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Chapter Text

Miguel sat on his knees, shining the shoes of the mariachi in front of him. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be in the plaza, but it was the best place in town to listen to music. He hummed along to the band currently playing in the gazebo. In reality, he liked the freedom he got by being allowed to stay out by himself. Besides, lots of people hung out in the plaza! If there was one thing he liked about his family’s business, it was the excuse to go into town.

The Rivera Family was well-known in Santa Cecilia as the best shoe-makers in the area. But they were also well-known for another reason. They were the only people in town who hated music. The young boy sighed as he pulled out some black shoe paint. He was different from the rest of his family. Miguel Rivera loved music, and dreamed, with every fiber of his being, of becoming a musician. A dream that he somehow managed to keep a secret from his family for years.

My family is always the worst on Días de Los Muertos. I can't even go 5 minutes without being reminded of family this and family that. I just want to play music, but all I hear is how much they expect me to be like the rest of them!

“Can I tell you something, señor?” He didn’t wait to see if the man acknowledged him. “Sometimes, I think I’m cursed. ‘Cause of something that happened before I was even born. See, a long time ago, there was this family. The papa, he was a musician. He and his family would sing and dance and count their blessings. But he also had a dream. To play for the world. And one day, he left with his guitar and never returned.” Miguel paused in his work. He smirked as he remembered what Abel had called their great-great-grandfather.

“And the mamá? She didn’t have time to cry over that walk-boy musician. After banishing all music from her life, she found a way to provide for her daughter. She rolled up her sleeves, and she learned to make shoes!” Miguel rolled his eyes and continued smearing paint on the shoes. The man tried to stop him, but the young boy had already continued talking.

“She could’ve made candy, o-o-or fireworks, or sparkly underwear for wrestlers?! But, no. She chose shoes. Then she taught her daughter to make shoes. And later, she taught her son-in-law. Then her grandkids got roped in. As her family grew, so did the business! Music had torn her family apart, but shoes held them all together!” He switched to the other shoe, coating new polish on the brush as he did so.

“You see, that woman? Was my great-great-grandmother, Mamá Imelda. She died way before I was born. But my family still tells her story, every year on Días de Los Muertos. The Day of the Dead!“ He really did admire Mamá Imelda. She was strict, sure, but to be determined enough to learn to make shoes? That must’ve been hard. Shoes were so tedious to make.

“And her little girl? She’s my great-grandmother, Mamá Coco! She calls me Julio, but actually, my name is Miguel. Mamá Coco has trouble remembering things. But it’s good to talk to her anyway, so I pretty much tell her everything.” And, yes, he really meant everything. She was the only one who knew that he loved music. He wished he could sneak he could play for her just once, but his abuelita constantly checked on her. He’d be caught before he played the first note.

“My abuelita? She’s Mamá Coco’s daughter. Abuelita runs our house just like Mamá Imelda did. I think we’re the only family in Mexico who hates music! And my family’s fine with that. But me? I’m not like the rest of my family! I know I’m not supposed to love music… But it’s not my fault!” Miguel wistfully stared at the gazebo as the band finished their song. They had ended with the best song ever, Remember Me. He turned his attention back to the man in front of him.

“It’s Ernesto De La Cruz’s, the greatest musician of all time! He started out a total nobody from Santa Cecilia, like me! But when he played music, he made people fall in love with him. He starred in movies, he had the coolest guitar, he could fly! And he wrote the best songs! But my all-time favorite is Remember Me.” He could picture himself in a mariachi outfit, just like de la Cruz. Standing on stage in front of hundreds of people.

“He lived the kind of life you’d dream about! Until 1942, when he was crushed by a giant bell. I wanna be just like him. Sometimes, I look at De La Cruz and get this feeling, like we’re connected somehow! Like if he could play music, maybe someday, ah-ah-I could too! If it wasn’t for my family.” Miguel’s shoulders slumped, and he stared at the man’s shoes in sadness. I don't know how much longer I can take this. “Aye-aye-aye muchacho! I asked for a shoeshine! Not your life’s story.” The mariachi sighed exasperatedly. “O-o-oh yeah. Sorry!” Miguel quickly grabbed two brushes and started brushing the man’s shoe again. The man strummed his guitar. “It’s just that I can’t really talk about any of this at home, so…”

The mariachi stared at him. “Look.” Miguel lifted his head to look at him. “If I were you? I’d march right up to my family and say, ‘Hey! I’m a musician! Deal with it!’” He motioned with his hands while he talked. Miguel chuckles, “I could never say that.” He went back to brushing. If you knew how scary my Abuelita can be, you’d understand why I never say anything. That didn’t deter his customer as he stared at him again. “You are a musician, no?” Miguel frowned, “I don’t know, I mean… I only really play for myself.” He had taught himself how to play guitar by watching videos of de la Cruz and listening to records. It took him forever to make a guitar too! But now he could at least practice playing songs.

“Ahhh. Did de la Cruz become the best musician by hiding his sweet, sweet skills? No! He walked out onto that plaza, and he played out loud! Oh, mira, mira.” He snapped his fingers as he gestured to the gazebo. The band that was there had cleared out, and people were swarming the stage with decorations. “They’re setting up for tonight! The music competition for Día de Muertos. You wanna be like your hero? You should sign up!” Miguel gazed at the poster that was being hung up on the plaza stage, then went back to shining the man’s shoes. He’d seen the poster before. They did it every year, after all, but he had never been able to attend, and he had never thought about playing in it.

“Uh-uh. My family would freak!” Abuelita would sic la chancla on me for sure. Then my parents would yell at me, and the rest of the family would probably hate me.  “Look, if you’re too scared, then well, have fun making shoes.” Miguel cringed as the man baited him. “Come on, what did De La Cruz always say?” The kid thought about it. “S-seize your moment?” He offered sheepishly. The man narrowed his eyes at his guitar in contemplation, before handing it over to Miguel.

“Show me what you got, muchacho.” Miguel stared at it in a mix of awe and surprise. No way! Does he really want to hear me play? “I’ll be your first audience.” Miguel took it from him, holding it with reverence. This was his dream. A real audience to play for. He looked at the man again, as though making sure it was alright. The man urged him with a smile. But just as he was about to strum the guitar…

“MIGUEL!”

