I was inspired dailymusicalninja's switched AU, so I decided to do my own take on the concept of such unique switches. Enjoy!
A path of marigold petals led up to an altar in a cemetery, so lovingly arranged that it even had a photo on it. An elder lit a candle, and the smoke of burning copal wood began to dance lyrically upward…
Each family is unique in their own way. Some have bloodlines that trace back to warriors from long ago, while others are descended from nobility from foreign lands or pacifists who fought for freedom with words… but mine is unique for a different reason, for something that happened long ago before I was even conceived. It's something that's caused me to believe that I'm cursed.
You see, a long time ago, there was a family of three: a father, a mother and a little girl no older than three. I don't know his name, but what I do know of the papá is that he was a musician. He would play the guitar while the mamá would dance with their hija, and they'd all sing together and reflect on the good things in their lives.
But the papá also had a dream of his own, to play for the world. One day, he acted on this dream, leaving his home with his guitar… never to return.
And the mamá? She didn't dare waste her tears on that lousy, incompetent musician! She had a daughter to take care of, so after ridding her life of all music, she learned of a way to provide for her… a trade that would guarantee that there would be food on the table.
With one small coin, she found leather, and with that leather she practiced this trade: she made a pair of huaraches, mastering in the art of shoemaking.
I understand that she was being a pragmatist and all, but there are so many other opportunities that were completely wasted! She could have opened up a bakery and made sweets, made fireworks at a firework factory or even a sewing business so she could make sparkly boxing briefs that luchadores wear! But no, shoes are more practical… what a party pooper.
Of course, she passed her skills down to her daughter. When the daughter became a young woman, she brought a suitor in and introduced him to the family business, and the woman then taught him how to craft shoes. Don't even get me started on her grandkids, since they got roped in from the moment they were born. As most families get bigger, so do their businesses, and hers was no exception. Music might have torn her family apart, but if anything held them together, it was definitely shoes.
You might be wondering, just who the heck is this lady? Well, to answer your question: she's my great-great grandmother, Mamá Victoria. She died a long time ago, a couple of years before my father was even born, but that never stops my family from telling her story every year on Día de los Muertos…
And what of her little daughter, you ask? She's my great-grandmother, Mamá Elena.
Slowly recovering in a wheelchair made of wicker was a heavily wrinkled, frail old woman with hair as white as snow, while her body was wrapped in a blue shawl.
A young boy of twelve years dressed in a blue and white shirt walked up to her, kissing her cheek. "Buenos días, Mamá Elena."
Her eyes opened slightly, looking at him. "Good morning to you too, Franco."
The young boy had a small smile on his face, not entirely happy.
My name isn't Franco, it's actually Marco. Since she's getting older, Mamá Elena's memory isn't the clearest… but that doesn't stop me from talking to her anyway, so I tell her all that I can.
Marco pumped his arms, fists in hands as he jogged in place while Mamá Elena was merely sitting in her wheelchair, zoned off. "I used to jog like this every morning…" Then, his palms flattened. "But now I like to run like this instead, since it's much faster!"
#
Marco, wearing a luchador mask, climbed onto the bed, raising his arms dramatically. "Damas y caballeros, our winner is… Luchadora Elena! Woohoo!" He leapt off the bed onto a pile of pillows that bursted, causing feathers to fly around, onto Mamá Elena who wore a mask of her own.
#
At the dinner table, he leaned toward his great-grandmother. "For some weird reason, there's a dimple on this side…" he pointed to the weird dimple, then at the other side of his face. "...but not on this side. Dimpled, dimpleless, dimpled, dimpleless-"
"Marco, please eat your food before it gets cold," a woman aged sixty-nine with grey braids said as she came with a plate of enchiladas. She went to give Mamá Elena a kiss on the head, squeezing her a bit and rubbing her back.
That's my Abuelita Coco, Mamá Elena's daughter. They lack resemblance, I know, but the same blood runs through their veins.
"You're getting a little skinny, mijo," Abuelita Coco said, noticing how little he ate. She began to pile his plate with more enchiladas. "Eat some more, or you'll start to become a human skeleton."
