Miguel placed his song book in his suitcase, did a quick mental check to make sure he had everything, and closed the lid. He and his cousins Rosa and Abel were going to Mexico City for a week. They were staying with Miguel's grandparents on his mother's side to supposedly spend time together. Miguel, however, had an ulterior motive. He placed the suitcase on the floor and grabbed his guitar case next. He opened it up just to take one more peek at the instrument. He bought it when he was fifteen with his own money. He needed a new one after Abuelita found and subsequently smashed the one crafted himself. He saved up shoeshine money and birthday gifts for 3 years. It wasn't the flashiest or most expensive guitar, but he loved it because it was his. He managed to keep this one hidden better, but it was eventually found. At least Abuelita didn't smash it. She respected the work and savings he put into earning it too much. Instead, she demanded he sell it. He never did. He took it to a friend's house, asked that he keep it until the heat died down, then snuck it back in. It wasn't until a week ago that he revealed he still had it.
He was 18 now, and a fresh graduate from preparatoria. The day after his graduation, he announced that, not only was he accepted into the Conservatorio Nacional de Musica, but he was also the recipient of the Ernesto de la Cruz Memorial Scholarship given out by the de la Cruz estate to one talented aspiring musician every year. He'd expected a fight, in fact he prepared for a fight. He even made notecards for himself so that he could rehearse every logical argument he had about why they should support his musical dream. Of course it snowballed into a knock-down-drag-out the likes of which the Rivera household hadn't seen since 1932 when Mama Coco was caught dancing in the Plaza with a strange boy. Said strange boy eventually grew up to be her husband, but that was beside the point.
It was a battle of the generations. Miguel vs Abuelita, Papa Franco, and his parents. His aunts and uncle didn't say much, but it was obvious by their disapproving stares whose side they were on. Rosa and Abel both tried to back Miguel up. Abel argued that Miguel was exceptionally talented and should be encouraged. Rosa argued that being a musician didn't necessarily mean abandoning your family. She then rattled off a list of famous musicians who were close with their families and never had a single scandal. "Besides," she added, "he sucks at making shoes anyway." However, they backed off when it came to light that they aided in Miguel's covert auditions.
Both learned about Miguel's musical talent years earlier having separately come across him practicing in secret. Abel's reaction basically amounted to "That's so cool. Where did you learn to do that? What do you mean you taught yourself? Show me!" Rosa didn't say anything, but gave him a withering stare. He was sure it was all over and avoided the rest of his family for most of the day. It wasn't until he reluctantly sat down for dinner and received nothing but the usual "Why don't you eat more? This is why you're so skinny" chides from Abuelita that he realized he was not about to be killed. When he asked Rosa about it later, she admitted that, while she disapproved of him directly disobeying the familial laws, (God, why did she always have to talk like a lawyer?) she did respect the obvious hard work he put into his craft. Over the next few years, the two of them became the only members of his family he could play for and get feedback from. Finally, when Miguel told them he wanted to audition to study music, they concocted a plan. They told their family that they were going on a "cousins' weekend," borrowed the truck, and drove up to Mexico City. He managed to schedule his auditions for both the Conservatorio and the de la Cruz people in the same whirlwind weekend. When they got home, their family was non-the-wiser.
The fight boiled over when Abuelita threated to smash the guitar just like she had the last one. Miguel blocked her way and told her it wasn't there. As a forethought, he hid it at a friend's house again, so she couldn't get at it if it got to that point. He refused to tell her where it was. Everyone became angrier with him and started shouting at the same time. He couldn't remember what set him off, but he finally shouted back "Maybe great-great grandfather was right to leave!"
The family stopped all at once. Stunned silence suffocated the air. His mother couldn't look at him. His father demanded he apologize immediately. Worst of all was Abuelita. The hurt in her face was clear. She couldn't even muster the strength to take off her shoe. Miguel had never seen her like this. She only let out a defeated breath and walked out of the room. She hasn't spoken to him since.
Miguel shut the guitar case and set it down by the dresser. When he straightened up, he paused to look at the picture he kept on top. It was a photo of himself and Mama Coco taken on her 99th and final birthday. He crouched by her wheelchair, and showed off his dimple while Mama Coco beamed in her pink party hat. Right next to it, he kept the last gift he ever received from her. She died before she could give it to him. She passed away a week before his 13th birthday and they found the gift while they sorted through her things. It was a small rectangle carefully wrapped in red paper with a little yellow bow on top. A card displaying his name in her shaky handwriting proved it was his. He never opened it and he never planned to.
"Mama Coco, I messed up real bad," he admitted to the picture. "I know they don't want me to be a musician but it's my life. It's what I'm good at. It's what I love to do. Why can't they just accept that?" Miguel sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Still, I shouldn't have said that to Abuelita. I took it too far. I know, I know. I need to apologize, even if she disapproves." But she could also stand to apologize to me.
Miguel picked up his bags and headed out the door. His parents stood in the hallway waiting for him. "All packed?" his mother asked, all the usual joy and nurturing gone from her voice. The tension still lingered from the fight the week before. She pulled him into the most impersonal hug a mother could give, which is to say, not all that impersonal, but still had an underlying discomfort to it.
"You, uh, have a safe trip," his father said, patting him on the back. "And try to talk to your Abuelita before you leave."
Miguel nodded and shuffled down the hallway to the living room. He could hear Abuelita's favorite telenovela on the tv. When he peaked his head in, he saw her watching with the same sour look on her face she wore all week. He set his bags down by the door, took a long, deep breath, and stepped in with all the ease and eagerness of a man about to face a firing squad. "Abuelita," he called, as he tip-toed up to her chair. "Abuelita, no one's been telling me to eat all week. I think I got even skinnier…" She shifted her head just enough to give him the tiniest glance, then went back to her program. Miguel sighed and approached her. He knelt down beside her recliner the way a peasant knelt before his queen. "I'm leaving, Abuelita. I'll be gone for a week. I just wanted to say goodbye."
