He said, “Missi,” as in Missus, pronounced Mee-See. He said “Missi,” as in Teacher, as in Wise Lady, as in Maybe you have the answers because I didn’t ask my mom because I knew she wouldn’t have the answer, he said with his black hair and his raised hand, “Missi,” and Missi said, “Yes?” “Missi, I was in the supermercado the other day, I was with my mom, and we were at the cashier’s box, paying, I mean I wasn’t paying but my mom was” and the lighting was fluorescent and pale and people always look grayer then, “and two aisles ahead, I saw Rolandito’s mom.” Rolandito’s mom, unlike Rolandito, was not frozen, and the year 1999 ended and 2000 began and time continued for her and the only way Rolandito grew for her was through those digitized age progression pictures. “I saw Rolandito’s mom,” Christian said, “and I didn’t get it, Missi.” And then Missi said, “What didn’t you get, Christian?” And Christian said, “Well, it’s just,” and he even rolled his eyes a little bit, because he knew it was very obvious, “it’s just that she wasn’t crying.” And so Missi, middle-aged and attractive, Missi who had her own daughters and her volleyball body and her volleyball career and her volleyball hotness and who taught science and who had a great ass even though I didn’t know about great asses then or if I did I wasn’t aware on the “Look she has a great ass” level, Missi with the great ass said, “Well, Christian, life goes on,” she said, “We can’t always be crying in the supermercados and the supermalls and the supermax and the super wal mart,” she said or something like that, “we need to do what we need to do. Believe me, Rolandito’s mom had had a lot of time to cry. And maybe she still does, but not in the supermercados. It’s okay not to cry at the supermercados.” But Christian still didn’t understand, I could tell. I didn’t understand it either.