Delia's Crossing (Delia 1)

He didn’t reply.

“I don’t understand why you defend Delia so much,” she continued. “Have you already done it with her? Is that it? She makes it easy for you? Have you finally lost your virginity?”

Without any warning or indication that he was even listening to his sister, Edward lifted his glass and heaved the contents, grape juice, across the table at her. It splattered over her face and clothes. She screamed, leaped to her feet, and rushed out of the dining room, crying.

Edward continued eating as if nothing at all had happened. He glanced at me.

“Go on,” he said. “Finish your dinner. Around here, you need your strength.”

I had no appetite. My insides felt tied up in knots, but I was afraid of not eating. For the moment, at least, everyone seemed crazy here.

“I have a lot of homework and a term paper to do,” Edward told me when he was finished. “Don’t worry. I’ll drive you to the bus tomorrow.”

I watched him leave, and then I helped Inez clear the table and clean up the kitchen before I went up to my room. Not eager to practice any English, I sat at the desk and tried to write a new letter to mi abuela Anabela, but every attempt was filled with so much self-pity, practically begging her to take me back, I tore it up.

It was difficult to fall asleep, even difficult to say my prayers. I felt God was not pleased with me now. I had not fought hard enough to stop Bradley Whitfield, and in the beginning, I was too flattered and welcomed his compliments and attention too much. I envisioned Father Martinez shaking his head at me. In my imagination, I saw myself in our village church, but my prayers and singing echoed off the walls and ceiling and never made it up to God’s ear.

I moved like someone in a daze the following morning. Bradley did not come by to pick up Sophia. I understood enough of her conversation with Tía Isabela at breakfast to understand that she and Bradley had had a bad argument over the telephone during the night. She didn’t want to get into the car with Edward, either, but her mother wouldn’t assign Señor Garman to drive her and certainly wouldn’t drive her herself. Pouting like a four-year-old, she sat in the rear and said nothing the entire time it took to bring me to the bus.

“Don’t worry,” Edward said before I got out. “I’ll be waiting here at the station for you this time.”

I nodded and closed the door. Sophia had her head down and wouldn’t look my way when

they drove off. There was a small crowd waiting for the bus. Some students from the school were there and some adults on their way to their respective jobs. I did not know any of the other students, because I was still only in the ESL classroom. None of them paid much attention to me, anyway. I was the last to get on the bus when it finally came, but Ignacio was saving a seat for me. He smiled as I approached.

“Good morning, Delia,” he said in English. “How are you today?”

“Fine,” I said, and sat without saying more.

“You don’t look fine,” he said, in Spanish this time.

“I’m fine,” I said sharply. I didn’t look at him.

He looked back at the station as if the answer to why I was the way I was remained back there. I felt his gaze on me.

“Problemas con su familia?”

Problems with my family? I thought, and nearly laughed.

“They are not my family,” I said. “My family is in Mexico. I want to go home,” I told him. “I wish I had money to help you buy your car so you could drive me back.”

He smiled. “If that’s what you want, I would do it,” he said. “I promise someday, maybe.”

I nodded and thanked him.

Everything was more difficult for me all day. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I was soiled inside and out. It depressed me and made me inattentive in class, which annoyed Señorita Holt. I stumbled over words and sentences I had long since mastered. At the lunch break, she asked me if I were feeling ill. I was afraid she might have the school call my aunt to tell her I was sick, so I said no. I told her I had a bellyache the night before and couldn’t sleep well. Lying was not something that had ever come easily to me. I was too quick to shift my eyes.

Señorita Holt didn’t speak. She stared at me in silence.

“I cannot help you solve your problem if you do not tell me what that problem is,” she said.

I was silent. How could I tell her?

“Okay, go have your lunch, Delia,” she told me, and turned away.

Now I felt even more guilty and unworthy. I barely ate my lunch. Although he didn’t say much to me, I felt Ignacio’s eyes watching me. I was even mean and disinterested in little Mata, who wanted to be friendlier with me. When I returned to class, I tried harder to be attentive and do better in my work, but I was still not doing as well as I should, and Señorita Holt let me know it with her frequent expressions of dissatisfaction, turning now to annoyance and disappointment as she openly criticized me. I was practically in tears when the bell for the end of the day finally sounded. I hurried out before she could call me aside again for a lecture or interrogation.

Ignacio was right behind me as I left the school building. At the moment, I didn’t want to talk to him, either. I was sure he would be asking me more questions, too. I just wanted to get back to the hacienda and lose myself in the housework. Maybe if I worked very hard and got myself very tired, I would sleep better that night.