Miguel gasped in horror, shoved the guitar into the man’s hands, and turned around. His abuelita was storming towards him, with his cousin Rosá and Tío Berto, carrying baskets of cempasúchil petals, following closely behind. “Abuelita!” Miguel gave her a sheepish wave at being caught. Oh no... What are they doing here? Abuelita never comes by the plaza! I'm so dead! “What are you doing here?!” Abuelita cried out. “Umm, uh-uh-ahhh.” Miguel hurriedly packed up his shoe-shining gear. Abuelita noticed the mariachi and glared at him, taking her sandal off as she continued walking towards them. “You leave my grandson alone!” She smacked him with the shoe, knocking his sombrero over his face in the process. Oh no. Please don't make a scene! The man fixed his sombrero.

“Doña, please! I was just getting a shine!” Abuelita ignored him and jabbed the sandal against his nose. Miguel watched in horror as he noticed people staring. She’s making a scene… “I know your tricks, mariachi! What did he say to you?” Her face softened as she looked at Miguel. Miguel panicked. “He was just showing me his guitar!” Shoot! I shouldn't have said that. His family gasped in shock. “Shame on you!” Tío Berto glared at the man from where he was standing. Abuelita advanced on the poor mariachi, chancla still in his face. The man backed up on the bench he was sitting on. He stood with his hands up in surrender. Miguel couldn’t do anything to stop her tirade against the musician; instead, he regretted coming to the plaza in the first place.

“My grandson is a sweet little angelito, perrito, cielito.” She gazed tenderly at Miguel, who nervously smiled at her. It turned into shock when abuelita shoved la chancla further at the man, and he fell off the bench. “He wants no part of your music, mariachi. You keep away from him!” Now you know why I never said anything. The man scrambled to back up, grabbing his guitar and sombrero with a yelp before running off.  Abuelita slipped her sandal back on and smother Miguel in a hug. “Aye, pobrecito! Oh, estás bien mijo.”

After kissing his head a couple times, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him back enough to see his face. Miguel is gasping from lack of oxygen. “You know better than to be here in this place!” Her face pinched in sternness, “You will come home, now!” Miguel watched her walk off in despair. Tío Berto gave him a stern glare before following Abuelita. Rosá spun on one leg, sent him a mocking smirk, and spun again to follow the others. Stupid Rosá. Of course, she doesn't get caught being rude.

Miguel sighed. He slung the shoe shining kit’s strap over his head, but as he was leaving, he noticed some flyers for the talent show. He had never given it much thought before, but that mariachi's suggestion echoed in his mind. Maybe I can sneak out to play. Or maybe I can convince Mamá or Papá to let me go watch? When he saw no one from his family was watching him, he ripped one off the wall and stuffed it in the kit.

“How many times have we told you, the plaza is crawling with Mariachis!” “Yes, Tío Berto.” Miguel monotonously replied. Maybe if you just let me be happy, you wouldn't find me to be such a bother. As they continued the trek back home, they passed by an old blue truck filled with cempasúchiles. Dante, a stray dog that Miguel took care of, perked up as the family passed by. “Arf!” He smiled and chased after Miguel. Dánte happily circled him, probably hoping for some food. Miguel tried to shoo Dante away before his abuelita could. Can today get any worse? “No, no, no, no!” He tells him quietly. “Hah! Go away! You go!” Abuelita removed her sandal again, swinging it at the dog. Dánte managed to dodge every swing, before running off into the nearest ally way. “It’s just Dánte!” Miguel tried to assure her. It didn’t stop Abuelita from throwing her shoe after Dánte. “Yelp!” The shoe hit its mark.

Miguel winced at the sound. I hope he's okay. “Never name a street dog! They’ll follow you forever.” She paused for a second before adding, “Now, go get my shoe.” Miguel huffed and walked into the alley. Now that Abuelita was gone, Dante came scurrying out from the street back into the alley. “Woof!” Dante jumped and knocked Miguel over. Miguel laughed as Dante stood on his stomach, licking his face. “I’m glad you’re okay, Dante. Have you seen Abuelita’s sandal?” Dante barked and retrieved the sandal from around the corner. He brought the slobbered shoe to Miguel. “Good boy, Dante! I owe you a treat later kay? See ya, Dante!” Miguel grabbed the shoe and ran back to his family.

Chapter Text

The group arrives at the Rivera Family Hacienda. The Riveras in the workshop are busy making shoes. Miguel is ushered into the workshop by Abuelita and he plops down onto a little stool in the center of the room. He stares dejectedly at the floor.

Here we go again.

“I found your son in Mariachi Plaza!” Abuelita gestures to Miguel as she speaks to Papá and Mamá. They are seated at a work table, stitching the leather on the shoes, and nearby, cousin Abel is buffering completed shoes.

“Aye, Miguel!”

“You know how Abuelita feels about the plaza.”

While Papá’s reprimand is stern, Mamá’s is toned in disappointment. Miguel looks up at his parents.

“Ah-I was just shining shoes!”

Miguel is interrupted by Tío Berto.

“A musician’s shoes!”

Everyone gasps. Abel loses control of the shoe he’s buffeting and it hits the ceiling, joining several others that became stuck there.

It was funny the first time.

“But the plaza’s where the foot traffic is!” Miguel reasoned.

Why do they always have to make a big deal about this? Why is it so terrible?

“If Abuelita says no more plaza, then no more plaza!” Papá gestured with the lasting pliers in his hand at each word at the end of his sentence.

“B-b-but what about tonight?”

“What’s tonight?” Abuelito asked.

Miguel slightly flinched. 

I didn’t mean to say that.

“They’re having this talent show…” Miguel steps forward slightly, clasps his hands together in a begging fashion.

Miguel was used to his parents always listening to Abuelita’s final word. He was hoping that this could be the one time that his parents would back him up.

“A-a-and I thought I might…” He pleads.

Please let me go...

Mamá adopts a skeptic look.

“Sign up?” She finishes his question.

“Well… maybe?” Miguel gestures with his hands. He started chanting in his mind.

Say yes, say yes, say yes,

“Ha ha ha ha!” Rosa moves a box onto the same table Papá and Mamá are working on.

“You have to have talent to be in a talent show.” She mocked.

“What are you going to do? Shine shoes?” Abel joined in. Karma catches up with him as the shoe from earlier falls from the ceiling onto his head.

“Ow.” He rubbed his head in pain. Miguel scoffed at them.

