American Girl

New Mexico

Nothing ever went right for Delia Cortez. She felt different, alienated from her schoolmates, and her body felt all wrong. Alone, she sat lotus-style on her single bed and looked out at the night sky. The stars attracted her. Beyond Planet Earth, amongst the vast galaxies, she envisioned a diverse world—a world dissimilar from the one she lived on.

Delia glared at the other students when she walked the school corridors. Her mind probed theirs, reading their thoughts. They stared back at her in angst. She knew she did not belong. She was apart from the rest of the students.

Where did she come from? How did she get to New Mexico? Delia's mind was blank about her past. Suddenly, she lived in New Mexico. She attended school, studied in the library until six o'clock, and walked home alone. Her mother put dinner on the table promptly every night. Her father sat at the head of the table, her mother at the foot. She sat between them.

Delia didn't have any brothers or sisters. Her family mostly kept to themselves. She didn't have a best friend or a boyfriend. She existed in a realm she couldn't understand. Why was she different?

Drawn to the mirror, Delia studied her face. She had no extra eye on her forehead, and her ears weren't on backward. She appeared normal. In fact, she could consider herself pretty. Her long hair was dark and luxuriant, her skin a creamy caramel color, and her body petite. When she smiled, her face brightened considerably. Yet, she found little reason to smile.

Her days plodded forward slowly. Delia awoke in the morning, showered, and went to school. She wore jeans and a hoodie with Nike written across the front. Most of the other students looked the same, but she felt she stood out.

Once, Roger Beaufort spoke to her between classes. He stood beside her locker, waiting for her to select her books for English lit and biology. He caught her geography when it slipped out and handed it to her.

"Hi," Roger greeted, grinning broadly.

Delia responded with a hello of her own. She smiled in return. Roger handed over the textbook, brushing his fingers against her hand. He jerked back as though something stung him. He continued to grin for a moment, and then his face altered. The expression seemed to melt into a look of agony. Delia didn't feel anything had changed. His brief touch felt like a whisper. She continued to smile as he backed away.

The corridor chatter halted, and all eyes turned in Delia's direction. She slammed her locker door closed and hugged her books against her chest. She thought of Moses parting the Red Sea when she headed toward her next class. Her classmates moved back, pressing their backs against the rows of lockers. Delia walked down the middle, her head high, her eyes focused straight ahead.

Behind her, the students fell back into normalcy. Their voices rose and fell in conversation. Delia entered her English-lit classroom and took her assigned seat. The teacher, sitting at his desk, looked up and dismissed her. Mr. Stills never called on her; Delia never raised her hand. She turned in her homework and received straight As but was yet to participate. The same happened in each of her classes.

The girls clustered together in the cafeteria. Delia heard them talking about Annie Cabot's pajama party. They laughed about a pillow fight and Annie's brother stealing their panties. Occasionally, they threw surreptitious glances toward her. Delia was the only girl not invited. No one wanted her at their party.

Delia closed her eyes and envisioned herself walking up to the catty girls. Slamming her hands on the table, she demanded answers. Why wasn't she invited? What did she do wrong? She would have given the world for inclusion.

Boy and girl, man and woman. What did it mean? Delia often questioned her sexuality. Who was she, and what was she? Did the others know more than she did? Confusion raged in her mind. She appeared to be female, but was she also male? She never saw her mother and father as man and woman. Under the surface, there was something else. She felt the same about her own body.

"Who am I?" Delia muttered. Mr. Stills looked up at her and then averted his eyes. She realized she had spoken out loud. Opening her book, she pretended to study.

Other students drifted in, taking their seats. The door closed, and Mr. Stills began their daily lesson. Delia listened carefully and took notes. They were studying Dickens. Behind her, Annie Cabot passed Cassie Humphreys a folded piece of paper. Cassie glanced at it before passing it to Charlie Prince. Charlie tossed it onto Roger's desk. Roger threw it toward Saundra Gip.

The folded note skidded across Saundra's desk and landed next to Delia's foot. Slumping sideways, Delia reached for it. Palming it, she placed it on her open book. Watching Mr. Stills carefully, she opened the note.

"Who is she? Where did she come from?" the paper read. Delia knew 'she' meant her. Frowning, she wadded it and closed her fist around it.

Slowly, Delia plodded homeward without stopping at the library. She wanted to hide, to spend the rest of her life bottled up within herself. Who was she? Where did she come from? Even Delia didn't have the answers to those questions.

Delia let herself into her house. It seemed eerily quiet. Calling for her mother, she drifted from the living room to the kitchen. The upstairs rooms were empty, too. Her father worked from home, and her mother rarely went out except for groceries. Delia wandered outside and circled the house. Strange.

Outback, an old garage squatted near the high fence. Delia should have paid more attention to it. However, she noticed a weak light beneath the side door on this occasion. She couldn't recall her parents entering the garage either. As far as she knew, it remained unused. Curious about the light, Delia approached. She touched the door and pushed. Her hand tingled with electricity. A vague vision appeared before her eyes.

Delia recalled traveling. A feeling of motion encapsulated her, then an accident. She remembered her father driving the vehicle, and her mother braced for impact beside him. The vehicle slammed into something hard, and Delia flew. When she regained consciousness, her family lived in New Mexico, and she went to school. There was no beginning to her life—nothing before New Mexico.

Pushing the side door open, Delia stood silhouetted in the entrance. Two shadow people leaned over a strange vehicle. She recognized her mother and father, but they did not look the same. They looked ghostly with pale naked bodies and wide black eyes. The eyes took over most of their faces with small slits beneath for nostrils and mouths. Delia stepped over the threshold and felt herself change also.

"Mama, Papa," she said in an unfamiliar language. Her transformed parents turned toward her.

Suddenly, Delia remembered everything. Their long journey, the accident, her awakening. The longing to go home overwhelmed her. She wanted to return to the place where she belonged. The same sense emanated from her parents. If they could repair the vehicle, they could leave and go home.

Delia approached her parents. She studied the large silvery object. It seemed to glow as she drew closer. Her father held a wrench-like object. Taking it from him, she studied the engine and made a few adjustments. She knew the answers and learned how to fix the broken equipment. Inside the old garage, her mind cleared. Delia felt welcome and at peace. Soon, they would return to their rightful place in the universe.

The stars beckoned Delia. She longed to play amongst them and become a part of that wide space beyond Planet Earth. Her family would resume their interrupted journey and eventually return home.

They took nothing with them; they needed nothing. Late at night, while Roswell, New Mexico, slept, Delia and her family boarded their spacecraft and traveled through the lightyears—back to where they belonged.

For a short while. Delia Cortez was an American Girl. On her home planet, she wove exciting stories about her short life in the United States. In them, she was never a loner but always a hero. Her friends were envious of her time in Roswell, New Mexico—a place of legend that most of them would never see. Delia—whose name wasn't really Delia—was one of the lucky ones.

!!!COMING SOON!!!

ARIZONA