Coco's Arrival
Coco lay in bed, surrounded by her family. Miguel, sitting beside her, sung softly as he strummed the shiny white guitar that had once belonged to Coco's Papá. His hairless dog Dante sat at his feet, staring up at Coco with a sad expression. Tears shimmered in Miguel's eyes, in everyone's.
Coco's gaze strayed to Luisa who held a tiny, newborn baby. Miguel's little sister.
"We named her Socorro, after you," Luisa said, holding her before Coco.
Coco longed to take her newest great-grandchild into her arms but was too weak to do so. Socorro cooed softly and grabbed one of Coco's withered fingers with a hand no bigger than a butterfly wing. Warmth filled her chest.
Socorro will grow up with music, she thought, kissing the child's cheek and stroking her soft hair. Thanks to Miguel.
Coco lay back on her pillow and smiled up at her family. The smiles they returned were half-hearted. Her strong-willed daughter Elena rubbed tears from her cheeks and squeezed Coco's hand.
Coco felt she should be sad but instead a wave of peace and contentment swept over her. She had lived a long and happy life but now it was time to say goodbye to her living family.
She closed her eyes. Just as she slipped into a deep, comforting sleep, she heard Miguel's voice whisper, "Say 'hola' to Papá Hector for me."
A rich, orange-gold glow was the first thing Coco saw as her consciousness returned. The sweet smell of marigolds permeated her senses.
As Coco's vision gradually cleared, along with her mind, she realized she was moving through a tunnel made of incandescent marigold petals.
I'm dead, came her first thought. She looked down at her hands. To her surprise, they were simply bones. Lovely white bones unmarred by thick veins and liver spots.
Her next realization was that she was walking. The thought thrilled her. For the last several years of her life, she had been confined to a wicker wheelchair, her legs too weak to support her.
Can I dance here as well? Coco recalled how, when she was much younger, she'd dance whenever her mother Imelda wasn't around. Coco's secret excursions to Mariachi Plaza was how she had met her husband Julio.
Julio? Is he here somewhere?
Overjoyed at the prospect of seeing him again, Coco performed a few kicks and shimmies. She was thrilled to find she moved as gracefully as she did when she was a young woman.
The tunnel let her out in front of a colorful building. According to the neon sign, it was the Department of the Newly Arrived.
"Welcome to the Land of the Dead," said a woman skeleton as Coco entered. She was wearing a dark blue uniform and holding a clipboard. "Can I have your name, please?"
"Socorro Rivera," Coco said. "But I've gone by Coco since I was a little girl."
The woman's eyes widened. "You're from the famed Rivera family?"
Coco nodded.
The woman scanned the list and checked something off. "There was a lot of excitement with them here during the last Día de los Muertos." She chuckled. "Please, doña, have a seat in the waiting area. We'll call you once a family member comes to pick you up and take you home."
Home . . . thought Coco as she searched for an empty seat in the bustling waiting area. The room was large and crowded. A uniformed skeleton would occasionally call someone's name and usher the person through a door. Still others, more of the newly dead, continued to enter from the outside. The light fixtures dangling from the high ceiling were shaped like skulls.
Coco settled into a chair as she struggled to process everything. She'd just left her home, the hacienda she had shared with her living family. It was the place where she had grown up and raised her own children and grandchildren. The only other home over here had to be where her deceased family lived.
Warmth filled her chest with a sensation that made her wonder if she still had a heart. Her beloved husband Julio had to be here. Along with Mamá Imelda, Coco's daughter Victoria, who had died a young woman, much too soon, Tíos Oscar and Felipe, and her sister-in-law Rosita. She couldn't wait to see them all again. Which one would come for her?
But there was one person she'd been aching to see again for most of her life . . . Papá Hector. Was he here?
Sudden nerves struck her. Even though Miguel had claimed her Papá had loved her, which she believed, she hadn't seen him since she was a small child. And throughout her life, Mamá Imelda had expressed such hostility toward the man, something she had passed down to Coco's descendants. Whenever she had asked about him, Imelda would always change the subject. She remembered desperately squirreling away Papá's letters, poems, and even his torn photo, out of fear her mother would destroy them if she knew.
Only recently, when Miguel stirred her fading memory of Papá with his song, did Coco work up the courage to finally share these items with her remaining family.