You deserved that, Abel.

“It’s Días de Los Muertos. No one’s going anywhere.” Abuelita lightly shoves a large bunch of cempasúchil into his hands.

She continues, “Tonight, is about family.”

 He spits some petals out of his mouth.

Of course, Abuelita says no.

Abuelita grabs him by the shoulders.

“Ofenda room. Vámanos.”

Abuelita led Miguel past the courtyard and into the Ofrenda Room. The entrance was covered in cempasúchil flowers. Miguel walked in while Abuelita wheeled Mamá Coco, who was waiting outside, in. The ofrenda is decorated with many bunches of cempasúchil, photos, candles, sugar skulls, and other offerings. Abuelita pressed a kiss to her mama’s cheek, then grabs Miguel’s shoulder again and pushes him up to it.

“Don’t give me that look! Días de Los Muertos is the one night of the year that your ancestors can come visit us!” She gestured at the photos on it and picks one up. She gazed at it fondly.

I've heard this a million times. Aughh. Alright, I'm out of here.

“We’ve put their photos on the ofrenda so their spirits can cross over. That is very important! If we don’t put them up, they can’t come! We made all of this food, set out the things they loved in life mijo! All of this work to bring the family together. I don’t want you sneaking off to who knows where.”

Miguel is sneaking out of the room as she says this. He tiptoes to the doorway on the side of the ofrenda room.

“Where are you going?!”

Miguel looked back sheepishly.

“I-I-I thought we were done?!”

“Ay, Dios mio.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.

“Being part of this family means being here for this family!” Grasping both hands, she dragged him back to the ofrenda. Miguel looks where she directs him but his mind is partly on trying to escape again.

“I don’t want to see you end up like-“

Miguel interrupts, “Like Mamá Coco’s papá?”

She slams her hand on the ofrenda and points in Miguel’s face.

“NEVER mention that man! He’s better off forgotten.”

“But you’re the one who-“

She cuts him off.

“Ah, da da chh!”

“I was just-“

“Chh chh chh!”

“But-I-“

“shh-chh!” She shoves her finger over his lips.

I didn’t even mention anything!

“Papá?” Mamá Coco interjected. Miguel and Abuelita turn to look at her.

“Papá is home?” Coco starts looking around, raising her shaking hand to seek him out.

Abuelita is at her side in an instant.

This is my chance! I really don't want to be here anymore.

“Mamá, cálmese, cálmese.” Abuelita places one hand on her back, and another on Coco’s hand.

“Papá is coming home?”

“No mamá.” Coco’s face immediately frowns in sadness and confusion at Abuelita’s words.

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

Coco looks up at Abuelita.

“Who are you?” Coco smiled.

Abuelita sighs and frowns.

Miguel didn't catch the rest of the conversation. He snuck out of the room as quietly as he could and darted off towards his sanctuary.

 “Ah!” Miguel turns at the sudden flood of light in his secret hideaway.

“Ah, it’s you! Get in here! Come on!” His relief turns to urgency when he realizes Dante is still partly under the sign.

Dante scrambles all the way in. Miguel goes back to working on his homemade guitar as the light in the room extinguishes.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble, boy. Someone could hear me.” Miguel is drawing on a paint chipped guitar. The handle now looks like a skull.

“I wish someone wanted to hear me…”

Miguel used a plier to tune it.

“Other than you.”

Dante tried to cheer him up by licking him.

“Ew! Okay!”

It works as Miguel laughs while pushing Dante off him.

I've worked so hard on making this guitar. Hopefully, it's all paid off!

He turns back to the guitar and strums it.

“Perfecto!”

Miguel pushed aside a curtain to reveal a secret ofrenda. This ofrenda is filled with memorabilia of Ernesto de la Cruz, candles, and a photo of de la Cruz. Miguel took a lit candle and used it to light the ones that had gone out. He brandishes the guitar like De La Cruz in his Remember Me record album, then grabs a VHS tape from a nearby shelf. He inserts the tape of de la Cruz’s best moments in an old tv.

“I have to sing. I have to play! The music, it’s not just in me, it is me!”

Miguel picked up the guitar and started to strum it in tune alongside the music on the tape. While the tape plays, Miguel’s eyes close. He feels the music. Breathes it. Becomes it.

“Senor de la Cruz, what did it take for you to seize your moment?”

He stops playing as Ernesto’s famous words of advice start to play and scooch up closer to the screen.

“I had to have faith in my dream. No one was going to hand it to me. It was up to me to reach out for that dream. Grab it tight and-“

“Make it come true.” “Make it come true.”

The tape ended.

They'll never understand but this is the real me.

Miguel looks from the screen to the flyer of the talent show.

“No more hiding Dante. I’ve got to seize my moment! I’m gonna play in Mariachi Plaza if it kills me!”

Chapter Text

Miguel grabbed his guitar and snuck out through the secret entrance. He had to be really careful not to be seen by the rest of his family. They were all outside right now trying to prepare the hacienda for their dead relatives’ visit. He crept across the roof with Dante at his heels.

He braced himself as he slid down the shingles of the siding and landed with a soft grunt. Dánte ungracefully slid off with a thump. Miguel smiled at his companion as he turned to leave the compound.

“Mamá! Where should we put this table?!” 

Miguel gasped in fright. His father was turning the corner, luckily with his back facing him, carrying a large table in his direction. He scrambled backward only to see Abuelita sweeping the ground away from him.

“In the courtyard, mijos!” She replied, not looking up.

Miguel’s heart pounded as he backed into the compound in order to avoid Abuelita and his father, who was now entering through the same entrance. He started hyperventilating but managed to sneak into the ofrenda room without getting caught.

There!

Miguel runs to the offering table and shoves the guitar under the tablecloth.

“Get under! Get under!” He shoves Dánte under as well.

“Miguel?”

His Abuelita, mother, and father stood outside the room. Miguel stiffened at his name.

“Uhh, nothing!” He squeaked, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and donned a wide, nervous grin.

Abuelito scowled in suspicion and propped her broom against the doorway as she walked past.

“Mamá, Papá. I- “Miguel ran up to meet them.

“Miguel, your abuelita had the most wonderful idea.”

Oh, no. This can’t be good.

His father begins, “We’ve all decided.”

Abuelita pulls an apron from the side of the room and hands it to Papá. He unravels it and holds it up.

