Delia's Crossing (Delia 1)

“Good. We’ll pal around. You can go out with me Saturday night.”

“Saturday night?”

“Right. There’s a party. Bradley will be there, and…”

“No, I’m to go to a fiesta Saturday.”

“What? A fiesta? Where?”

“Mi amigo Ignacio…el cumpleaños de su hermana.”

“What? What’s that? In English,” she ordered.

“His sister, a birthday.”

“Ignacio? Wasn’t he the one who beat up Bradley?”

“Yes,” I said.

“He likes you, huh?” she asked, smiling. “You know?” She pressed her lips into a kiss.

I felt myself blush. “Quizás, maybe.”

“Right, maybe. I’m sure he wants to be your boyfriend.”

“Quizás.”

“Quizás, quizás. I’m sure he does, or else he wouldn’t invite you to a fiesta.” She thought a moment. “Does he know what happened to you, everything? Does he know everything?”

“No, not everything.”

“What, then, just what Bradley tried to do with you with the other boys?”

“Sí.”

“But he was very mad, very angry when he heard about that, right?”

“Angry, yes. He looked like…like él le mataría.”

“What? English. Tell me in English.”

“Kill…kill him if he found him.”

“Good,” she said. “Let me know where your fiesta is going to be. Dónde fiesta, okay?”

“Por qué…why?”

“Leave it up to me. I’m on your side, remember? I’m your prima.” She smiled. “Here,” she said, taking off her beautiful gold and diamond bracelet. She took my wrist and started to put it on me. “You need to look good now. You’re my prima.” She fastened it. “See? Beautiful, right?”

“Yes, but it is yours.”

“Not anymore. Now it’s yours,” she said. “Remember. Dónde fiesta?” she added, smiled, and left.

I stared at the beautiful bracelet. I knew enough about jewelry to know it was worth mucho dinero. What it cost could keep my grandmother with enough food and necessities for a year, maybe even two. I stared at it, thinking about all the work, all the mole she would have to make to equal its value. In an instant, with almost no thought at all, Sophia had given it to me. She had no appreciation of what this much money meant back in Mexico, which was part of her heritage as well as it was mine, even though mi tía Isabela had kept her from thinking so. It wasn’t just national boundaries that had kept us apart. I was crossing much more when I crossed into America and came to this house and this family.

Whenever I had complained about not seeing my other cousins very much in Mexico, my grandmother would smile and tell me what her grandmother had told her, Más vale amigos cercanos que parientes lejanos. It is better to have close friends than distant relatives.

As I continued to stare at the bracelet, fascinated with its beauty and value, I wondered in my heart if she had been right. Perhaps I should have kept my relatives distant.