In an effort to calm her nerves, Coco studied the other people in the waiting area.
No. Not people. Skeletons. Their clothes ranged from dressy to plain, and some, like her, wore nightclothes. She glanced down at her flannel nightgown, which was what she'd been wearing when she died. She felt she should be embarrassed but wasn't.
Her attention turned to their faces. They were skulls but somehow attractive, each etched with colorful, unique designs that reminded her of the calaveras on Día de los Muertos. But their eyes were humanlike.
I must look the same, she thought, touching her face. Instead of coarse wrinkled skin, she felt smooth bone.
Most of the skeletons appeared to be elderly, like her. Coco noticed her braids hanging over her shoulders. They were white, not dark, the same hair she had when she died.
But a few of the deceased were young, including one child, a boy who looked only slightly younger than Miguel.
Sadness squeezed her chest. Not everyone was lucky to have lived a long life like her.
The skeleton boy sat across from her, kicking the chair's legs as he impatiently waited. Coco rose and sat next to him.
"What is your name, míjo?"
"Antonio." His bony chin quivered, as if he were holding back a sob but struggling to remain strong. "My mamá was with me when I died. It hasn't been that long but I miss her already."
Coco placed a hand on his frail shoulder. "It will be all right, míjo. You'll join your family who died before you. And, once a year, on Día de los Muertos, you'll be able to cross over. You'll see your mamá again."
Antonio's eyes brightened. "Really?"
Coco smiled and winked. "I guarantee it." She was certain Antonio's mother would put his picture up on her ofrenda.
"Antonio Garcia," called a uniformed skeleton standing before an open doorway.
The boy raised his hand. "Here!"
"Your abuela is here for you."
He cheered and scrambled to his feet. "Gracias, señora," he said to Coco before he hurried through the door.
Coco couldn't help beaming as she watched him leave. At least he had family on this side. But where was hers? She leaned back in her chair. How much longer would she have to wait?
Her thoughts returned to her papá as she pondered a question she'd mulled over countless times during her life. Why had he never returned home? She was sure something terrible had happened to him, even if her mother insisted that he'd simply abandoned them.
"Socorro Rivera." She started at the sound of someone saying her name. The uniformed woman with the clipboard smiled down at her. "Follow me, please."
Coco rose, her bones practically trembling with anticipation.
The woman led her out to a small courtyard where a short, skeletal man with a large mustache waited.
"Julio!" Coco cried, racing into his arms. In her excitement, she nearly knocked his head from his shoulders. She covered his face with kisses.
"It's been so long, mi amor," he said, kissing her back.
Euphoria filled Coco. She'd lost track of the years since her dear husband had died. She hoped they'd never have to be separated again.
"As soon as we got word that you arrived, Mamá Imelda immediately started preparing a feast for your welcome home fiesta. The whole family is waiting for you at the hacienda."
"The whole family?" Excitement mixed with nerves vibrated through Coco's bones. Did that include Papá? She was afraid to ask.
As she and Julio rode a cable trolley to their destination, Coco stared out in wonder at the Land of the Dead. It was one enormous city that sprawled upward instead of outward, its upper edifices reaching dizzying heights. It encompassed various centuries throughout history, starting with ancient pyramids at the bottom while the very top was an endless array of sleek, modern skyscrapers.
Even though the late afternoon sun shone down, bright, colorful lights flickered everywhere. Coco could just imagine what the place must look like at night. Bridges and trolley car cables zigzagged everywhere. Crowds of skeleton-people filled the streets and plazas.
Coco had spent her entire life in tiny Santa Cecilia. Overwhelmed by these sights, she turned her gaze skyward, only to see unusual creatures fluttering about. She gaped up at them. They ranged from enormous to tiny, each a combination of different animals. Colorful, incandescent patterns decorated their hides, wings, and tails.
"Those look just like the alebrije figurines they sell in Santa Cecilia's plaza," Coco said, pointing.
"They're real alebrijes," said Julio. "Just wait till you see Pepita."
"Mamá's little cat?"
Julio laughed. "She's not so little anymore."
Once they got off the cable car, Julio took Coco's hand and led her to a hacienda that looked just like the living Rivera home, complete with a shoemaker sign on the front.
