The Tequila Worm by Viola Canales Page B

singing
“Las Mañanitas.”
I closed my eyes, made my secret wish, and then blew out all the candles with one big puff.
    After the clapping and double servings of cake, Mama reached on top of the refrigerator and grabbed the carton of eggs.
    “Here, Sofia! This is your birthday present from all of us!”
    “Eh . . . thank you,” I said as I took the carton. Everybody started laughing.
    “Open it,
Comadre
Sofia!” Lucy said, kneeling on her chair.
    Papa and Mama were standing next to me, their arms around each other.
    Inside I found twelve
cascarones
.
    “Well, thank you,” I said, smiling.
    “Sofia,” Lucy pointed. “Look at those four. Those are your presents. Open them!”
    I took the one at the corner. It was bright yellow with a drawing of two people at a sewing machine. I turned the egg and found a drawing of five stick people in a car. “That’s from me!” said Berta, smiling.
    “Do you want me to crack it on your head?” I asked, remembering the mustard-filled
cascarone
she had smashed on my head many Easters before.
    “No!” They were all laughing. “Break it over your cake plate, but carefully.”
    I took the egg, cracked it around the top, hitting it on the edge of the plate. I pulled off the shell pieces.
    A small plastic box on a key chain fell into the plate. I picked it up. “Look inside! But point it at the light!” Berta said. I took the box and peered through the small hole at the end, pointing the other end at the lightbulb. I started to laugh. It was the picture of Mama and me dancing at Berta’s
quinceañera
.
    “It’s like you and your mama dancing on the big drive-in screen!” said Berta. “And do you know what the two drawings on the
cascarone
are?” I smiled and shook my head. “One is of you and me at the sewing machine, making your school dresses. The other . . . well . . . I finally got your papa and mama to agree to use my car to take you up to Austin. And I’m going too!”
    I gave her a big hug.
    “Now open Mama’s! It’s the red one!” Lucy said.
    I took the red
cascarone
and studied the drawings. One was of my shirt with the holy host inside the pocket. The other was of Berta and me biting and kicking each other over a candy bar. I cracked the egg, peeled it open, and pulled out a greenish rosary.
    “It glows in the dark!” Mama said. “And I made it myself ! Thank God and the Virgin that I finally found the keys to my chest, for I was secretly hiding it there. It’s for your home altar at school. And I thought you’d like a glow-in-the-dark one since I remembered how you and your papa went through all that mess and trouble catching all those poor fireflies and smearing them all over your faces and arms, just to glow in the dark.”
    “Mama, thanks.” I glanced at Berta, who was biting her lip to keep from cracking up.
    “Papa’s is next!” Lucy gave me the blue one with the silver stars and the yellow paper crown. It had two drawings: one of Papa and me cleaning beans, the other of Lucy and me coloring eggs on the porch.
    A small wooden figure fell out. “Do you know who she is?” Papa said, smiling. “I finally finished carving her this morning.” I looked more closely.
    “Is it a saint?” I turned it around.
    “It’s not just any saint, mi’ja. It’s your saint, Saint Sofia. Remember we named you after Saint Sofia since you chose to be born on her feast day—August first.”
    “Thank you, Papa.”
    “But, mi’ja, I want you to always remember, and especially when you’re far away at school, that Saint Sofia represents the gift of divine wisdom. Take her with you so that you can marry divine wisdom with everything you do.”
    “Now mine!” said Lucy, jumping up and down and handing me the green
cascarone
.
    “Now,
Comadre
Lucy,” I said. “It’s not a real egg this time, is it?”
    “No!” she said, beaming.
    “Is that the three
comadres
in Berta’s car?” I pointed to the black crayon drawing on the egg.
    “Yes! And I’m