“It’s time you joined us in the workshop!”

Miguel looks at himself after Papá slings it on him.

This CAN’T be happening! I don’t want to be a shoemaker!

“What?!” Miguel can’t hold the disbelief from his voice or expression.

None of his family catch it. They’re too caught up in pride and delight about the idea to notice Miguel’s reaction.

“No more shining shoes. You’ll be making them every day after school.”

Papá gestures in excitement. Abuelita jumps in joy and hugs him tight.

“Oh! Our Migueli-ti-ti-ti-to carrying on the family tradition.”

She grabs his cheeks and rubs them.

Ay-yi-yi that actually hurts a little.

Miguel’s face shifts between a slight wince when she pinches his cheeks and surprise. He heaves a couple breathes when she let’s go and once again, no one pays attention to Miguel’s reaction to the situation.

“And on Días de Los Muertos! Your ancestors will be so proud!”

Not again…

“You’ll craft huaraches just like your Tía Victoria.”

We’re back with the expectations.

“And wingtips like your Papá Julio,” Papá adds.

“But what if I’m no good at making shoes?”

I don’t want to make them in general!

He frowns when Mamá chuckles at his worries and the others give him a smile.

 “Ah, Miguel. You have your family here to guide you. You are a Rivera. And a Rivera is…”
Papá waits for Miguel to respond. Miguel looks down at the floor. His face pinches in despair.

“A shoemaker. Through and through.” His reply is flat and monotone.

Because you’ll never let me be anything else.

Papá hugs him and laughs in delight.

“That’s my boy! Berto!” After squeezing his son tight, he lets him go, rubs his head, and heads out of the room. Mamá and Abuelita ecstatically smile at him as they walk past.

“Break out the good stuff. I want to make a toast!” Papá calls out from the family plaza.

Miguel musters a fake smile for Mamá and Abuelita. Abuelita kisses him several times on his cheeks and hurries out with her broom. He sighs once they are all gone.

I wish they cared more about my feelings than the family business.

A thump from the ofrenda drew his attention from the doorway.

“Dante!” Dante was on top of the ofrenda eating one of the offerings.

Oh no! I’m gonna get in so much trouble if they see him or he breaks something!

“No Dante! Stop!”

Miguel rushes forward and grabs Dante around the stomach. As he tries to pull his dog from the Ofrenda, Dante digs his claws into the tablecloth. The ofrenda starts to shake and the photo of his Mamá Imelda falls from the very top as Miguel falls backward with Dante.

Miguel watched in horror as the photo fell. He jumped to his feet and tried to catch it, but he ended up juggling it before it broke against the floor.

“Ah!” Miguel covered his mouth.

“No, no, no, no, no! No.” He starts hyperventilating again.

But when he picked up the photo, he realized something odd about it.

Why’s it folded?

Miguel unravels it.

Is that…

“De la Cruz’s guitar?”

“Papá? Papá?” Mamá Coco starts asking behind him.

Miguel turns to her in wonder. She’s pointing at the photo.

“Mamá Coco. Is your papá Ernesto de la Cruz?”

There’s no way. Right?

“Papá! Papá!”

Miguel stares at the photo in his hands.

No way!

He runs out of the room and to his hideout. He grabs his record album cover off of the ofrenda and compares it to the photo. His smile gets even wider when he realizes they are the same.

It really is! It’s the same guitar! That’s why I always felt some kind of connection with him. It’s because…!

“Papá! Papá! It’s him!” Miguel comes tearing across the rough. His judgment smothered by his overwhelming joy. He clutches his guitar at his side as he stops at the edge of the roof overlooking his family.

“I know who my great-great-grandfather was!” He holds up the photo.

“Miguel! Get down from there!” Mamá holds an arm out in fear.

Miguel pays her no attention.

“Mamá Coco’s father was Ernesto de la Cruz! “

The family is even more confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m gonna be a musician!” Miguel crows.

His family looks at each other before crying out in outrage.

“No member of this family is going to be a musician!” Abuelita growls.

Miguel starts in confusion before his brain catches up to his actions.

Why did I do that? They hate my great-great-grandfather!

Miguel looks in dread at the angry faces of his parents and Abuelita. The rest of his family take notice of the commotion and walk over.

“Miguel Rivera! You get down here right now!” Papá yelled at him.

Miguel backed up in fear. Abuelita stomped forward.

“I don’t know where you got that guitar but I know it wasn’t in your room. You’ve been using the attic haven’t you!”

His parents follow Abuelita and Miguel turns and hurries back into his sanctuary.

Not my hideout! It’s the only thing keeping me sane! They’ll destroy it!

Miguel makes it inside as his Abuelita reaches the top of the ladder. She grabs him by the arm and moves him out of the way to see his secret ofrenda. Miguel hyperventilates as her face twists in rage and disgust. She grabs as much as she can in her arms and turns around. His mamá leads him out of the attic while his papá does the same as Abuelita. He can only watch in despair as they pull every music related item out of his hideout and throw it to the ground.

“What is all this? You keep secrets from your own family?”

Miguel looks up from his things. His whole family is staring at him.

I just want to play music…

“It’s all that time he spends in the plaza.” Tío Berto grunts.

Tía Gloria pitches in, “Fills his head with crazy fantasies!”

“It’s not a fantasy!” Miguel pleads.

“That man was Ernesto de la Cruz! The greatest musician of all time!”

Miguel holds out the photo in his hand of his great-great-grandparents. Papá takes it from him. He looks at the man as best as he can but can see much with the face on the photo ripped off. He doesn’t understand why Miguel is so obsessed with the notion of his great-great-grandfather.

“We’ve never known anything about this man! But whoever he was, he still abandoned his family. This is no future for my son.”

Miguel ducks his head a little at his lecture.

“But, Papá, you said my family would guide me. Well, de la Cruz is my family. I’m supposed to play music!”

Just listen to me, please!

“Never! That man’s music was a curse! I will not allow it!” Abuelita shouts.

Miguel turns back to Papá. Desperation laces his words.

“If you would just let-“

“Miguel…” Mamá gives him a stern look.

That makes him flinch in hurt.

I thought I could trust you to at least try to understand me…

“You will listen to your family. No more music!” Papá is angry now too.

Miguel lets out a breathless sob. His eyes dart between Abuelita and Papá before it falls on his guitar. He grabs it.

