The Shadow masks his face, He waits patiently, occasionally nodding. He doesn't try to defende himself. I am sure his is thinking, Soon it will end; soon it will be time for lunch. With the other gardeners, he will sit in the shade of my aunt's palm trees and unwrap his taco. They will drink their Corona beers and maybe have some beans and salsa.
Sometimes I watch them talking softly and laughing, and when I do, I'm jealous of their conversation. I know they speak only in Spanish, and they are surely talking about Mexico, their relatives, and the world that they, like me, have left behind. Despite the poverty and the other hardships of daily life back in rural Mexico, there was the contentment that came from being where you were born and raised, being comfortable with the land, the mountains, the breezes, even the dust, because it all was who and what you were.
The wather and landscapes here in Palm Springs are not terribly different from the wearher and landscapes in my village back in Mexico, but it is not mine. I don't mean in the sense of owning the property. The land truly claims us more than we claim the land. And it does that for all of us, no matter where we are born. No, I mean that I am still a stranger here.
I wonder, will I ever truly be a norteamericana?
Will my education, my aunt's wealth, my cousins, and the friends I have made here over the past two years and will continue to make here change me enough? Probably more important is the question, will they ever accept me as one of them, or will the simply treat me as a foreginer, an immigrant, forever?
YOU ARE READING
Delia's Heart
General FictionThis book isn't mine. It was written by Virginia Andrews <-- Credit! I am re-covering this book into Wattpad for the people who prefer reading on this rather than the proper book. Enjoy and leave comments!
