his mother used every morning. He washed his hands at the sink, checked his reflection in the dark window above it, and then went back upstairs.

He took the dress off carefully and hung it back in his mother's wardrobe, smoothing the wrinkles with his palm. He put the boy shorts back under his pillow. He got dressed in his school uniform again, like armor, like a costume.

Then he looked at the clock. He was over an hour late getting back to school.

He grabbed his rucksack and left the house.