"No gracias," Marco said with a wave of his hand. "I'm not that hungry."
Abuelita Coco's look hardened. "I believe I asked if you wanted to have some more enchiladas?"
Marco now had an uncomfortable smile. "S-sí?" he stuttered.
Abuelita Coco laughed, then piled more enchiladas onto his plate. "Now that's more like it!"
She runs the house similar to how Mamá Victoria did.
Coco adjusted the photo of her beloved abuela, then whipped her head around, her brow furrowing at the sound of a hoot.
In the kitchen, Marco was idly blowing into an empty glass soda bottle. He let out a confused noise as his abuelita snatched it away.
"Sin música," she said scoldingly.
#
Marco leaned on the windowsill, listening to the blaring radio from a Pizza Planet truck driving by.
"¡Sin música!" Abuelita Coco said a little angrier, slamming the window shut.
#
A trio of men serenaded each other as they strolled by the family compound.
"Y aunque la vida-"
Unfortunately, they were heard by Abuelita Coco, who burst out of the gate. "When will you people learn?!" she shouted. "¡SIN MÚSICA!"
The musicians stumbled back, terrified as they ran away.
I'm pretty sure we're the only family in this entire country that hates music… not that they mind.
The De la Cruz family were tinkering in the shoe shop, and the only sounds that could be heard were fabric and leather being tampered with. Marco jogged past them.
As for me though...
He grabbed his shine box, filled it with all his supplies and headed out of the shop.
"Remember to be back by lunch, mijo!" his mother called out.
"Okay, Mamá! Love you!" Marco called back.
I am very different from them.
Once he was outside, the boy made his way through the small town of Santa Cecilia.
"Hola, Marco!" a woman sweeping a stoop said hello to him.
"Hola!"
He passed by a band of musicians playing a bubbly tune, pretending to play a guitar before continuing down the streets. The further down the streets he went, the more instruments and sounds could be heard, such as accordions and folkloric rhythms blasting from radios.
Running by a food stand, Marco stopped and bought himself a fish-shaped roll of pan dulce. "Here ya go!" he said, tossing a coin to the vendor. "Have a good day!"
"You too, Marco!" the street vendor said as he caught the coin.
With all of his surroundings and the music settling in, the boy couldn't help himself and tapped on little wooden sculptures of alebrijes. The majestic little animals each had their own tones, playing out like a marimba. He finished by smacking a trash can, causing a grey alley cat to jump off the lid. The cat stood up on her legs and pawed at Marco.
"Heeeeey, Pepita!" he laughed, glad to see the cat, whom he had known since she was just a little kitten living on the streets. He held the treat over her head. "Ahora, siéntate," he commanded, to which she did exactly as she was told. "Abajo, danza y finalmente… give paw!"
Pepita obeyed with the best of her abilities, finishing her tricks with bumping her paw against the boy's fist. "Buena niña!" He held out the treat to his furry friend, who ate it out of his palm. Once she was done eating, she let out a purr.
I know that you're probably thinking: "Hey, Marco, you're not supposed to like music!" And I know that perfectly well, but hey, it isn't my fault!
Marco came around the corner, heading towards town square where vendors were selling sugar skulls and marigolds, while musicians filled the square with their music.
He decided to go to the heart of the plaza, where the statue of an unconventionally handsome mariachi stood.
It's his: Héctor Rivera… the greatest musician of all time.
He stood behind a tour group and their guide, who gathered around the base of the statue. "And right here, in this very plaza, twenty-one year-old Héctor Rivera took his first steps towards becoming the most beloved singer in the history of Mexico!"
He used to be a nobody, just another man from Oaxaca who blended in with the crowd. No one knew his name or who he really was, until he started playing music at the plaza…
In a clip of Rivera from the old days, he was a young man in a train headed for the plaza, serenading bystanders in a cart.
Upon hearing his songs, people fell in love with him and learned more about him. It wasn't long until he became an icon.
There came more clips, with this one being him leaping from a tree branch onto a galloping horse.
Along with being a musician, he was also an actor. He starred in twenty-five films, had an amazing guitar- he could even fly! Well, sort of… kinda… oh, you've already seen the film yourself. You know what scene I'm talking about.
