Delia's Crossing (Delia 1)

“Why is it hard to save money?”

“There’s so much to buy and so much to do,” he said. “Too many temptations. There’s even a movie theater that shows films in Spanish. Lucky for me, my father makes me work all the time, but on Sunday, when I go to the mall, I have to keep my hands in my pockets.”

I laughed.

“I do!” he emphasized. “My friends call me a miser, but I don’t care. I want my car.”

“I hope you get it,” I said. “I feel confident that you will.”

He liked that.

“You know how to go from the bus station to your aunt’s hacienda?”

“I think so, but I’m not sure,” I said.

He explained very carefully.

“If I had my car,” he said, “I’d drive you home every day.”

That brought a smile to my face, but my smile seemed to frighten him. He turned away quickly.

A shy boy from Mexico, I thought. He’s the first I’ve met. It brought a laugh inside me.

When the bus pulled up to my station, he followed me down the aisle and repeated the directions until I was nearly out the door. I thanked him and stepped off the bus. He looked out the window at me, and I waved, but he didn’t wave back. He turned to look forward quickly, as if he was afraid someone would notice a girl was waving to him. I watched the bus go off and started for my aunt’s hacienda.

Actual

ly, speaking with Ignacio and spending my school day with other students recently from Mexico helped me feel better about being here.

“When you’re with your own people, people who share your traditions, your language, and even your memories, you are not far from home,” my grandmother had told me the night before I left for America, “no matter how long it would take you to get back.” I thought she was telling me all this to keep me from being afraid, but now I thought she was right.

As if it was meant to happen on my walk just to emphasize what my grandmother had said, music from Mexico could be heard coming from a radio two men were listening to as they painted a garage. I knew the song, and for a moment, I just stood there with a half-smile on my face, listening, too. If I closed my eyes, I could easily imagine I was standing back in our village square. Everyone was dressed in their nicest clothes and feeling happy, some because they were drinking tequila. In the coolness of the early evening, with the dancing and the food, everyone seemed younger. It was all so simple and yet so magical. Would I ever feel that magic here?

“Delia, Delia,” I heard, and turned to see Edward in a red convertible sports car. It had only two seats. How many cars did he have? The car he had driven when he came looking for me was a sedan. “C’mon, get in. I’ll drive you home,” he shouted.

I approached the car, still hesitant.

“Get in,” he said. He beckoned, and I opened the car door and slipped into the seat. “I was afraid I had missed you,” he told me. I shook my head, not understanding. He pointed to his head. “I thought you no aquí, too late.”

“Oh. Yes.”

He smiled. “Between my sign language and broken Spanish and your broken English, we’ll do just fine,” he said, and started away. “Did you like escuela?”

“Yes. I like mi profesora.”

“Great,” he said, smiling. “Learn English quickly so you can tell me more, más about you,” he said, pointing.

“Yo?”

“Yes, you. Yo? You sound like Rocky,” he said, laughing. “Yo!”

I laughed, too, although I wasn’t sure exactly what I was laughing at, maybe just how happy and pleasant he was. Through his gestures, his little Spanish, and the English I understood, he apologized for not being able to take me to school every morning. His private school was in the opposite direction, and there was not enough time to go to both.

“But I can get you to the bus station,” he said.

As we drove up the driveway to the house, we could see another sports car parked in front. It was blue and just as new and beautiful. However, when we drew closer, I saw it had a very bad dent on the right front fender. Edward grimaced.

“Sophia’s boyfriend is here,” he said. “Bradley Whitfield. He takes her home when I don’t, which is most of the time.” He looked at me, pointed to the car, and added, “My sister’s boyfriend. Boyfriend.”