Maybe I can prove it to them!

“Just listen to me play!”

“End of argument.” His father gives him a reproachful glare.

Everyone in his family, except Mamá, are looking at him reproachfully. At his father’s reprimand, she looks at Miguel with slight realization. This is not just a phase. She doesn’t say anything though as Miguel tries to prevent himself from crying. He manages a couple strums before his Abuelita snatches it out of his hands.

“You want to end up like that man? Forgotten? Left of the family ofrenda?” Abuelita questions in fear.

So even playing music will get me kicked out of the family?!

Miguel felt a surge of anger rise within him. If something as small as liking music was enough to get him thrown out of the family then there was no way they cared about him as much as he thought.

“I don’t care if I’m some stupid ofrenda!”

His words were met with gasps of shock and horror.

It’s not like the dead really do visit today. It’s just a story adults tell kids.

Abuelita glanced down before turning her gaze to the guitar in her hand. When her expression soured, Miguel realized she had twisted the situation, once again, to blame music. He was worried but the second she lifted her hand all he felt was terror.

“No!”

Miguel reached his hands out to try to stop her.

“Mamá!” He vaguely heard his father call out.

But it was too late. She smashed the guitar against the ground multiple times until all that was left was the handle and a couple chunks of splintered wood hanging by the guitar strings. Debris was scattered all over the ground from the force driven by her hatred of music. Everyone was quiet. The family had never seen her like this before.

“There. No guitar, no music.” Abuelita made the sign of the cross.

It made Miguel feel sick. He stared at the broken remains of the guitar he had painstakingly made by hand. It meant everything to him, and she had destroyed it all in seconds. He was trying hard not to cry, but he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

My guitar…

“Oh, come. You’ll feel better after you eat with your family.” Abuelita stepped forward and put a hand on his cheek.”

…How could you?

Miguel couldn’t look her in the eye. How dare she break his most treasured possession and then try to be kind and motherly? It infuriated him.

I can’t live like this anymore!

“I don’t want to be in this family!”

Miguel snatched the photo from his papá. He tore through his family, running as fast as he could out of the hacienda. He heard his papá call out his name, but as he ran through the streets, he noted that no one in his family had given chase. No one cared enough to stop him from leaving. It was ironic, the grandfather abandoned them because of music, and they abandoned him because of music.

Fine then! I’ll show them. I’m meant to be a musician!

He wiped tears from his cheek and continued running until he reached the plaza. He saw a woman with a checkboard and approached her.

“I wanna play in the plaza, like de la Cruz. C-Can I still sign up?”

“You got an instrument?”

“No. But if I can borrow a guitar…”

I have to be a musician. It’s all I’ve got left.

“Musicians got to bring their own instruments. You find a guitar, kid, I’ll put you on the list.”

Miguel watched her walk up the stairs of gazebo stage. He frantically approached every guitar player in the plaza but no one would let him borrow their guitar. It hurt. A lot.

What do I do now? I just want to prove that they were wrong about music. That music is amazing. That music isn’t just in me, it is me.

Miguel scrunched his face in an attempt to prevent himself from crying again. As he walked away from the plaza, he looked up when he realized he was now standing in front of the memorial statue of Ernesto de la Cruz.

“Great-great-grandfather? What am I supposed to do?”

He looked down in sadness, eyes catching on de la Cruz’s memorial quote, “Seize your moment!”

He looked from the message to the photo he pulled from his pocket to the stone guitar in the statue’s hand.

That’s it! I’ve gotta seize my moment!

Miguel raced to the memorial mausoleum of Ernesto de la Cruz in the Santa Cecilia Cemetery.

Chapter Text

Miguel kept his hands in his pockets as he made his way through the people and the graves in the cemetery.

I just gotta be quick and not get caught. Ooh, there are so many people though… No! I have to do this. I’ve gotta seize my moment!

The mausoleum wasn’t very large but it was decorated in cempasúchil and candles. It was beautiful. Miguel never noticed Dante approach him until it was too late.

“Arf, Arf!”

He spun around, gesturing at Dante to calm down.

“No, no, no, no. Dante, stop! Cállete! Sh!”

He’s gonna get me noticed!

Miguel frantically looked around. His eyes alighted on a plate of offerings on the grave behind him. He grabbed a chicken leg and held it above his head. Dante sat up and waited for him to throw it. Miguel chucked it far away and Dante gave chase. He turned and snuck up to the side of the mausoleum, double checking that no one was watching, before climbing the side window.

Now I just need to get inside.

He pushed against the window but it was locked.

Great. How am I gonna get… in…

Miguel looked up at the sky as several fireworks went off.

Okay, I gotta time this right.

“I’m sorry.”

Miguel shoved his elbow against the window at the same time another firework went off. The window gave way to the force and jumped down from the sill into the mausoleum. He quietly approached the tomb and stared in wonder at de la Cruz’s guitar. The moon bathed it in an almost ethereal glow. He climbed up the casket, gasping when it slid the lid off slightly, and wiped the dust off of the surface of the guitar. Miguel could see his reflection in the newly cleaned spot.

“Señor de la Cruz, please don’t be mad. I-I’m Miguel.” He spoke at the painting hung on the wall behind the tomb.

“Your great-great-grandson. I-I-I need to borrow this.” He lifts it off the hooks on the wall and holds it carefully in his lap.

“Our family thinks music is a curse. None of them would understand but I know you would have.” He climbs down from the tomb and backs up, standing on a pile of cempasúchil and holding the guitar in the playing position.

“You would’ve told me to follow my heart. To seize my moment! So, if it’s alright with you, I-I’m gonna play in the plaza. Just like you did!”

Miguel smiled in excitement. He felt joy in his heart as he lifted his hand and strummed the guitar. The second he played it, the cempasúchil beneath his feet glowed and swirled around him for a couple like a mini tornado. He had closed his eyes when he strummed it and opened them when he felt the wind blow his bangs. He was surprised to see some petals floating down around him.

That’s odd. There’s no breeze in here. Okay, I’m a bit creeped out now.

Suddenly, Miguel heard raised voices. A light flashed into the mausoleum. He gasped and crouched low. People had discovered the guitar was gone. He backed up against the tomb and started gasping when more flashlights and people appeared in the windows.

“Somebody stole de la Cruz’s guitar!”

“The window’s broken. Look!”

