Imelda thought the skinny boy with the shaggy hair was cute, to say the least. He had a thick head of hair and long eyelashes that could even be seen from far away. But, attractive as he was, she was starting to wonder if he was a bit simple. The first time she ever saw him, just passing him in the market, he gawked at her; not in the lustful way most men looked at her, but like she was a penguin who somehow waddled its way to Mexico and he couldn't believe his eyes. Every other time she saw him, he'd gawk some more, stammer, or trip over his feet. Then his friend, who wore too much cheap cologne, would drag him away before he could make a bigger fool of himself. If she saw him later, he'd be slamming his own forehead against a wall while his friend tried to console him.
One day, though, he actually spoke to her.
She was in the market again, selecting the papayas her mother asked her to get. He approached her like she was a temperamental horse and smiled nervously. "Hola," he said.
"Hola."
He fidgeted a bit before continuing. "So, you like papaya?"
"Yes," Imelda answered, turning the papaya over in her hands, looking for brown spots.
"Good choice," he chirped up. "Very… uh… fruity…"
"Mmhmm…"
"I'm Héctor," he said, almost in a rush.
"Imelda."
"Imelda…" he repeated her name dreamily. "That's so pretty."
Oh no, was the simple boy trying to flirt? With papaya commentary?
They went silent for a few second as he fidgeted even more. Then, he blurted out. "It's good that your name's pretty. Because then, it's like you."
They both stopped and stared at each other. The boy, Héctor, started to sweat. Oh lord, he is trying to flirt. He chuckled nervously and dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. "Wow, hot day. Well, better go."
Before she could say anything, he bolted away.
[-]
"Stupid," Héctor mumbled as he slammed his forehead against the ally wall. "Idiot." Slam. "Moron." Slam.
"You'd better stop that, hermano," Ernesto said, leaning casually against the opposite wall. "You'll break your nose and wind up looking even more like a scarecrow."
Héctor stopped to consider this for a moment, then slammed again.
"Alright, that's enough." Ernesto pulled him away from the wall. "You don't want to mangle your face."
"What does it matter how I look when the love of my life thinks I'm an idiot?" Héctor slumped down onto a crate and flopped his head into his hands.
"You just spoke to her today."
"I was starting to get to know her."
"You rambled about papaya for the most painful minute of my life, called her pretty, then ran away," Ernesto argued. Héctor let out a pained groan. Ernesto sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. "Why did you run? It looked like you were getting somewhere."
"She looked at me. She looked me right in the face. I wasn't prepared to take the full force of her beauty up close." Héctor sighed and stared off in a daze. She was more beautiful than he'd imagined. Her eyes, especially. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and hers was made of fire. Not hellfire that would leave him burned and crumbling. No. Her fire could warm a house, banish the darkness, and power a locomotive.
"At least you know her name now," Ernesto said, breaking Héctor out of his reverie. "And that she likes papaya. That's progress."
"I guess…" Héctor grumbled, resting his chin in his hands. "I bet you would have found a way to make the papaya thing work."
"I would have," Ernesto beamed. "First, I'd have offered to pay for the papaya."
"Paid for the papaya. I should have paid for the papaya," Héctor groaned as he drove his fists into his own head.
"Yes, and then I'd offer to carry her basket home. That way, you start to get in good with her family as well."
Héctor let out a series of sputtered grunts as he clawed at the back of his own head. Suddenly, he popped back up, hope renewed on his face. "What if I pay for her next papaya? Like, I give the vender money and next time she goes to buy a papaya, she doesn't have to pay."
"No, don't do that. That's weird," Ernesto waved the idea away like an unpleasant smell. "Besides, the vender would probably just pocket your money and forget about it. You're stuck on papayas. Think of something else."
Something else? What could he possibly do now? He wasn't worthy of her, la diosa. She was a goddess and he was a fool. He'd already proven that. He was already beyond hope and he barely even talked to her. "What do I do?" Héctor moaned, hiding his face in his hands.
"What do you-?" Ernesto rubbed his eyes impatiently. "Look, what's the one thing all women want?"
