By: Adrianna Puente
The heat of a mid-afternoon Sunday
glowed off the apple cheeks of my mother.
Her polka dot dress swayed as we walked to a booth;
the squeak of the plastic covered seats muffled the rumble of my stomach.
Her hands gripped the two dollar, four dollar, six dollar menu;
my heart broke when she told me to order anything I wanted—
she only got pancakes.