Hungry Girl Hungry to experience the world...

It’s almost noon. The sun beats down mercilessly, hanging at that peculiar angle that makes colors seem brighter. My thin cotton shirt clings to my back, which is damp with perspiration, despite the fact that I’m in the shade of several coconut trees. Three chickens roam around, as if in a gang, pecking and scratching at the ground, softly clucking to one another, eyeing me suspiciously. My stomach growls. I thumb the slightly damp paper money in my pocket and walk towards the make-shift burrito stand.
“Uno burrito, por favor.” I say. “One, please.”
The girl smiles and parrots me, “One, please.” She doesn’t speak much English; it must feel as clumsy on her tongue as the Spanish feels on mine. Somehow, this makes me relax about the fact that I am incapable of rolling my R’s.
“Estos son los frijoles,” her small voice says, pointing to a bucket on the left. These are the beans.
I nod my head yes, I would like some.
She dumps in a small amount of water from a disposable plastic cup stamped with a beer logo into the bucket. Armed with a bright pink shovel, she begins to stir the thick mixture vigorously. Her thin arms strain with effort.
“Este es el queso,” she says, pointing to another bucket. This is the cheese.
I nod again.
My stomach growls loudly.
The girl giggles.
“I’m hungry,” I say.
“I’m hungry,” she echoes.
“Esta es la tortilla”, she says, as she picks up a white frisbee and flips it upside-down. She takes a scoop from the bucket on the left with her shovel and fills the frisbee with coarse, wet sand. Then she grabs a handful of dry sand from the second bucket, and sprinkles it over the top.
“Un burrito con frijoles y queso!” she exclaims, and hands me the frisbee. I give her the crumpled paper money, scraps of newspaper, from my pocket.
I am just about to sit down to enjoy the feast she’s prepared when a voice calls out to us from across the yard. The girl grabs my hand, and we walk towards her grandfather’s house. It's time for lunch.