"To be loved and cherished for what's in their heart and soul?"
Ernesto rolled his eyes. "No, they want a musician. We're musicians." Ernesto motioned between both of them. Héctor gave him a skeptical look. "You're a musician," he said, pulling Héctor up by the shoulders.
"I-I am a musician!" Héctor beamed, the sun coming back into his smile. That was right. He was a musician. And music had the power to touch all hearts.
"Right, so what does your musician soul tell you?" Ernesto asked.
"I'll write her a song!" Of course! The answer was so simple. If he couldn't talk to her in plain words, he could talk to her in song. Why hadn't he thought of it before? "I'll write a song fit for the goddess she is."
"Now you're talking."
A flame in him ignited and the lyrics started coming together in his head. "I can feel the music swelling in me already," he beamed, touching his hands to his heart. His feet suddenly carried him in a frantic pace. "I need to get home. I need my guitar and my songbook…" He turned to see his friend smirking behind him and tackled the man into a hug. "Thank you, Ernesto! This is a great idea!"
"Of course it is," Ernesto laughed, peeling Héctor off of him. "It's my idea."
[-]
"He's not simple, Imelda," Ceci laughed as she hung dresses in her family's shop window. "He's actually pretty clever, real sweet too. Wonder why he's so nervous around you. You didn't threaten to cut off his manhood and feed it to your cat, did you?"
"No, not this one..." Imelda grumbled from her seat, her chin resting in her hand. "So, you know him?"
"A little, his mother used to help around the shop for extra money."
Imelda perked up. "Used to?"
Ceci cringed and looked at Imelda over her shoulder. "It's a sad story…"
"Go on…" She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt the need to know this foolish boy's history, but she had to hear this.
"I don't know the whole story," Ceci sighed, hanging up the last of the dresses, "but I know his family was poor. His father died in an accident while away at work. After that, he started picking up more odd jobs and his mother helped out around here a lot more. But, about a year ago, she got sick and passed away. He's on his own now."
"And he has no one?"
"He's got that annoying de la Cruz, and I've seen him hanging around the other musicians in town…"
Imelda perked up. "He's a musician?"
Ceci flashed a sly smile. "Oh, like that, eh?"
"No, it's just…" Imelda looked away and scratch the back of her head. She couldn't help imagining him holding a variety of instruments. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she acknowledged how handsome he would look in a charro suit. "Is he good?"
Ceci smirked and Imelda could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. "I know he sings and plays guitar with de la Cruz, but I think you can judge how good he is for yourself."
"How can I do that?"
"He and his friend play in the plaza every Saturday. We can go see him then.
[-]
Saturday was night was always Héctor's favorite night. Typically, they played in the Plaza, got some tips, and ended the night drinking with the boys. He loved it. It made him feel alive and helped him ignore that empty house on the outskirts of town that he rarely went back to. Tonight, he felt extra invigorated. He spent the week pouring his heart out, helping his insides find shape in notes and lyrics.
He played his fantasy in his head over and over again. The girl of his dreams would hear his song. She'd approach the gazeebo, her sparkling eyes only adding to her beauty. He'd finish the song. She'd tell him how beautiful it was. He'd tell her it was so beautiful only because it was about her. They'd lean in, and-
"Look!"
Ernesto clapped him on the back, jarring him back to reality. Héctor looked in the direction Ernesto was pointing. Then, he saw her.
And all the color in his face drained into a puddle at his feet.
"There's your- Héctor?"
Ernesto turned to the empty air where his friend used to be. Héctor had fled. He'd taken refuge between two closed-up vender stands. He couldn't fully explain why he was doing this. He felt as silly as he looked. Here he was, dressed to the nines, looking ready to take on the world, but instead hiding like a child.
What was he thinking? He couldn't impress her. His song was trash. It was nowhere near good enough to be played for any human ears, let alone hers. Even if the song was any good, there was still the chance he could completely mess up playing it. He could ruin the tempo, forget the notes, or the fingering. What were the notes? Was there a C sharp in there? What did the fingering for that look like again?