"You still make shoes?" she asked, eyeing the leather apron Julio was wearing.
"Of course, mi amor. Being dead isn't much different than being alive. We still have to make a living."
A dazed feeling overcame Coco as she entered the hacienda. She felt as if she had stepped back into her distant childhood. Multicolored papel picado decorated the courtyard and a banner that said "Bienvenido a Casa, Mamá Coco" draped the entranceway. If she didn't know she was dead, she would have assumed she was dreaming. The delicious scents of enchiladas, rice, beans, and tortillas streamed from the kitchen. Sudden warmth filled her. She would recognize the smell of her mamá's cooking anywhere.
"Coco's home, everyone!" Julio called.
Mamá Imelda rushed toward her, followed by the others. Although she was now a skeleton, her mother was still as beautiful and elegant as she'd looked in life. Rosita had remained plump, even as a skeleton, and Coco's twin tíos Oscar and Felipe were mirror images of one another, skeletal versions of their former selves. Her daughter Victoria hadn't changed all that much either. She wore a wide grin, a rare expression for her, and her eyes sparkled behind her glasses.
Hot, joyful tears blurred Coco's eyes. She didn't know who to embrace first. Not that it mattered since they gathered her into a group hug so tight she almost feared her bones would scatter in a dozen different directions. She felt as if she'd burst with happiness.
Coco sobered when they all drew apart. Papá! She looked around but didn't see him. Sudden fear gripped her. Coco knew if she still had a heart, it would be beating rapidly. She suddenly remembered Miguel's desperate plea, right before he triggered her memory with his music. What if Papá was gone forever?
Before she could say anything, Mamá Imelda gasped in horror.
"Míja, your feet!"
"My feet?" Coco looked down. She wasn't wearing shoes, just thick socks with a bony toe poking through a hole in one.
"No respectable Rivera goes about without shoes."
"We must measure your feet for some," said Tío Oscar. "How would you like a fine pair of boots?"
"Or pumps," added Tío Felipe.
"Or sandals to show off your painted toenails like you did when you were younger."
"Or—"
"Where's Papá?" Coco blurted, unable to stand it any longer. The shoes would have to wait.
"He'd already left before we got the news of your arrival," said Julio.
"He left?" Coco wasn't sure whether to be worried or relieved. Had Mamá never forgiven him for leaving in the first place? "Where did he go?"
"He'll be back soon, míja," said Mamá Imelda. "He's just visiting his otra familia."
To Coco's surprise, her mother's voice was warm with compassion, not the malice she had held in life whenever the topic of her husband had come up. But Mamá's words confused her.
"What do you mean?"
"His primos in Shantytown," said Rosita.
"Primos?" Coco had barely known her father. Were there other relatives she had never met?
"The Forgotten," explained Victoria.
Mamá Imelda looked down and sighed. "Your father lived in Shantytown for decades." Her voice held a tinge of remorse. "He made many friends there during his stay."
"Now he often goes back to visit," said Tío Felipe.
"And to deliver new shoes," replied Tío Oscar.
"And guitar strings."
"And food."
Coco's bones thrummed with excited anticipation. It had been nine decades since she'd last seen her papá. She'd waited long enough. She had to find him now.
"How do I get to Shantytown?"
"Not now, míja. He'll return when he's ready—"
"Like last time? No, Mamá. I'm not losing him again. I'm going to look for him."
Coco held her stance as Mamá Imelda's gaze burrowed into hers. Even in death, her mother had retained her domineering, strong-willed personality. But Coco could be stubborn too, just as she'd defied Mamá's wishes by keeping her father's precious poems and photo hidden away all those years. And she refused to back down now. This was far too important.
A flicker of relief flashed through Coco as she noticed her mother's fierce eyes soften with resignation.
"You always were a stubborn one, míja, even as a little girl. Very well. Go find your father. Pepita will be your guide."
She whistled. Seconds later, an enormous alebrije landed gracefully beside them.
Coco gasped in shock. This was Pepita, Mamá Imelda's tiny cat? The alebrije practically filled the entire courtyard. She was more jaguar than cat, with great feathered wings, a dragon-like tail, and talons that resembled a hawk's. Pepita purred as Imelda gingerly stroked her nose.
