If I said I'd known Oscar and Marco for a long time, that wouldn't begin to cover it. We'd grown up together, that is, until my father made a rash rescission that I had to leave temporarily...
Well, I believe all stories make the most sense when you start at the beginning.
If you've ever heard of the Book of Life, you know everyone has their own personal story in the pages, according to Mexican history.
This is my story.
I believe it begins on the Day of the Dead the year I was five years of age.
Oscar was adamant that one day, he would have a fantastic mustache. It was kind of hilarious-he was in a phase where he'd stick a fake mustache to his face. His father had been the great General Mondragon. He'd been killed in the revolution when Oscar was a baby. Oscar's greatest dream was to live up to the legacies his father set.
Marco, however, was more quiet than Oscar. He carried around a ukelele all the time-since he wasn't large enough to play a normal sized guitar. He also wore a large floppy hat, but that's not necessarily relevant. His father was a bullfighter, as was his grandfather, and so on. It was a "Diaz tradition", as his father put it. Even his grandmother had been a bullfighter. (Don't even get me started on that story...)
And then there was me. The female of the group. Star. I didn't have any premade plans for my life. Basically, according to my father, women would get married and have a family, and served no other purpose. I didn't agree with that, however. Even as a kid, I was a feminist, and believed that I was capable of doing anything my male friends could do.
Which is kind of how I ended up getting sent away...but that comes later.
"Star, Star, look!" Oscar said, brandishing his toy sword. "Don't fear! I will save you! My mustache and I will be your heroes!"
I giggled. "Oscar, your mustache isn't even real."
"Plus, how could facial hair be a hero anyways?" Marco asked, playing one of the three chords he knew on the ukelele. "I'd have better luck saving her with my guitar!"
None of us had any idea that we were being watched. How could we have known?