Delia’s Crossing Read Online Free PDF Page B

or ask me any questions to pass the time. He listened to his radio as if he were all by himself. It was the way I felt. Why not him?
    In a little more than one hour, I was traveling through places I had never been. Looking back, I saw nothing familiar. It was truly as if God had snapped his fingers, and poof, like magic, my life and my world were gone.

3
Nothing Familiar
    A t no point during my journey was my aunt there to greet me. Whatever her reasons for not coming to the funerals, I nevertheless kept anticipating her, envisioning her standing there with my two cousins, all of them anxious about meeting me. After all, I was as much a stranger to them as they were to me, but I hoped they were eager to help me recover from such a catastrophic blow. I imagined their eyes would be filled with pity, and they would overwhelm me with their kindness and warm welcome.
    Perhaps my cousin Sophia, close to my age, would see me more as a sister than a cousin. Since we were close in age, maybe we were close to the same size. We would share so much. After all, I had been an only child and had no brothers and sisters, even though my parents had tried to have more children. I longed for such a sister, someone with whom I could trust my intimate thoughts and feelings and share the confusion and wonder that came with growing up. I would have so much to tell her about our Mexican heritage, and she would have tons to tell me about Palm Springs and the United States. Eventually, I would have to learn more English, of course. I knew some, but I was sure there were dozens of expressions that would confuse me at first. It would be necessary, but also it would be fun to learn them.
    I also looked forward to hearing music and going to movies and parties like the ones I occasionally saw on television or heard about from people who had been in the States. They described working at fiestas with more food than could feed our village for a week. The people were dressed like royalty, with diamonds glittering and gold dangling from their necks and wrists. There was lots of live music. I was told that every party, no matter how small the reason, was like a Mexican wedding. There was such abundance. Dogs and cats in America ate better than people ate in most underdeveloped countries.
    Thinking about entering such a world both frightened and excited me. How long would it take for me to get used to it? Would I ever get used to it? I would have so much compared to what I did have. How soon would I be able to send things to mi abuela Anabela? Would I indeed have a bedroom almost as big as our casa ? And would there be a wardrobe of new clothing awaiting me in that bedroom?
    I tried to shoo away all of these hopeful fantasies, feeling terribly guilty about imagining anything wonderful and good resulting from my parents’ unfortunate deaths, but it was hard not to think about all of it as I traveled from the limousine to the airplane and then another limousine.
    I pretended that I had been in an airplane before, in order to bolster my own courage, but anyone could see both my fear and my wonder. The flight attendant kept looking at me, smiling, and asking me if I was all right. Maybe I looked as if I would throw up. My stomach was doing flip-flops. I was given the paperwork to show at customs in Houston, Texas, but the scrutinizing eyes made me so nervous I was sure I looked as if I were smuggling in something illegal. My bag was searched. I boarded my second flight, which was in a smaller plane. No one paid much attention to me this time, and the gentleman beside me slept almost the whole trip.
    When we arrived at the Palm Springs airport, I saw my name on a big card being held by a stout-looking, somewhat gray-haired man in a uniform even more impressive than the one worn by the driver who had picked me up in Mexico. This man had gold epaulets on his shoulders and wore white gloves.
    “ Soy Delia Yebarra,” I said, approaching him. I looked past him, hoping