Her eyes slid in his direction, but she said nothing.
"I know you're still mad about the whole musician thing, but it'll be okay. I'll be home all the time, you'll see… except when class is in session, then I'll be staying with Abuela Josephina and Abuelo Roberto. You know, Mama's parents?" She gave him back a blank stare. "Come on, you know them. You kick Papa Roberto's ass at poker every Christmas? They may not be in Santa Cecilia, but they're still family."
She gave him the slightest turn of her head.
Miguel let out a breath. He was all out of words for her. He knew what she wanted. She wanted him to throw out his guitar, forfeit his acceptance to the Conservatorio and the scholarship, and apologize for ever considering becoming a musician in the first place. Well, that wasn't going to happen. He worked too hard for those things. Why couldn't she at least respect the work he put in like Rosa had? Why couldn't she just support him?
Still, he didn't want to leave her on a bad note. Fortunately, he had another trick up his sleeve. "I know what'll cheer you up," he said, taking off his own boot. She looked over, apparently curious about what he was about to do next. Well, here goes nothing. One… two… On the mental count of thee, he smacked himself in the face with his own boot. As he looked up and rubbed his sore cheek, he saw Abuelita forcing her lips closed, defiantly holding back a snicker. "Careful Abuelita, you almost smiled there." He hazarded a kiss on the cheek and got out unscathed. "I'll be back in a week. I promise." With that, he got up and headed out the door.
His next stop was the courtyard where his baby sister, Coco, was furiously at work with her crayons. He announced his presence by picking up a spare piece of paper and placing it on her head. She reached up when she felt the impromptu hat land on her head and turned to see her brother standing behind her. "Miguel!" she gasped, throwing herself onto her artwork. "Don't look! It's not ready!"
"Aw, Coco, are you making that for me?" he asked, leaning in to sneak a peek.
"I said don't look!"
"Sorry." He turned away and used his hand to shield his eyes. He waited patiently and listened to the sound of crayon scribbling against the paper until she announced that it was done. He turned back to see her proudly holding her crayon magnum opus. "It's beautiful," he said, taking it gingerly in his hands. "Another masterpiece. It belongs in the Lourve."
"That's you and that's me," she said, pointing at the two humanoid figures. The shorter one had her trademark pigtails and the taller one had his shaggy hair and soul patch. Her little finger moved up to a smiling yellow ball in the corner. "And the sun is happy because you're home." Her face suddenly fell and she sunk down on the bench. "You're not leaving forever, are you?"
"Oh, Coco no." He set aside his bags, placed the drawing back on the table, and scooped Coco onto his lap. "I'm just going on a trip with Rosa and Abel for a week. We're staying with Mama Josephina and Papa Roberto. I'll be back soon."
"But I heard Abuelita arguing with Mama and Papa. They said…"
"Never mind what they said. There's no reason I can't be a musician and see you all the time. Plenty of other people do it."
"But when you're at music school, you won't be here," she sulked.
"No, but how about this?" He shifted Coco so that she could see his face better. "When I get my class schedule, you and I will pick out a time that we can have a FaceTime date. Would you like that?"
"I guess," she mumbled as she flopped bonelessly against his chest. "It won't be the same."
"No, it won't be exactly the same," he conceded, "but you'll still see me all the time, I promise."
Coco hardened her face and, for a second there, looked just like Abuelita laying down the lay. "You'd better."
"Anything you say." He heard Abel firing up the truck and placed Coco back on the bench. "I've got to go now. Hug for the road?" He held out his arms and she flung herself into them. "I'll be back soon, Coco. I love you."
"Love you too."
He set Coco down and headed out to Abel's truck. Rosa was already in the passenger seat, so Miguel threw his suitcase in the truck bed and climbed in the back. "Still planning on writing that ghost song?" Abel asked, spotting the guitar case by Miguel's side in the rearview.
"Yup," he chirped, fastening his seatbelt.
"You're really gonna spend a good chunk of this vacation ghost hunting in a train station?" Rosa rolled her eyes, but Miguel paid her no mind.
"Sure am." He'd let it slip earlier that he wanted to visit Buenevista Station. People might think it's crazy to go on a trip to a train station, but Miguel had his reasons. That train station housed the legendary Musician with Poison Tears. The spirit was Miguel's life-long obsession, apart from Ernesto de la Cruz that is. He wanted to see it for himself. He felt a formless song churning in the back of his mind. He wanted to write it, needed to write it. There was something stuck in his brain and he needed to get it out.
Rosa sighed and shook her head. She never did get on board with the whole ghosts-existing belief. Abel gave one last wave goodbye to the family and pulled the truck away. No radio. Just because Miguel openly defied the music ban didn't meant anyone else was up to the task.
Miguel rolled down his window and let the wind blast him in the face. At least it was something other than silence. He felt a beat in him from the roll of the truck and he tapped it out on his guitar case. Now that they brought it up, he couldn't stop thinking about the ghost at the station. Like all urban legends, very little was known about who the spirit was in life. But scraps of the story helped paint the picture. It played an invisible guitar, so it must have been a musician. It had poison tears, so most people assume it died by poison as well. It kept trying to board trains, so it was trying to go somewhere. And lastly, it poisoned child abusers, so it fiercely protected children. Who was this ghost? Why was he stuck there? And why was he so protective of children?
Miguel wanted to see the ghost up close. He wanted to get closer than anyone had before. Most of all, he hoped observing the ghost, what it looked like, where it went, how it acted, would give him some clues as to the ghost's past. He thought, if he could learn just a little bit more about the ghost, he could finally get this nagging song out of his head.