Miguel quickly ran off to the side, out of the way of the flashlights and people’s gazes. He heaved loud breaths as keys jingled and a man opened the mausoleum gates.

“Alright, who’s in there?”

Miguel set the guitar down and ran into the open with his hands up.

“I’m sorry. It’s not what it looks like. De la Cruz is my-“

But the man walked through him.

“There’s nobody here.” The man picked the guitar up and went to put it back on the hooks. Miguel hyperventilated.

He didn’t see me. He went through me. What is this?! Wait…

Miguel looked at the ground where he had set the guitar down.

There’s another guitar?!

This guitar was the exact same as the one the man was holding, except it was also glowing orange. Miguel picked the guitar up. He froze when he heard people start to enter the mausoleum.

He turned and ran out the gates. He stopped and backed up as people continued to enter the mausoleum. No one saw him there. He reached out to grab the hand of a woman passing by but it went right through her. The action put him in the path of the entrance and he panicked further as a man walked through him. Miguel ran.

He ran down the steps and looked back at the mausoleum, trying to understand the situation.

“Miguel!”

That’s-!

“Mamá!”

He turned around and saw his parents walking through the cemetery calling out for me.

They did come after me!

“Miguel, come home. Where are you, Miguel?”

Miguel ran up to them with arms spread open, still holding the guitar by the handle. At this point, all he wanted was the comfort of his parents. He ran through them. He stumbled at the shock of not stopping when he expected to and tried to turn to them but tripped and fell backward into an unfilled grave.

The guitar!

He held the guitar out in front of him as he fell. It landed on his stomach.

Ow, that hurts…

“Dios mio! Little boy, are you okay? Here, let me help you.”

Miguel sat up, secured the shoulder strap so it was now crossbody on his back, and grabbed the arm that the woman had extended to him.
“Thanks, I-“

Miguel saw her face.

“Ahhh!” “Ahhh!” They both screamed

Monster!

He backed up and landed on his butt. He scooted until his guitar made contact with something firm. Miguel looked up in fright.

“Ah!”

Another?!

He got up and ran away only to bump into another skeleton. Again, he backed up in fear and the scowl she had on her face, to back into a third skeleton. This time, he backed into it so hard that its head landed in his hands.

“Do you mind?”

“Ah!” Miguel threw the skull and looked around. He was surrounded by several skeletons. They were looking at him in concern. Then, one noticed the guitar on his back.

“Isn’t that de la Cruz’s guitar?”

His statement was met with gasps.

“Wait, really?” “Did he steal it?” “It’s a spirit version!” “Why would he take it?”

He backed away in fright as they walked closer to him.

“I-I-It’s my great-great-grandfather’s!” He stuttered and then pushed his way past the increasing crowd of skeletons.

He ran a good distance before hiding behind a tombstone. Miguel gasped for breath as he peered out from behind the tombstone and saw many other skeletons around him.

What’s going on? Why are there skeletons? Why can I see them? Why am I a ghost? Why do I have de la Cruz’s guitar when it’s still at the tomb?

Miguel smacked his cheeks multiple times.

Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

“Ahh!” Miguel shrieked.

Dante had licked him in the face.

“Dante?! You can see me?” He held Dante’s face in his hands. The dog jumped up on him in joy.

Dante looked off to the side and then took off.

“Wait! What’s going on?”

Miguel gave chase.

“Dante! Dante!”

A man walked out in front of him and Miguel couldn’t stop his momentum from running. He crashed into him and they tumbled to the ground.

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Miguel started to gather his bones.

“Miguel?”

This alerted the rest of the people the man was with.

“Miguel?” “Miguel?”

Two women turned around and questioned.

Miguel was slightly grossed out when the man’s body started to reform itself, calling the bones Miguel was holding out of his hands.

“You’re here? Here, here. And you can see us?” The skeleton asked him.

“Our Migueli-ti-ti-ti-to!”

One of the women ran straight at him. She crashed through the man and paid no attention to him as he scattered across the ground again. She gave Miguel a big hug, petting his head and swinging him into her arms. She didn’t notice the guitar strapped to his back.

“Remind me how I know you?” Miguel was a little frightened at how this stranger was behaving.

“We’re your family, mijo.”

She let go of him, and he gasped as he tried to force air back into his lungs.

She hugs me like Abuelita does.

He looked up at her, scrunching his face in confusion as he tried to remember who she was.

“Tía Rosita?”

“Sí!” She gave a little wave of her fingers.

He started hyperventilating again. Miguel looked at the man he had run into earlier.

A picture from the ofrenda flashed in his mind.

“Papá Julio?”

“Hola.” He waved and smiled awkwardly.

Miguel looked up from Papá Julio into the calculating gaze of the second woman. She fixed the glasses on her face.

“Tía… Victoria?”

“He doesn’t seem entirely dead.” She poked him on the cheek.

Tía Rosita flinched when a girl ran through Miguel.

” He’s not quite alive either.”

Papá Julio grabbed at his hat in worry.

“We need Mamá Imelda. She’ll know how to fix this.”

“Oye!” they all turned to the two skeletons running up to them from the side.

“It’s Mamá Imelda.” One of them told the group. They were both panting from running.

“She couldn’t cross over.” The other finished.

His skeleton family gasped in shock.

“She’s stuck!”

“On the other side!” They spoke again.

Wait… Aren’t they-

“Tío Oscar? Tío Felipe?”

They looked at Miguel.

“Oh. Hey, Miguel.” One of the brothers greeted.

They gasped and backed against each other.

“I have a feeling this has something to do with you.” Tía Victoria regarded Miguel.

Now that she was looking at him, something seemed off. Her gaze caught the guitar handle sticking out from his back. She reached an arm out but Miguel backed up before she could grab the handle.

“What is that?” She growled.

Everyone turned to Miguel. They looked for what she was talking about and everyone caught sight of the guitar on his back.

“What are you doing with a guitar?” Tía Rosita cried out. She held her hands to her face in surprise and nervousness.

“We know Elena doesn't allow music in the family. Just like Imelda!” The twins added.

Miguel turned slightly and backed away from Tía Victoria, crossing in front of Tía Rosita and to the sides of his uncles.

“I -I love music. I’m gonna be a m-musician!”

“No.”

He flinched at Tía Victoria’s monotone response.