As he crouched in his hiding place, trying desperately to force his fingers into the correct position, a shadow suddenly loomed over him. He looked up to see his best friend looking baffled to say the least.
"Ernesto, I think I've forgotten what music is."
"What?" Ernesto dragged a hand down his face. "What is your problem now?"
"She's here."
"I can see that." He grabbed Héctor by the shoulders and dragged his friend out of shadows. "Isn't this what you wanted? There'd be no point in playing your song if she wasn't going to be here."
"I can't. It's not ready. It's not perfect yet." Héctor instinctively moved back toward his hiding place, but Ernesto kept a tight grip on him and pulled him away.
"You've been rehearsing it non-stop for days," Ernesto said in a more comforting tone as he helped Héctor straighten himself out.
"What if she doesn't like it?" Héctor said, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. "What if she laughs? What if she still thinks I'm an idiot?"
"Then she'd not worth your time and you move on."
"How can I move on?" Héctor sighed as he stole a glance at her from across the Plaza. "She's perfect."
"The same way you moved on from the last perfect girl?" Ernesto grumbled. He at least tried to keep his eye roll to a minimum.
"No, this is different, Ernesto." He couldn't possibly explain the swelling he felt inside him when first spoke to her. This was more than a pretty face and a sweet smile. "I can feel it. It feels like destiny."
Ernesto finished fixing Héctor up and stared ruefully at the fluff of hair which no comb/pomade combination on the planet could tame. (They know. They've tried). He then smiled and ruffled the hair further. "Well, if it's destiny, there's no way you can screw it up."
"Yeah," his smile brightened. "Yeah you're right."
"Of course I'm right." Ernesto laughed and threw his arm around Héctor's shoulders. "You and I are destined for greatness."
Héctor threw his arm around Ernesto. "And we'll let destiny be our guide," he beamed. This was going to work out, one way or another.
"That's the man I know," Ernesto said. He gave Héctor a quick squeeze and let him go. "Now, go on. Do the thing."
"What thing?"
"You know, the thing you do when you're nervous."
"Right." Héctor gave his body a good shake, then let out a grito that carried his voice to the sky. There was a third part, but he never told Ernesto about it. Ernesto never seemed to get stage fright, so Héctor was sure he'd would just roll his eyes like he did with most of Héctor's more sentimental thoughts.
"Feel better?" Ernesto asked. Héctor smiled and nodded in reply. Ernesto grabbed Héctor's guitar and shoved it in his hands. "Now go out there and win your destiny."
[-]
Imelda scanned the crowd. She could see a cluster of musicians gathered by the gazeebo, all waiting their turn to dazzle their audience. There was, however, one musician in particular who was missing. "I don't see him."
"Disappointed?"
Imelda was about to protest; to say that she was merely making an observation. But, she took one look at her friend's smirking face and she realized there'd be no point. "…a little."
Ceci turned to scan the crowd herself, lips still curled into a smug smile. After a few minutes of looking, her arm shot out and she pointed across the Plaza. "There he is."
Imelda's gaze followed Ceci's arm and found him. His over-perfumed friend was dusting off the shoulders of his suit and appeared to be giving him a pep-talk. The poor boy looked sick. She wondered if he'd be alright to play.
And her suspicions were correct. He did look incredibly handsome in that suit.
She continued to watch. Whatever his friend (de la Cruz, was it?) was saying, it appeared to be working. She saw his eyes light up and his smile radiated renewed joy. She felt her heart jump. He really was very handsome. Beautiful even.
"Come on, let's head up to the front." Ceci grabbed her arm and dragged her through the crowd.
Up close, her eyes found him. He looked much better. He smiled easily as he began warming up. She watched his skilled fingers manipulate the strings. There was just something about the way his hands moved. The hours of practice showed in how effortless he looked, coaxing a melody from the instrument. He was in his natural state.
His eyes slowly turned up and caught hers. He froze. Oh no, not again. Did she suddenly grow three extra heads? What was wrong with him?