"Pepita, this is my daughter Coco, newly arrived in the Land of the Dead." A part of Coco wished to flee while the other part longed to pet Pepita. The alebrije stared down at her with glowing yellow eyes that practically matched the sun. "Coco wishes to see her Papá. Can you take her to him?"
Pepita bobbed her head and crouched down.
"Go ahead, míja," said Mamá Imelda, taking Coco's hand as if she were a small girl once again. "She's easy to ride. Just climb up onto her haunches and throw your leg over her back."
Julio grabbed Coco's other hand as she followed her Mamá's instructions. Even though she knew she looked old, she was pleased to find that her spirit body was just as limber as she'd been in her youth. She settled comfortably onto the soft tufts of Pepita's neck.
"Hold on with your knees," Mamá Imelda called up to her. "And be back in time for dinner."
"I will, Mamá." Coco waved as Pepita flapped her wings.
A thrilling sensation swept through Coco as they rose higher and higher, until the Rivera hacienda was lost in the midst of countless terraces that made up the seemingly limitless city. A breeze carrying an array of scents brushed against Coco's face and whipped her braids behind her. She whooped with delight but didn't dare look down. I'm flying! She had only flown once in her lifetime, in an airplane, but the experience had been nothing like this.
Pepita gradually drifted lower, headed toward a section of the city that was drab and dismal compared to the rest. Several dilapidated shacks scattered wooden walkways that looked ready to fall apart. Coco glimpsed a wall decorated with graffiti of a falling angel with the words "Los Olvidados." She shivered. "The Forgotten."
Pepita alighted on a crumbling bridge. Coco slid down her side and landed on her feet. Trash littered the ground. The skeletons that shambled by had dull, yellowish bones and shabby clothes. A few stopped to gaze up at Pepita in shock, as if they didn't see too many alebrijes her size in this part of the Land of the Dead. This was where Papá had lived for several decades? Coco's throat tightened. Mamá's anger toward him had obviously lasted for many years if she'd only just recently welcomed him back into the family.
Pepita sniffed the ground and pointed her claw toward a lopsided shack that stood a short distance away. A patched cloth hanging draped the doorway.
"Gracias, Pepita." She kissed the alebrije's huge, soft nose before she hurried toward that shack.
As she drew closer, she heard a familiar voice, singing.
"Papá!" Coco increased her speed. In the back of her mind, she marveled at her ability to run after all these years.
Coco pushed aside the hanging and peeked in. Her breath caught. Papá Hector, strumming an old guitar, sat beside a cot where a woman skeleton lay. Several other skeletons were huddled around the cot, crowding the small space. A few, like Papá, played battered looking instruments.
She stood still for several moments, studying her father. He wore a frayed straw hat but his clothes were nice. His features, now skeletal, had changed but he still had his thick, dark hair and warm brown eyes. Coco could never forget those eyes. His bones were as white as hers, a sharp contrast to the dull, yellow-gray bones of his companions. Some of them looked ready to fall apart, their joints held together by tape.
Coco ached to call out to Papá but knew she shouldn't interrupt what appeared to be a solemn occasion. Her gaze drifted to the woman on the cot. Another woman held her frail hand. Papá Hector's lilting voice, accompanied by the instruments, filled the tiny hut.
She was suddenly reminded of her own death, just so recent. Was that woman-skeleton dying? Could the dead . . . die?
As the last note of Hector's song faded, the woman looked up at him and smiled weakly.
"Gracias, Cousin Hector." Her body suddenly shimmered with gold flashes. She sighed deeply, as if at peace then closed her eyes and dissolved into gold dust.
Coco blinked and rubbed her eyes as the gilded motes faded away. She hoped that wasn't the end for the woman. Was there another land beyond the Land of the Dead?
Hector took off his hat and bowed his head. The other skeletons followed suit.
"Goodbye, Tía Chelo," Hector whispered.
Coco stepped back, knowing she shouldn't interrupt their private ceremony. As much as she longed to rush to her father and hug him, she sensed that should wait, out of respect.
She felt something squishy under her foot and gasping, peered down. A colorful alebrije that looked like a cross between a frog and jackrabbit gave her an offensive "Riiibiit," and hopped away.
"Sorry!" Coco gasped.
