Denise Bayes
The Lost Art of Millinery
From his workshop window, Oscar watches the woman walk past his building every day at dusk. Watches her weary steps, her bowed head low. She pauses beside the glossy green leaves, lifting her head to the white magnolia blooms. Oscar has looked down into her melancholy eyes and felt her sadness shudder through him.
Now he clicks his desk lamp on.
He focuses, circles around the blank mannequin head, sketching her features onto the smooth linden block in his imagination. Fingers stretched wide, he checks the precise proportions of crown, of brim.
Oscar onto the stool, shuffling his limbs. Magnolia white feathers sprout forth from the purple felt base. He fixes them with an amethyst brooch. Unravels violet tulle.
“The exact shade of her eyes,” he whispers into the silent room.
Folded forward, Oscar hems the veil with minuscule stitches. The rhythm of the needle frees his arthritic fingers. He flounces the net in a practised flourish, swooshing it to flatter.
He carries the finished hat across the room in outstretched arms, a priest processing, step by step down the empty staircase. Outside, the city street is suspended in afternoon stillness.
Soon, he knows, she will pass on her way home from work. He knows that her sad eyes will look upwards, into the tree.
Oscar pulls one branch close, releasing a waft of fragrance from the white petals. He perches the hat with care, releasing it with a shiver of violet net.
As he turns back towards his building, a ray of sun glances off the brooch, refracting a rainbow of light across the grey street.
Denise Bayes’ writing has appeared in various places including NZ Micro Madness, Oxford Flash, Free Flash Fiction, NFFD Anthology, 100 Word Story, Thin Skin, Temple in a City, and Underbelly Press. Denise lives in Barcelona, Spain with her husband and a cavalier King Charles spaniel called Rory, who is usually under the desk.