His freeze up didn't last long. His friend clapped a hand down on his shoulder and gestured toward the gazeebo. He got up and followed his friend. So, they were going up. Her heart skipped a beat. She was about to hear him play. She could only hope he didn't freeze up there too.
[-]
She's here. She's here. She's watching and she's here.
Those were the only words that went through his mind. He saw her as he stepped up to the gazeebo. She stared at him with those beautiful, beautiful eyes. 'Impress me,' they seemed to say. 'Impress me or you'll never love again.' That was probably not what she was thinking, but that didn't change the pressure.
This is destiny. Whatever happens, happens. No need to worry.
Still, that didn't change the set of beautiful eyes, watching, waiting. Her eyes turned into a hundred when he realized it was not just her, but a whole crowd he had to entertain, and he was stalling.
No problem. Nothing I can't handle. He took a breath, closed his eyes, and pictured his mother out there. He imagined her sitting on the grass where she used to take him to see the musicians when he was little. She was so proud of when he learned to read and write, when he showed her the first few notes he taught himself to play, when he read her the first poem he ever wrote. If he could play for her, he could play for anyone.
He opened his eyes, confidence restored. That was his secret third part. If he pictured Mamá in the crowd, beaming with pride, all his nerves vanished. There, not so scary anymore. With any luck, he'd be able to actually look Imelda in the eye again.
His well-rehearsed fingers moved, and he played the first notes of his new song, La Diosa en la Plaza.
[-]
He looked so different when he started playing. She thought his warm ups revealed his skill, but she hadn't seen anything yet. His fingers danced along the frets and he sang a song she'd never heard before.
His song was about a man who saw a goddess in the plaza one day and lost his ability to speak. The man spends the song trying desperately to communicate with the goddess and ask for his voice back. By the end of the song, he pours his feelings into notes and finds that music was the key all along. She supposes it's possible that she simply never heard it before, but there are too many details specific to Santa Cecelia and some of the events seem all too familiar. She couldn't help but wonder if he wrote it, and she hopes she isn't too vain to think it is about her.
He catches her eye during the song. She sees a twinge of nerves in him, but it passes quickly, and the light in his eyes brightens.
[-]
She's smiling! She is smiling! Thank the Lord she is smiling!
He feels like he could jump through the roof of the gazeebo and land somewhere very far away. France, maybe? Egypt? China? The moon? Her smile could carry him around the world and back.
He finished the song. The crowd cheered and Ernesto flashed him a proud smile. He barely noticed either, because she was clapping for him.
The goddess applauding the fool. There's another song in there somewhere.
Ernesto lifts his guitar and they begin their usual set. Héctor feels an extra lightness in his heart. She smiled. He made her smile, and that was all the praise he needed.
[-]
The boy's friend joined him and they began to play together. Imelda noticed more than a few girls swooning over the friend. He was blessed with the sort of good looks that girls dreamed about. But Imelda kept her eyes on Héctor.
"So, what do you think?" Ceci asked.
"He is very talented," Imelda answered, still watching him play.
"Talented, eh?" Ceci's smirk was practically audible. "Is that all?"
Imelda ignored her until Héctor and his friend finished their set. They stepped down from the gazeebo and another group of musicians replaced them. Would he come talk to her again? She was sure they'd have more to say now. For a minute, it looked like he wanted to. He looked at her, the after-effects of his performance smile still present on his lips. Ceci whispered something about "letting you two get know each other," then slipped away. He started over, but was quickly intercepted. His friend grabbed his arm and pulled him into a conversation with some other musicians.
Hmm, well then. So he wasn't coming over after all. Maybe it was all just her imagination. Maybe his song was just a song and any thoughts that it might be for her were just vanity. She started off to find Ceci, but was intercepted herself by barrel-chested young man with a slimy smirk. Ugh, Edmundo.
"Imelda, great to see-"
"I was serious about the cat thing," she snapped. She'd had plenty of interactions with Edmundo already, enough to know he took everything, from polite declinations to threats of violence, as encouragement.
"How long we going to play this little game of yours?" Edmundo continued. "I'm getting tired of waiting around."
"You were never in line," Imelda sneered. "Are you hard of hearing? I told you I don't like you."
