Soñar Contigo
-To Dream of You-
Imelda Rivera can banish music and the mention of her long lost love from her home all she wants… but she can't stop either from showing up in her dreams.
-OR-
For those doomed, forgotten souls in La Tierra de Los Muertos, there is the bittersweet option of visiting their loved ones… even if only in their dreams.
A/N: Um. So. This is weird. I have never picked my fandoms, they have always picked me. And I had this idea I was dying to get out. I'm not sure if I'll finish this, I guess I'll just see how many people are even interested? But I came up with this idea that Héctor was able to visit Imelda in her dreams and I just had to write it. Enjoy!
***Disclaimer***: I am not Mexican, my family is originally from British Honduras (now present day Belize). They migrated up to Louisiana, main language being Spanish and creole. They often participated in the huge dia de los muertos celebrations in New Orleans.
That said I have taken over six years of Spanish language courses and many courses on Mexican culture. That said, I am always learning. I have nothing but respect for such a beautiful culture, so if I get anything wrong PLEASE tell me so I can correct it. I typically put a lot of research into my works and it's important to me that I am culturally responsible and not aiding in any damaging misconceptions or stereotypes.
Chapter One
When Héctor first arrived in the Land of the Dead, his bones were clean and white - they didn't rattle or ache the way they do now.
He was well-remembered, then. Maybe even loved and missed.
Maybe.
He found out on the first Dia de Los Muertos that he was wrong.
While everyone was crossing the marigold bridge and spending time with their loved ones, he was left behind, not allowed through the gates. The guard told him it was no mistake: No one put his photo out on their ofrenda.
No one missed him.
No one loved him.
No one cared that he was... dead.
And then as time went on, weeks turned into months that turned into years, he began to see his bones turn brittle, yellowing with age. Each new chip and crack and splinter, another reminder that he was, in fact, being forgotten.
He only knew that's what was happening to him when he met Chicharron, who told him under no uncertain terms what would happen to him the longer time ticked on and he fell from the living's memories. Chicharron explained that it happened to everyone eventually but for forgotten souls like Héctor, Chicharron, and the others down in the shantytown, it happens much faster.
Too fast.
One day, he would disintegrate into dust, to be part of this world no more. No one knew what happened after that, but many called it 'el muerto final…'
The Final Death.
The very idea shook Héctor to his bones… and yet, did it even really matter if he disappeared? If there was no one in the Land of the Living that loved him or missed him… what was the point of his existence at all?
Héctor - Three Years after Arriving in The Land of the Dead
"Héctor? Is there a Héctor Rivera here?"
The sound of his name being called across the Department of Family Reunions waiting room feels like he's hearing it spoken aloud for the first time - perhaps because everyone here had gotten into the habit of calling him 'Chorizo' due to his ill-fated demise.
"Si," he calls out, standing. He removes his hat to unearth his unkempt, inky black hair. "That is me. I am Héctor Rivera."
The official glances down at his clipboard, then nods at Héctor to follow him back to his office.
The empty space between Héctor's ribs where his heart used to be has been throbbing with phantom pain since he'd gotten the letter delivered that said his presence was requested down at DFR to handle a 'personal family matter.'
So many questions have run through his mind. Most prominently: what, or who, could be here waiting for him?
"What is this about?" Héctor asks, unable to hold back his eagerness. He'd been here for three years now, and never once had he been called down to the Department of Family Reunions. He hates how hopeful it makes him feel in this moment - it gives him something to lose.
"Is it mi familia? Is it my… my wife?" The bittersweet ache in his chest flutters once more at the very thought of it. While he yearns to see his beloved again - almost more than anything - no. It would be far too soon. She needs to be in the Land of the Living for their Coco.
The two skeletons reach the clerk's desk and he gestures for Héctor to sit across from him.
"Uno momento," he says, holding up one bony finger and then thumbing through a few loose papers on his untidy desk. He plucks up a form, his eyes drinking in the words on the page before he exclaims, "aha! Here it is."
"What is that?" Héctor wonders, still clutching his hat to his chest.
"You've been requested in the Land of the Living."
"Wh-what do you mean?" He stammers, far too dumbfounded to even attempt to connect the dots. He sits forward excitedly, "Di-did someone put my photo on the ofrenda? Ernesto? Imelda?"
"No, I'm afraid not…" the clerk replies and Héctor can only shake his head, puzzled.
"Then… what?"
The clerk slides the form across the messy desk and Héctor drops his hat on his lap to pick the paper up with both hands. He squints at the letters, trying to make out the title: Unconscious Visitation Request.
"I don't… understand."
"It would seem someone has wished for you to visit them in their dreams."
Héctor's eyebrows raise in surprise (if he actually had eyebrows), "Is that even possible?"
The clerk sits back in his chair, "si."
