Time - GBE prompt

Mona finished dusting the dressing table, gave the triple mirrors a final polish, and gazed around the room in contentment. Everything in its place. The one thing she couldn't abide was an untidy house. Her son, Jason, thought he was independent now, capable of living without her. Perhaps, for the most part, but the notion of tidying his bachelor pad never seemed to occur to him. Mona had quietly had a key cut for the apartment, told him she would pay for maid service, her little treat as he worked so hard, such long hours, and proceeded to clean for him. A couple of times a week, even if she didn't like to admit it, it filled the long, empty hours now her kids were flown.

Packing dusters and endless variations on cleaning products into her cleaning bucket, Mona noticed a sock lurking under the chair in the corner of the bedroom. She hooked it out, sniffed it gingerly and was relieved to find it clean, smelling only of detergent. Wondering where its pair was, she crossed to the sliding doors of the wardrobe, opened the left side and popped it into the sock drawer. A knowing smile crossed her lips when she caught the faintest trace of perfume. So, Jason was keeping things from her. A lady friend, one who came often enough to leave her scent in the room.

Curious, knowing it was wrong and feeling a little grubby, Mona slid hangers along the rail. Sniffing sleeves with all the training of a mother, she sifted through shirts and jackets but the scent eluded her. Ready to give up, puzzled why the scent would linger in the wardrobe, she noticed a final hanger. It wasn't on the rail, but hung on a nail hammered into the back wall. With Jason's clothes in their normal order, it wouldn't have been visible. She reached back, brought it into the light and her bewilderment deepened.

It was the perfect little black dress. She held it against herself, looking into the dressing table mirrors. If she slipped into it, the fit would be perfect... because it had once been hers. Her cocktail dress, not worn since she'd had the children. Forgotten in the back of her wardrobe, for years. The scent wafted around her, light, floral, girly. Mona tried to fight the little voice in the back of her head, but she lay the dress on the bed and turned back to the wardrobe. She had to know.

She wasn't really shocked, nor really surprised, when a box in the bottom, hidden in the shadows beneath the hanging clothes, revealed a pair of her black stilettos, although the basque, the lacy undies, the stockings and suspenders were new. She sat, surrounded by the evidence and wondered why she hadn't realised before. Over the years, Jason had never brought a girl home. He went out plenty, but never locally, always to the big cities. Had he been hiding his activities from small-minded, small-town folk, protecting his family? Did her son become her daughter on those jaunts, where he would be unknown, unremarked?

Mona carefully packed everything back in place, prepared to shove the box back into the shadows. Her mind teemed, uncertainty looming large. Should she tell him she knew? Would he be angry at her snooping? He had every right to be. Why hadn't he felt he could come to her? She'd always been open with him, made it possible for him to talk to her about anything... hadn't she? Her fingers brushed against something, pushed even further into the darkness. She grasped, drew out a bunch of papers. At first she couldn't figure out why a handful of newspapers should be thrust into the wardrobe, but closer scrutiny revealed circles in red ink, looping about sections of the ads.

They were adverts for dances. From salsa to country, every red circle picked out a dance, open to all comers, new folk, beginners, welcome. Maybe that was how Jason picked up dates. Anonymous dances, far from home and prying eyes. Tears pricked her eyes, brought on by the most ridiculous of thoughts – Did he struggle not to lead, or was his femininity so strong he happily gave in and allowed himself to be led? How long had he been hiding who he was, from everyone... from her? Swiping away the tears, Mona pressed everything back in place, gathered her coat, her bag, and let herself out. She needed to go home, to think, decide if she should confront him.

Jason let himself in and grinned. Mum had been over. The place smelled of polish and the fresh flowers she'd set in the vase on the hall table. He'd give her a call later, say thanks, maybe take her to lunch on the weekend. He dumped his laptop case on the kitchen counter and headed for the bedroom. A shower was much needed. Sally was coming over later and he intended to ask her to marry him. It had been building for a few months now, the urge to be married, to be settled, and Sally was the one, he was sure of it.

Showered, shaved and dripping gently onto the bedroom carpet, Jason surveyed his wardrobe, debating what was suitable attire for a proposal. The grey suit? No, too formal, too business. The jeans and red t-shirt she liked? No, not formal enough. Inspiration struck and he shoved aside a few shirts, searching for the powder blue one which went beautifully with his black jeans. It would be a good compromise between smart and casual. What he found brought him up short.

The black dress was hung back-to-front. Someone had found it, moved it. He picked it up now, held it to him, inhaled the light scent, unable to suppress a smile of remembrance. It was pretty much the only other time he got it out; when he wanted to remember. He'd been so good for so long now. It had been two years since he'd last worn it, last had the urge to wear it, but the memories of those times were powerful still. Powerful enough to prevent him putting it on.

He knelt down, reached for the box. Opening it only confirmed his suspicions. Although carefully repacked, the items had been moved, probably removed and puzzled over. He groped into the shadows, pulled out the papers, sifted through them. These too. They were out of sequence. He looked at the circled dances, smiles again lifting his lips, warmth, a sexual heat flooding through his body, but his eyes were not on the dances. They fell on the reports further down each page. 'Man found strangled near Josie's dance studio.' 'Man found stabbed to death after line dance class.' 'Mystery surrounds death of man found outside disco bar.' The last clipping was two years old.

Mum. It had to be. Jason rose, gathering up the box and the dress. He slipped into the dress, admiring the way it clung to his slender frame, how good it felt to wear it once more. He brushed out his mane of dark curls, let them frame his face. He had received so many comments over the years about how androgynous he was, and he used it now. A little make-up, an adjustment in posture, in attitude and he became a woman. Men flocked to him, eager to possess him, his acquired air of delicate femininity. Even when those men found out what he was, even then, they wanted him. And he let them, knowing what would follow. The shame, the anger, the physical abuse. That was his trigger, the moment they laid hands on him in anger he could justify his actions. Strangle with the pretty scarf about his neck. Stab with the knife hidden in the clutch purse.

But the last one had been just before he met Sally. Sally who he'd kept to himself, enjoyed in private, fallen in love with far from the eyes of family and friends, of the small town. Now he was ready to reveal her, bring her home, but Mum was going to ruin it. He could hear her, trying to approach the subject discreetly, asking him if he was gay. Even if he denied it, he had no explanation for the dress, the heels and she would always suspect. How long before she let the secret slip? How long before she felt compelled to speak quietly to Sally? It couldn't happen.

Slipping into his heels, Jason reached for the phone and dialled. It was time to dance once more.

“Hey mum. Look, I know it's spur of the moment, but will you come dancing with me tonight?”