Edmundo let out a heaving sigh and feigned disappointment. "So the chase continues."
Imelda let her eyes glaze over as he launched into his usual speech about how great he was and what a mistake she was making by forcing him to wait for her. As if he had a chance in the first place. What it would take to make him go away? She was in the middle of conjuring the most bizarre and terrifying threat she could think of, when someone else caught her eye. It was the boy, Héctor. He'd broken away from his musician friends and come to find her again.
He stepped up behind Edmundo and looked curiously and the man blocking her path. She caught his eyes and rolled hers to let him know she was not interested in this man. A playful smile tugged at his lips and he snapped into a stance that matched Edmundo's. Behind Edmundo, he mimicked everything the man did, putting on exaggerated faces to make him look like a dunce. Imelda let out a giggle. It was silly, childish, but also an incredible likeness.
Edmundo crinkled his eyebrows as Imelda's giggle grew into a full laugh. He looked over his shoulder and Héctor immediately snapped back into place. "What are you up to, twig?" Edmundo growled, turning toward Héctor. "You trying to make me look like a fool?"
"Oh no, señor. You don't need me to make you look like a fool."
Imelda bit back her lip, barely containing another laugh. The boy really was clever.
The subtle dig was not lost in Edmundo, however. "You asking for a fight, skinny boy?" He advanced on Héctor and began rolling up his sleeves. The boy, to his credit, did not back down, the idiot.
Imelda cleared her throat. "As I was saying," she growled, loud enough to get the brute's attention. "I am not interested in you. Stop wasting both our time and find someone who is."
She started to brush past him, but he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back. "I'm not finished with you yet."
"Hey!" Héctor threw his whole weight into his shove and he pushed the brute away. The hand around Imelda's arm released, and Edmundo found himself knocked back a few steps. "The lady said no."
Edmundo responded with a back hand which sent Héctor to the ground. In the background, Imelda could see Héctor's friend rushing over and, from the corner of her eye, she could see Ceci doing the same. Edmundo loomed over Héctor, fists curled, ready to deliver the next blow.
Before he could, Imeda grabbed his ear and yanked him so he was bent awkwardly backward. "If you touch that boy again," she hissed, "I will come into your house at night. I will carve off your skin. I will cure it into leather. I will make myself a nice pair of shoes which I will wear as I dance on your grave every day for the rest of my life."
When the color had sufficiently drained from Edmundo's face, Imelda released him. He pulled back up, rubbing his ear and looking back and forth between Imelda and Héctor. His mouth twisted as he searched for some way to respond. Imelda kept a steady glare. Finally, he blurted out, "Your loss, you freak," and stalked away.
Imelda softened her face and knelt down, offering Héctor her hand. "Are you alright?" she asked as he took it. His fingers were rough and calloused from the hours of practice he put into his craft, but also warm and gentle.
"I am now," he said, pulling himself up. "What did you say to him?"
"Never mind that." She noticed he still had a red mark on his cheek. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"
"Nothing that'll last," he said as he stood up and brushed himself off.
As they stood together, she searched for something to say. Somewhere in her peripheral vision, she noticed Ceci pulling Héctor's de la Cruz friend away. At least they wouldn't be interrupted. "You played so beautifully tonight."
"Oh, thank you." He smiled bashfully. "I hope I can play just a beautifully every night."
"That first song, especially. Did you write it?"
"Yes, I did." He glanced away and rubbed the back of his neck. "I had some wonderful inspiration." He took a breath, relaxed, and looked her in the eye again. "Forgive me, I know I didn't make the greatest first impression the other day. Would it be alright if we tried again?"
She smiled. "I'd like that."
His face brightened. His smile lit up like a thousand stars. "I'm Héctor."
Héctor, the skinny boy with the shaggy hair, the musician who wrote and played such beautiful songs, the clever young man who wasn't afraid to stand up to someone twice his size, and the sweet boy who asked politely for a second chance. This Héctor, she couldn't wait to get to know better.
And he did look damn good in that suit.
"I'm Imelda. Pleased to meet you."