To dash out to the store for eggs, cheese, bolillos, avocados, bananas, I need only to walk a short block to the corner tienda where Marisol and her mother, Carmen, greet me with huge smiles and easy conversation. Mirasol is a beautiful 21-year-old who is learning English by watching TV.

When we first met, Mirasol confided that she would like to work for an artist and be a painter herself. “Why would anyone hire you?” I asked. She shrugged and made herself small like a little girl, no doubt believing it’s impolite to toot one’s own horn. I rephrased the question: “How would your best friend answer that for you?” She puffed up and said with a swagger, “Because I’m very creative!”

I have been nudging Mirasol to enroll in Casa Cultura, a state-sponsored arts and crafts school she did not know existed, with the idea of creating a portfolio. “I’ll need that to go to Instituto Allende,” she declared, obviously having imagined herself attending the prestigious art school.

Carmen supports her daughter’s dreams. “I didn’t have the opportunities she has,” she admits with pride in providing Mirasol the chance for a different life than that of her own: 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, behind the counter of the family business.

Today when I entered the store, five weeks since our first conversation about her wanting to pursue art, Mirasol jumped up from behind the counter cluttered with jars of candy and bags of chips and nuts, and announced, “Surprise, Aysha! I went to the school and got the schedule!”

“Fantastic! Did you sign up for courses?”

“Yes. There is only one painting class, on Mondays, and I have signed up.”

“Wow, that’s terrific! When I return next year, I would love  if you would give me one of your first drawings or paintings.”

Mirasol smiled broadly and shook my hand firmly: “I promise, Aysha, and I will write a dedication on it too.”

It will be among my most cherished possessions.