'A Command Performance for The Only Audience that Matters' by Teresa Douglas

Sweet sixteen, high school lunch, five precise bites of pizza. Ignore the luscious smell of cheese and sauce. All our appetites must be delicate. Stomachs in, backs straight. Everyday a performance for a hostile crowd. Their eyes glide past if we’re perfect.

Free forties, sprinklers shooting water like fireworks into sizzling summer air. We kick off shoes, laughing, toes gripping wet grass as we run through unexpected water with abandon.

Our tween-aged daughters stand horrified on the sidewalk, Mom people are looking at you!

But the water is a sweet release. And we teach the only audience that matters.