I don’t see anything.

I’m running out of shampoo. You can tell—I’ve gone too long without washing it. My hair is itchy and the top is slicked-over shiny with oil. Except one. There’s that one wirey white hair that pops up over the threads of brown, red and blonde.

I showed my grandmother. She smoothed it back down.

“I don’t see anything,” she said.

“It’s right there, grandma.”

The hair had popped up again. She smoothed it down gently.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sighed, and turned away from the mirror to me, straight-on, and smiled.


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