On a sunny November morning, Navarro’s feet scraped against the hard-packed dirt; she was on her way to the flea market.

        Pressing her hand to her khaki shorts to muffle the jangling keys, she took a long drink from her can of Diet Coke. There was nothing better than a spicy drink to equal the autumn atmosphere.

          Upon Navarro’s arrival, she was greeted by a middle-aged man with gray-tipped hair.

          “Hello, Navarro. Your mama doin’ okay?”

          “Yes, sir. Thank ya.”

          “Lemme know if you need somethin’, alright Navvo?”

          “Got it, Mr. Parks. Thank ya.”

          Mr. Parks watched her back as she walked away. My, did she look like her mother.

          Navarro’s brown crusted sneakers crossed the threshold into the dusty barn, the haven of the flea market. Pumpkins lined the hay-holder above her head and squashes crowned smiling scarecrows. She pulled her hair to the side, naturally, to prevent it from getting caught on any protruding splinters of hay or wood. Her eyes floated towards a fragile old woman with a face that appeared to be made of papier-mâché, whose hand rose and motioned Navarro closer.

          “Hello, young girl,” she cooed, her voice syrupy.

          “Why, hi, ma’am,” Navarro said amiably. “What’s all this?”

          Clutching a fabric calendar in her rumpled hands, she simply smiled and turned away, drifting among her woven creations. The woman motioned Navarro closer once again.

        “Take this,” she said conclusively, pressing a small circular object into the girl’s palm and closing her fingers over it. “It is my present to you.”

          “Are you sure, ma’am?”

          “I am sure, girl.”

The elder turned and disappeared behind a tapestry created by her own hands.