"But… I thought I could not visit my loved ones without a photo on the ofrenda."
"Si, yes. But while you cannot visit the physical Land of the Living on Dia de los Muertos without an ofrenda, you can visit a loved one's subconscious if they wish for it and the wish is granted."
Héctor's gaze pulls to the big, red APPROVED stamp across the top of the page. He wants to ask who requested such a thing, but then he sees her name in bolded font next to his: Imelda Rivera.
"Im… Imelda... requested to see... me...?"
Héctor tries to wrap his head around this whole concept. After over three lonely, agonizing years of her not putting his photo out on the family ofrenda, the last person he expected requesting to see him was his wife. Especially when he recounted the last time he saw her. He knew when he left, Imelda wasn't just heartbroken - she was angry.
"Things have changed, mi amado," she said when she begged him not to leave. He could still remember it all so clearly. She was wearing her favorite purple dress. Her thick, dark hair spilled down over her tan, exposed shoulders.
He remembers she was barefoot.
"There was a time for wandering," she told him in their bedroom as he packed that night by candlelight. He could see her stunning but severe features flickering in the candle's flame. Her cheeks were flushed with ire and her dark eyes were burning. "But that was before. Now, we have Socorro. We have responsibilities, Héctor-"
"Imelda," he interjected, gently. He reached out for her, tried to comfort her in his arms as he had so many times before. And for the briefest of moments, she let him. He can still remember the way her soft, warm skin felt under his palms. "I have to go. I promised Ernesto-"
"¡Ay, si!" Imelda threw her hands up frustratedly, pushing herself from him. She spun around, spitting over her shoulder at him, "It's all I ever hear. Ernesto this, and Ernesto that. What about your familia? What about us?"
"You and Coco are my whole world, Imelda. You know that," Héctor said, chuckling softly at her fury. Once again his hands came up to rest on her shoulders and he felt the weight of her leaning back against him, as though her knees may give out at any moment. She clutched onto him, her fingers knotting up the fabric of his embellished jacket. Héctor could only sigh, his hand inching up to tilt her chin so she would look at him, "Mi amor… I won't be gone forever," he reassured her.
Tears filled her eyes as she pled with him once more, "Héctor, no. You don't understand. I have a terrible feeling about this. Please… Stay here with us. Where you belong-"
"¿Papá?" chimed a small voice from the hallway, wafting between the two of them. Both Imelda and Héctor turned their attention to their little one, poking her head through the bedroom door. Their heated discussion must have awoken her. Hector looked to Imelda - she was choking back her own words, but her eyes spoke volumes. They gazed up at him as if to say, 'how are you going to tell her you're leaving her?'
Héctor swallowed down the knot that was forming in his throat. He moved from Imelda's grip but wasted no time crossing the room to scoop his precious daughter up in his arms.
"Mi vida, what are you doing awake?" he asked her in a tone he reserved only for her - a soft lull. Coco rubbed the sleep from her eyes, but instead of nestling into him as she normally would, her stare widened at the sight of his suitcase. It was half-packed with his belongings, sprawled across the bed.
"Are you leaving, papá?" she whimpered, and his mouth dropped open to answer her. Once again, his stare fell to Imelda - searching for answers. Searching for words. But she offered him none. He took in the sight of her: her jaw was taught and her arms were crossed over her chest.
"You are going to break our daughter's heart and mine," she warned him, low and quiet, unable to keep the emotion from her shaking voice.
"Imelda… I know you can't see it but… I'm doing this for you both."
Imelda scoffed before she could stop herself, pointing an accusing finger in his direction, "no, Héctor! You are doing this for yourself - and at what cost?"
"We have no money, Imelda," he whispered, his hand cupping over Coco's ears so she could not hear the sudden harshness in his tone. "I can't even buy Socorro a pair of shoes. Let me go with Ernesto - there is money to be made. I can send it home, provide a good life for you both-"
"Why can't you find honest work here?" she shot back at him. "Why must you go chasing someone else's dreams, Héctor?"
Héctor didn't want to fight with her any longer - his decision had already been made. He knew Imelda was scared and often felt this way when he would leave to play music, but this was the first time he'd tried since they'd had Coco. Watching himself fail to provide for his daughter and his wife filled Héctor with an unexplainable shame. Ernesto promised they'd be successful, and he knew the would be, too. He was sure of it.
Sure enough to take the leap of faith and set off that night.
Héctor neared Imelda, wrapping the three of them up in a tight embrace.
"I promise you… I will be back, Imelda. I swear it," he told her, his voice soft and his breath hitting her skin. At first, he felt Imelda relax beneath his touch as she melted into him. Her cheek fell against his, but her eyes clenched shut as she tried to swallow back a sob.
"If you leave, Héctor..." she said, her heart in her throat, "then I cannot promise you that you'll have a familia to return to."
To be continued?