Louisiana. A minuscule town. Grace’s mother watches her daughter get ready for her big date tonight. She is reminding herself not to cry. Although she wants to shed tears. Because kids grow up so very fast.
Sixteen-year-old Grace is seated before her mirror, cross-legged on the floor. Her mother is fixing her hair. Grace’s mother used to be a hairdresser in a former life, so she knows what she’s doing. They aren’t even close to the makeup application stage yet.
Meanwhile…
Over at Chad’s house, Chad’s dad comes barreling into the hallway after work, clueless as a Clydesdale. He finds Chad’s mom spying on her 17-year-old son.
Mom is camped outside the boy’s room. “Ssshhh!” she says.
Chad’s father peeks into the bedroom. Chad is wearing a brand new shirt. And—WHOA!—is Chad wearing hair gel?! Dad suppresses a laugh. He turns to see Mom smiling, too.
Back at Grace’s house. Grace and her mother have now moved on to the makeup phase launch sequence. This is going to take a while.
Her mother is positioning trays and brushes on
the dresser like Rembrandt at the easel. Grace seems like she’s having a hard time getting a deep breath tonight.
Nerves.
Her mother places a hand on Grace’s shoulder to steady her. This year has been a difficult year for American teenagers. Pandemics, social unrest, social distancing, and now the horrific events in our nation’s capital. What a hellish time to grow up. What an era to be a kid.
At the same time, 12 miles away, Chad has again stripped off his outfit. He now decides he hates his entire wardrobe. His bedroom floor is an ocean of failed clothing options. He browses his empty closet, dressed in only his underpants. His skinny, pale torso contains 0.0003 ounces of body fat. Every rib shows.
Chad’s mother wants to help her son dress, to put him in a shirt that will…