Stories from The Moon / Cuentos de la Luna

It wasn’t my mother’s idea. At least, that’s what she says. She’d run desperate at this point. Granted, if my daughter’s hair refused to show up in three years, I might have tried this too. Being a baby, everything evokes wonder, but baby me wasn’t ready for what happened in Grandma’s kitchen that day. I was naively sitting in my high chair when I felt it--the cold, slimy sensation on my head. Naturally, I cried, but that didn’t stop them. The hands rubbed the soft pieces onto my scalp--massaging it slowly. I couldn’t fight back. I remember the liquid gliding down my chubby neck onto my shoulders and then dripping red onto the white tray attached to my chair. They left the cold stuff sitting there. They left me sitting there. I’ve never liked tomatoes.