Delia: A Long Way from the Mountains

I’m in a hurry, so I ask the waitress in my “just the facts please” voice: What kind of soup do you have today?

She replies: You could tell me what kind of a day you are having first. Or I could just act like an order taking machine.

Startled by her reply, I take the initiative. Why don’t you tell me your name.

Delia,

And have you lived here in Reston all your life?

Yes, but my mother came from Peru.

Why?

To get a piece of the American dream.

And did she?

Yes. We are very comfortable and have a good life.

Are you a student?

Yes. I am studying biology and I hope to become a doctor.

Do you think you will go back to Peru when you finish your education?

No. I’ve never been there, but I am sure I don’t want to practice medicine there. I want to stay here in Virginia where I am comfortable.

I wonder why, when I look at here broad face and slanting Inca eyes that have never seen the mountains from which she came, I feel homesick for an unknown homeland.