Pastry Boy

I wrote this after a trip to Mexico.

Niño de volovanes

There was a boy selling pastries at a rest area in route to Veracruz, Mexico. I woke up from my slumber to go and use the bathroom. As I was getting out of the car, the boy made the announcement of his business.

"Volovanes! A quince pesos!"

The boy was standing alone selling pastries filled with pineapple and ham. He was holding the box of pastries with both his arms underneath it, taking caution for his product. Standing patiently, he was engulfed in the shade provided by the rest area building. The sun was brutal.

I walked past the boy with no intentions of purchasing a pastry. My mom tells me that any kind of food business is lucrative in Mexico. It doesn't matter how you are selling food, people will buy it. It's as if there's a built in trust among everyone in the the country. No one thinks twice about whether the food sold in odd places (like rest areas) can be dangerous.

As I was walking back to the car, I saw my mom talking to the boy selling pastries. The boy was telling her the prices and the contents of the pastries. My mom bought three pastries. Those seemed to be the frist three pastries the boy had sold all day. It was only one pm, but who knew how long the boy had been out there hustling.

As we pulled out of the parking space, I could see that the boy's face lit up. He was young, and his jean shorts made him appear shorter than he actually was. He looked innocent as can be. Who wouldn't trust a boy looking this innocent and kind with pastries?

As we drove off, the boy was beginning to sing.

© 2016 Romel Fernandez

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Reviews

Fahmida Mehreen

In the middle of all the confusions, hustle-bustle, ups and downs, life is actually that simple. Expectations: as plain a water. Demands: as clear as glass.
A good read, indeed.