“That man made Mamá Imelda’s and Mamá’s life harder than it should've. I don't know the full story but I know that it hurt them both when he never came back. I listened to my Mamá talk about him all the time as a child and Elena and I always agreed on one thing, if he never left for that music career of his, their lives would've been better."

Miguel looked down at the ground. He tightened his grip on the guitar.

"I understand that. I get that it made it hard for you guys, but why does that justify the ban on music in general? It was his choice, not music's! Why do I have to suffer for it?" He pleaded.

Tía Victoria sighed.

"Mamá Imelda banned all music because she didn't want to be reminded about him. He broke her heart, Miguel. Elena does it because it reminds her of how Mamá Imelda and Mamá had to deal with their pain and sadness in hiding or the whispered rumors that circulated on occasion about why he left them. It's best for everyone, Miguel, if you adhere to the ban."

"Well what about me?!" Miguel huffed.

He twisted the strap in his hands.

"You care so much about not hurting them that you don't care that you're hurting me instead! This is why I ran away in the first place! No one cares!"

He turned and ran. The shock of his statement made his family freeze for a few seconds before they all turned and gave chase.

“Miguel!” “Miguel, wait!”

Miguel didn’t stop or listen as they called out to him. He wiped more tears from his eyes as he ran blindly away from them, zig-zagging in an attempt to lose them until he saw a golden flower bridge. He stopped at the base of the bridge. He was scared to cross it until he saw Dante flash past him and run right onto it.

“Dante!” He ran after him. Once he could no longer hear his family, he paused on the bridge to catch his breath. Dante was rolling in the cempasúchil petals of the bride. Miguel looked up and was amazed by the sight of bright lights and skyscrapers. The edge of the bridge scared him though, as it was a large dark abyss. He scooted away from it and gathered Dante to stand.

“Come on, boy. I need to get away from them and figure out what’s going on.”

 He knew he couldn’t go back, as his family was probably still chasing him, so he continued forward.

“Santa Maria!”
Miguel looked up. A woman freaked out when she saw him and backed away a bit. He pulled his hood up, tightened the straps and continued to cross the bridge. It didn’t take long for them to reach the end. He saw the gate where many skeletons were coming and going. Half the gate had lines of skeletons trying to make it through the gate, and skeletons behind the gate trying to cross the bridge. He walked up to the worker that was letting people onto the bridge.

Maybe she can help me?
“Excuse me, Señora? Where am I right now?”

The woman turned to him. When she saw he was human, she fainted. Miguel reached his hands out to her to try to help, but she recovered quickly.

“I’m sorry! You surprised me! This is the Land of the Remembered. Whenever people die in the Land of the Living, they come here.”

Miguel felt like he was gonna faint now.

“C-Can you help me? Is there anyone that can help me figure out what is going on?”

The woman looked at him, then looked through her line. She squinted at a figure a couple skeletons down the line.

“Frida! Frida Kahlo to the front please!”

No way!

“I’m gonna meet Frida Kahlo?!” Miguel was excited.

I’m gonna meet a celebrity!

The woman smiled and chuckled.

“It’s not actually Frida. I know the guy though, he can help.”

Miguel looked at her in confusion.

Then why did you ask for Frida Kahlo?

He watched as a skeleton that looked like Frida walked up to them.

“Yes, it is I, Frida Kahlo. How nice of you to-Ahhhh!”

She jumped and pointed at him.

“You’re alive! He’s alive!” Her voice dropped to that of a man’s.

“Yes, Hector. I know the boy is alive. That’s why I asked for you. Would you be willing to take him to the Department of Family Reunions? The head of the department can help him figure out what happened.”

Frida or Hector, as the woman had called him, glared.

“How’d you know so quickly? You barely even looked at me!”

“Because Frida is busy with the Sunrise Spectacular Rehearsal you goof. Please help him.” The woman gestured to Miguel and gave Hector pleading look.

“Look at how scared he is!”

Hector looked at him. Miguel glanced up at him with his head ducked under a little and his hands were twisting the guitar strap. He sighed and pulled apart his disguise.

“Fine. Come on chamaco, we’re going to the Department of Family Reunions.”

Miguel was surprised to see what Hector really looked like.

Man! I thought this place was supposed to be paradise but he looks really scruffy.

“Thanks, Señora!” Miguel scampered after the skeleton.

Maybe now I can figure out why I’m here.

Chapter Text

As Miguel, Dante, and Hector passed through the city on their way to the Department of Family Reunions, Miguel noted the odd looks he received from other skeletons. He pulled his hood over his face as several boldly pointed at him and whispered. Hector didn’t notice until Miguel clutched onto his vest from behind.

“Ay, chamaco! You’re going to make me trip walking so close.”

He turned and noted how uncomfortable Miguel looked. Hector stopped walking and looked around. Some people turned away and pretended not to have looked but others were undeterred. He followed their line of sight and finally noticed the guitar on Miguel’s back.

“What?! Chamaco, where did- hold on!”

Hector pulled him until an alleyway. Miguel flinched at the angry look on Hector’s face.

“Where did you get that?! Did you steal it?! Are you a grave robber?!”

Miguel pulled the guitar forward and held it close.

“No! I-It’s my great-great-grandfather’s! I was just borrowing it so that I could play in the talent show!”

Hector froze. He looked at Miguel and then at the guitar.

“… You’re great-great-grandfather?”

Miguel nodded.

“Yeah, Ernesto de la Cruz is my great-great-grandfather. It’s not stealing if I’m borrowing it and we’re related, he would’ve wanted me to have it!”

Hector’s eyeballs fell into his mouth.

Ew… That’s so gross…

Hector sighed and rubbed his face his hands.

“I can’t believe this… Actually, I can believe this. That man was always rash.”

He knelt down in front of Miguel and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, chamaco. You seem like a good kid. I don’t understand why you took the guitar but you need to understand that stealing is never okay.”

Miguel tried to explain but Hector raised a hand.

“Borrowing without permission is the same thing as stealing. It’s a serious crime to be a grave robber. No one here takes too kindly to them so never do this again, okay?”

Miguel nodded.

He’s right. I don’t know why I thought that would work. Everyone would’ve recognized it right away as de la Cruz’s guitar once I got on stage.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Hector sighed and patted Miguel’s head.

“The Department will know how to fix this but I don’t want you to keep getting looks. Here.”

Hector held out the Frida Kahlo costume.

