Maria smiled, painfully, shyly. Myla instantly regretted putting her on the spot.
“I don’t understand much of what you are talking about,” Maria said. “I was thinking that I miss my mother. She has very black hair, but she has shown me a few gray hairs. She told me she was glad to have lived long enough to have gray hair. My grandmother has gray hair. You could say she is an old woman. She knows more than anyone else. It’s a fact. And if she doesn’t know, her best friend knows. They are both beautiful women. Once I asked my mother if I would be beautiful like my grandmother when I was old. She said I was beautiful now. She told me I was sun beauty because I was young. Bright and shiny, she said. My grandmother was moon beauty. Old people, especially old women, were beautiful like the moon