A clip featured Héctor dressed in a priest's robe, held up by strings in front of a sky flat as though he were in a low budget play from an elementary school.
And while many people debate his singing abilities, it's agreed by everyone that he was an expert at songwriting! All of his songs are amazing, but my favorite is-
There was a final clip of Héctor Rivera's final performance in a fancy nightclub. He was dressed in a crimson red mariachi suit, complete with a sombrero. Like always, he had his skull guitar with him, its pearly whites shining just like his lone golden tooth. He stood at the bottom of an elevating staircase and his sides were two rows of dancing women, wearing their own festive dresses.
"Remember me,
Though I have to say goodbye,
Remember me!
Don't let it make you cry!"
He moved up the stairs and danced, with the singers dancing and joining him in a chorus.
"For even though I'm far away, I hold you in my heart,
I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart~"
The spotlight shone on him, following him up the stairs to the center of the little stage tower.
"Remember me,
Though I have to travel far,
Remember me,
Each time you hear a sad guitar!
Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be…"
He winked at the audience, then passed his guitar to a man nearby.
"Until you're in my arms again…"
He lived the kind of life one would think is impossible to have… a life that one could only dream about…
Everyone was swooning over Héctor, including a stagehand who was a little too focused on the performance to notice that he was leaning on a lever.
"Remember me~!"
The stagehand soon fell back, pushing the lever down, sending ropes and pulleys flying.
Until 1942…
In the blink of an eye, the bell fell on top of Héctor, crushing him and ending his life right then and there.
When he was crushed by a giant bell, all thanks to some guy who couldn't pay attention to his job… at least he wasn't in pain for too long.
Marco let out a sigh, still gazing up at the statue with awe.
Aside from that, my dream is to be just like him when I'm older…
He ran through the cemetery, going up to Rivera's little museum to peek in through the window. He caught a glimpse of his glorious guitar.
Sometimes, I go to his little museum and take a quick look at him… and every time I do, this feeling rushes through me… that we're linked together, somehow… it's like, if he could be a musician, then maybe… maybe someday, I could be one too.
"If it wasn't for my family," Marco said as he knelt across from a mariachi. He had been polishing shoes, only to zone out as he'd been talking.
"Ay, ay, ay, muchacho," the mariachi said, a bit of playfulness in his voice. "I came to this plaza to get a shoe shine, not to listen to a kid's documentary about his life."
Marco snapped back to reality, realizing he had a job to do. "Right, right." He went back to polishing the shoes. "Sorry… I just can't tell anyone home about this, or else I'd get into huge trouble…"
"You need to have some backbone, kid," the mariachi advised him. "In fact, if I was in your shoes, I'd go up to my family and say, 'I don't care what you people think! I'm a musician and you're just going to have to learn how to accept it!'"
"I could never bring myself to say that to them…"
"You are a musician, no?"
"I - I don't know," Marco stuttered, unsure how to respond. "I mean, I do play, but the only audience I have is myself-"
"Bah!" the mariachi interrupted. "Did Héctor Rivera achieve his fame by hiding his skills behind some fear? Nope! You know what he did? He went to that plaza and played for the people, and now he's remembered by everybody!" He got an idea, pointing to a gazebo where a show was being organized. "Look over there! They're setting up for the talent show for tonight. If you want to be like your hero, you'll sign up."
Marco shook his head, a thought of his abuelita holding a shoe over his head flashing in his mind. "My abuelita will murder me if I sign up!"
"Okay then, well… have fun making shoes," the mariachi said with a shrug. He saw how the boy was considering it, asking him, "What did Héctor Rivera always say? You have to do whatever it takes to…?"
"...seize your moment?" Marco finished, still in consideration.
The mariachi appraised him, then looked at his guitar. "Why don't you show me what you got, muchacho?" he suggested, giving the boy his guitar. "I'll be your first audience."
Marco looked at the guitar in surprise. It was like he was given a holy relic. He looked at the mariachi, seeing his look of approval to play. He felt the strings, slowly raising one hand to play a chord and…
"MARCO!"