“We have to hide that and you or else you’re going to continue to get stares.”

“Ay, ay, hold still. Look up. A ver, a ver. Look up, up, up.”

Ay, this taking forever!

“Aqui arriba, eso… Eh, la rayita. Okay. Hey! Ta-da!”

Finally!

Hector held up a little mirror so that he could see.

Hey, I look like a skeleton!

Miguel made a couple faces as he looked at himself in the mirror. Dante barked at the two and smiled doggishly.

“Alright, you can just wipe it off at the Department if you need to. This way we can get there without any trouble. Come on!”

Miguel wrapped the guitar around his shoulder and made sure that he didn’t mess up the make-shift guitar cover Hector made for him. The costume’s skirt was long enough to cover the body of the guitar well and the shirt covered the handle. Assured that the guitar wouldn’t be recognized they continued to the Department of Family Reunions.

It didn’t take long for the two to arrive at the front doors of the large building.

“Well, here you are chamaco. Just go inside and ask to speak to one of the managers. They’ll be able to get everything squared out for you.”

Hector turned to leave.

“Wait!”

He paused and looked back at Miguel.

“…Would you, I-I mean, c-could you wait for me, please? You’re the only person here that I know.”

This place is really big and crowded. I don’t think I’ve ever been someplace this large before.

Hector seemed to debate with himself before sighing and walking up to the doors. He held one open and gestured for Miguel to enter. Miguel smiled and relaxed a little as they entered the building.

The inside was bustling with many skeletons. Miguel followed Hector as they maneuvered through the crowd until they were by a couple desks and several long lines of skeletons waiting to talk to clerks. He could see a woman shouting angrily at one of the clerks. Hector stiffened though as he saw her.

“Okay, kid. I’m going to wait for you over here.”

He pointed off to the side by the wall.

“Just go up to that door and knock. The man in there should be able to help you, okay? Great!”

Hector gave Miguel a slight push and then slunk away to hide. Miguel huffed and looked at Dante. His companion smiled at him, tongue hanging out and tail wagging.

“Dante, could you go wait with Hector? I’ll come back for you once I’m done.”

The dog barked and ran off to wait with the man. Miguel then towards the office door. The woman scared him a little so he did his best not to look at her when he passed by and hoped she wouldn’t notice him as he knocked on the door.

It opened up and a small man looked up at him.

“What can I do for you?”

Miguel grabbed his arm with his other hand.

“I need some help, por favor. I think something went wrong since I’m alive but I’m here.”

Miguel whispered when he mentioned he was alive. The man’s eyes widened in surprise and then he gestured for Miguel to enter. The man closed the door behind him and made his way over to the desk. Miguel pulled his hood down.

“So, you’re living but in the Land of the Dead. What happened before you got here?”

He asked as he rifled through some papers stacked on his desk.

“I wanted to play at a Talent Show in my town but I needed a guitar and no one would let me borrow one. I figured I could borrow my great-great-grandfather’s guitar from his memorial and play it at the show but once I strummed it, no one could see me anymore.”

The man pulled out a file.

“That would do it.”

Do what?

“You cursed yourself.”

“What?!”

The skeleton opened up the file and flipped through a couple pages.

“Día de los Muertos is a time to give to the dead. You stole from the dead so now you’re cursed.”

I think I’m gonna be sick.

“H-How do I uncurse myself?”

The man read a couple lines and hummed to himself.

“Looks like you need to return the stolen object to the owner and be forgiven for the act. Only then, can you go home but you gotta do it by sunrise.”

“What happens at sunrise?”

The man gestured to Miguel’s hands. One of his fingers was bone.

I-I’m-

He fainted.

“-kay? Kid?”

Miguel slowly came back to awareness. He blinked a couple times and then sat up when he realized the skeleton from before was snapping his fingers in his ear.

“That’s better. Do you want me to call your family? They can help you get that forgiveness.”

Miguel quickly shook his head.

“I-I’m alright! They are actually waiting for me outside! I’ll just go ahead and meet up with them. Gracias for the help though, señor!”

Miguel stood up and started to back away towards the door.

“One last thing!”

Miguel paused.

“When you get your forgiveness, your family member needs to hold a cempasúchil petal and say, starting with your name, ‘I forgive you.’ Then, you take the petal from them and that will send you home. Also, if the guitar gets lost or broken, you’ll be unable to return home. Take good care of it, okay?”

Miguel nodded and pulled his hood back up.

“Gracias, señor!”

He opened the door and saw his family with the woman from earlier.

Oh, no! I gotta hide!

Miguel looked towards the wall and made his way into the crowd.

Thank goodness, I don’t think anyone saw me! Now, where did Hector say he was waiting?

He looked around and walked over once he found him.

“How’d it go, kid?”

Miguel frowned.

“I need to return the guitar and be forgiven by the owner. Once that happens, I can return to the Land of the Living. Do you know where I can find de la Cruz?”

Hector looked at him.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait! Okay, this works out!”

That’s a little weird.

“If you’re going back to the Land of the Living, you can do me a favor! We can help each other!”

Hector dug out a photo from his vest and handed it to Miguel.

“You can put my photo on the ofrenda when you get home and I’ll help you find de la Cruz!”

The man on the photo was smiling but he looked lanky and a little scruffy.

“This is you?”

Hector posed.

“Muy guapo, eh? So, what do you say?”

Miguel shrugged his shoulders.

“Alright. You help me find de la Cruz and then I’ll put your photo up when I get home.”

Hector led Miguel back out the main doors. They headed to the trams out front and hopped on. Dante sat down at Miguel’s feet.

“Every Día de los Muertos your great-great-grandfather puts on a show called the Sunrise Spectacular. He should be at his rehearsal. I know someone who can get us in.”

Chapter Text

Okay, first of all, I owe you all an apology for going AFK for so long. I can't believe it's taken me so long to come back to this story, and I promise you all that this is not discontinued. I got busy with school and trying to apply to graduate schools that I stopped writing for a while. I really want to get back to this though because I love writing and seeing all the comments encouraging me to continue, I feel that passion coming back.

I've decided that I'm going to start revising all of my stories slowly. I want to see what I was writing and what I wanted as the ending. I'll date every rewrite too, so you know what has been revised.

Thank you, everyone, for following along with my stories these past two years. I hope I will make you all as happy as you've made me.