Mamá Toni repeats the story every time there’s pan dulce on the table.
“El pan para la noche,” she says imitating me and giggles. “No te recuerdas?”
I shake my head no. All I remember of my trip to El Cargadero that summer was the excitement of being on a plane without my parents, running around the large plaza in front of Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni’s house playing games with the neighborhood kids, and getting hooked on Rosa Salvaje. I must have blocked out my love for pan dulce and the result.
When Danny and I returned from El Cargadero, I had gained weight. Again, I don’t remember this, but my mom and Mamá Toni insist that El Cargadero was the turning point. I was no longer average. From ’88 on I was chubby/chunky/fat/whatever/insert your own euphemism.
While I don’t remember the result of my trip to Zacatecas, I do remember my First Communion the next spring. I wore the white custom-made dress I wore as a flower girl for my Tía Nellie’s wedding just a few weeks earlier. While waiting for the ceremony to begin, mom talked to Mrs. Millan, my Brownie troop leader. Mrs. Millan complained about finding a dress for her small and skinny daughter. Mom told her she had the opposite problem, but was lucky I had the flower girl dress. I was embarrassed and felt like hiding.
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