When You’re in the Mood for a Story
- about -
Color Revolution
Graycie Grayson lived for colors. She woke up every day not wondering what the day’s agenda was or what she would have for breakfast, but instead: What color should she wear? If the storm clouds rolled outside her window, she might choose brooding navy and dusty purple to lean into the somber, turbulent mood. Or she might counterattack the stormy day by wearing a top in neon orange and a bottom in hot pink. If she had a particularly joyful dream the night before, she would don head-to-toe yellow—as bright and sunny as she could find. She might even throw on a feather boa to complete the look if she was feeling especially jaunty.
Graycie didn’t care about seasonal color charts or whether the hues would complement her eye color or skin tone. She was more interested in complimenting her mood tone.
Graycie woke up one fine spring morning to find the sky a dusky, cornflower blue. She decided to celebrate the new grass poking out of the bare earth by wearing her chartreuse tights. The apple trees were threatening to burst from bud to blossom, so she paired her tights with a pale, rosy skirt and a crisp lilac blouse. A canary-yellow cardigan rounded out her attire. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like an Easter egg. Perfect.
Her mom fed her eggs sunny-side up and her little brother didn’t try to scare her from behind the couch—not even once. She skipped to school, and the birds seemed to escort her there, serenading her. It was French Toast Sticks for hot lunch, and Graycie got picked first for kickball at recess. A sudden dental emergency for her teacher brought in a substitute teacher for the afternoon which meant no quizzes and a movie before the end-of-day bell. The walk home brought a warm breeze against her back, and Graycie peeled off her cardigan, enjoying the sunshine on her bare arms.
And then she got home.
At least, she thought it was home. It had her address: 4444 Steel Street. It had her black minivan parked in the driveway. It had her brother’s wheely car stranded on the front lawn. But her house wasn’t the bright, cheery barn red anymore—it was suddenly, inexplicably gray.
Graycie stopped just shy of the front walk, shocked and curious. Her mother, sporting a silver turtleneck and charcoal slacks, came out the front door to greet her.
“Hello, Graycie. How was your day?” her mother asked nonchalantly.
“Um, um, um … it was fine. A great day, actually. But, um, Mom? What’s up with the house?” Graycie stuttered.
“What do you mean, dear?” her mother asked.
Graycie looked at her and raised her eyebrows. “Mom. It’s a different color.” She threw her arms into the air and gestured, drawing a wide, wild square with her hands.
“Oh, yes. That,” her mother sighed. “Well, you see, we’ve had a visit from your father’s great-aunt Blanche. She and your father had a little chat, and it seems that things will be a bit different from now on.”