My aunt Veronica was the polar opposite of my mother. Though she wasn’t the oldest, she’d been the first of the sisters to get married, leave the neighborhood, and distance herself from poverty and the family in almost every possible sense. She’d separated from her husband a few years before, worked in a bank, and had a modern apartment that was comfortable and clean. She was very pretty, with white skin and dyed blond hair. She looked much younger than she was, much younger than Mama. From the start, she was always affectionate and attentive with me. She couldn’t understand how they’d sent me with only one change of clothes for the whole vacation, and our second day there she took me to the mall in La Serena. She bought me underwear, socks, two pairs of jeans, a pair of shorts, T-shirts, and a plaid button-down. She chose everything. The two of us went in the morning, and when we were on the way back she asked me if Mama had forgotten to pack my bag. I dodged the question. The answer was: partly yes, partly no. My mom had disappeared some days before the trip, and those were the only clothes I had at my grandmother’s house; she was the one who’d packed my bag. My aunt’s voice took on that serious tone, precise as a clock, that she used sometimes when she talked to me; she told me that if my mom didn’t take care of those things, then I would have to do it myself. I had to learn that I was the only person responsible for me. I nodded, accepting the challenge, and my aunt switched to a sweeter tone and asked me if I liked my new clothes. I just said “thank you” and turned to look out the window. We were driving along the highway and I couldn’t see the ocean, just dunes and some plants that looked dead. The landscape didn’t vary from one kilometer to the next. I thought of my house. The project where I lived with Mama was just as desertlike, it didn’t have any green either, but it was always so full of people, teeming and sonorous, it would never seem dead. I didn’t understand why the issue of the clothes was a problem. My sweat suits were my favorite articles of clothing, I only took them off so they could be washed. I had one set that was knockoff Adidas, another that was real Puma. Mama had gotten them for me; she loved sweat suits and sports clothes, too.