Dixie's Greens 2: The Exhibit

>Your father always said she was touchy about certain parts of her past, but you didn't see for yourself until that trip to the museum
>Sluggishly descending the stairs that morning, you overheard his gruff voice from the kitchen
>"...Says here that your new exhibit opened yesterday."
>"Damn! I forgot all about it!" a female voice interjected
>You rounded the corner and saw Dixie and your father peering over a newspaper on the dining room table
>"Morning, Dad. Morning, Dixie," you grumbled, walking past them to the fridge
>Extracting a half empty jug of milk, you glanced back at the pair
>Dixie was staring at you with a grin
>"Hey Anon, are you busy after school today?"

>You both had been to the South Carolina Museum of Warfare so many times that you memorized the layout of the whole building
>Not that it was very hard, given its comparatively small size
>What kept you frequently visiting were two specific items: a pistol and a worn out flag
>When she first took you there, you were still light enough to carry
>"See that? That's your great-great-great-great-great-great-granddaddy's gun, Anon!" she exclaimed with an exaggerated smile, pointing at the revolver through a layer of glass
>Being only a child, you remember finding it hilarious how she repeated the word "great" so many times, but you didn't realize exactly what she meant by the statement
>Only when you grew older did you understand who he was, but just based on the stories she'd tell, you could tell they were VERY close
>She was hardly interested in the other relics there, however this new exhibit got her incredibly excited
>The museum had a very generous offer, allowing all guests free entry for the next two days to attract more publicity
>The promotion worked, as the building was flooded with people of all ages that afternoon
>"It's this way, Anon! See?" Dixie shouted over the commotion, pointing up at a sign hanging from the ceiling
>"DIXIE", it read, "THE CONFEDERACY'S MOST FAMOUS SOLDIER"
>Now you were as interested as she was

>The centerpiece of the exhibit was a life-sized wooden replica of her in full uniform, encased in glass on a stone pedestal
>You were awestruck, as the hair color and texture was near identical to the bot at your side
>The uniform and all the leather accoutrements seemed to be plucked right out of the old photograph that hung on your living room wall
>The model's detailed face was beaming with pride and determination
>Dixie silently stared at it for a moment before muttering: "It's pretty good and all, but my coat was a darker shade of brown."
>Shrugging off her comment, you continued to examine the unmoving figure until a yell broke you out of your trance
>"WHAT THE SAM HILL IS THIS SHIT?!"
>The large crowd ceased their conversations almost immediately, peering towards the source of the voice
>It was an antique nandroid, eerily similar to the feature of the exhibit, standing in front of a gold-framed painting secured to the wall
>It depicted President Lincoln fastening a medal around Sergeant Major Dixie's neck
>The only problem was that she was smiling at him in the work of art
>Smiling
>"Oh no," you said to yourself
>"CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS, ANON?! DID THE ARTIST NOT KNOW I WAS ANYTHANG BUT HAPPY TO SEE THAT BASTARD WITH MY OWN TWO EYES?!"
>You rushed over to her, instinctively hoping that she'd lower her voice with less distance between you
>"My God, it's just a painting, Dixie!" you reminded, grabbing her shoulder, "Now, will you please settle down and stop making this scene?"
>In a move that barely surprised you, she quickly removed your hand from her body
>"NO, I WON'T SETTLE DOWN! A GOD DAMNED EXHIBIT WAS OPENED IN MY HONOR, AND THEY NEVER THOUGHT TO REACH OUT TO ME FOR ADVICE!"
>Between shouts, the room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop
>"AM I NOT WRONG, ANON?! THEY KNOW WE'RE FREQUENT GUESTS! THEY KNOW I'M NOT DEAD! MISTAKES LIKE THIS ARE RUININ' MY LEGACY!"
>"You're not wrong, Dixie, but you're overreacting," you calmly said, more forcefully grabbing her arm and trying to pull her away from the painting
>"Okay, okay, you're right! I'm calmin' down now, you see?" she replied, finally lowering her voice, "Can you let me go, please?"
>Confident she was telling the truth, you released your grip and started to walk back to the mannequin that you were busy viewing
>Normalcy was just starting to return to the room until you heard the deafening sound of glass shattering from behind
>And that's how your father got a bill in the mail for $1,000
>Thank God the art itself was unharmed, or else it would have been much more