"Coco? Is that you?"
Her father's gaze met hers.
"Yes, Papá." Coco could barely release the words. "It's been a long time. I've changed."
A wide smile spread across his face. He scrambled to his feet and hurried over to her.
"Coco! My Coco!" He threw his arms around her, spun her around, and hugged her tight. He felt much more fragile as a skeleton than he had in life. Coco returned the embrace, fearful she might break him. But her Papá was back. This was the day she had longed for.
She was only faintly aware of the other skeletons moving past them, whispering, "Let's give them some privacy."
She and Papá Hector clung to one another for a long, long time. She never wanted to let him go. What if she released him and he dissolved into gold dust like that woman?
"I missed you so much, Papá."
"I'm so sorry, míja." He finally pulled back and, holding her shoulders, studied her face. He ran his fingers along the contours of her cheeks. "There were times when I thought I'd never see you again." His eyes were drenched with tears. Coco saw her reflection clearly in them. Despite her renewed vigor, her countenance appeared as it did her final days, complete with those long white braids. So different from Papá, who, despite being a skeleton, still looked as youthful as he did in their family photo. But instead of deep wrinkles, her face was smooth and decorated with colorful patterns, just like his. "I tried so hard to come home, but . . ."
"I know, Papá." She clutched his skeletal hands in hers. "I always knew, deep in my heart, that you didn't just abandon us."
"Let's take a walk, míja. Just the two of us. Like we did when you were little. I know an excellent place to watch the sunset."
Hand in hand, they strolled along the walkways of Shantytown. Coco felt grateful for this. She just wanted to spend some time alone with Papá before rejoining the rest of the family at the hacienda. There was so much to catch up on . . . decades worth. Hector introduced Coco to some of his friends as they passed.
He led her up a steep incline to a ledge that looked out over a part of the city. From that angle, Coco could see the distant horizon. The evening sky had deepened to indigo and the lowering sun dyed the scattered clouds a rich golden-orange that reminded her of incandescent marigold petals, the first things she had seen as she'd entered this world.
"Papá, what happened to that woman? The one you called Tía Chelo?"
Hector sighed and lowered his head. His face was hidden beneath the brim of his hat. "It's called Final Death and happens to people when there is no one left in the living world to remember them. No one knows where they go."
"Which is how a lot of people view death in the living world," Coco said. "Yet here we are."
Papá Hector raised his head and smiled at her. "That's another way to look at it. I've seen far too many of these, míja, and I know I'll see more. My primos in Shantytown . . . I'll always consider myself one of them. But I'm lucky. I now have two homes." He took Coco's hand in his. "You know, you saved me from Final Death. You and Miguel both. I am grateful for that."
Warmth filled Coco. "He was the one who triggered my memory of you. He spoke to me as if he'd met you. He even told me to tell you he says 'hola.' How could that be? He's still in the Land of the Living, where I hope he stays for a long time."
Papá Hector chuckled. "Yes, yes, yes. That chamaco is a sneaky one. He ended up here during the last Día de los Muertos and almost became a permanent resident."
"So his story was true! I'd thought it was just my mind fading. Just as I . . ." Sudden guilt pierced her chest. "Just as I came so close to forgetting you, Papá."
"But you didn't and I'm still here." Hector draped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. Coco leaned against him, feeling once again like a little girl. They watched as the sun finished setting and the stars came out, nearly drowned out by the vibrant city lights.
"We should get home, míja." Hector started to rise. "Your Mamá will have our heads if we're late for dinner. You remember her temper."
Coco laughed and pulled him back down. "I do. I don't think that's anything that death can take away. But I have one request before we do."
"Anything, princesa."
"Sing 'Remember Me.' Just as you did when I was a little girl."
He turned to her and did so, his voice overpowering the chirps of cricket alebrijes. Coco joined in, their voices blending. She was briefly aware that her singing voice had never been as good as her parents'. She had been a better dancer than singer. But her papá didn't seem to mind. Just as Miguel hadn't when she'd secretly sung to him when he was a baby.
Coco and Hector embraced as the song ended.
"That's even better than before, since I now know you aren't going to leave," Coco said.
"No. We'll be together much longer than we've been apart." Hector rose to his feet and helped her up. "Now, let's go home."
The End