Third chapter up!


Ch 3. — The cursed guitar

In retrospective, such a performance wasn't the best of his ideas. And he had a lot of bad—stupid, ridiculous, horrible—ideas during the course of both of his lifetimes. His excited proclamation of his wanting to be a musician, and using De la Cruz as a bait, hadn't been received as he expected.

The old record player he used to practice songs on his guitar was throw in the ground, along with his collection of battered records of old Mexican hits he managed to get his hands into. The replica of his original skull guitar was too dumped to the ground as if it were just one more piece of garbage.

"What is all this? You keep secrets from your family?" Abuelita Elena asked angrily.

Miguel had the decency of looking ashamed. He never looked up but kept his stare fixed on the tiles at his feet, nervously clutching his right arm with one hand and grasping the torn photo and old flyer on his other one. He tried pleading his case once more.

"You see this man?" He pointed at the missing piece in the picture. "He was a great musician, I'm sure of it. And he worked with Ernesto De La Cruz! You know? The one who had a statue on the plaza?" Miguel felt as if he should illustrate to his family who was exactly De la Cruz. In a family who wasn't allowed to like music, he felt it necessary.

"We've never known anything about this man. But whoever he was, he still left his family. This is no future for my son." Said Papá Enrique, choosing to ignore his son thought him an ignorant. He knew who Ernesto De la Cruz was—he would need to be deaf and blind not to know the name of the man the whole town worshipped; the same one his own son had worshipped until a couple of years ago, when in a similar incident the family had discovered Miguel had been listening to music in secret. But Enrique thought this was a onetime thing. He thought Miguel had learned his lesson from the first time he'd been caught.

Apparently not.

But now, Miguel wasn't talking about Ernesto De la Cruz but about his great-great-grandfather; the very same man for whom the Rivera was a family of shoemakers and the very reason why music was a forbidden topic for them.

"He didn't mean to leave forever! He died!" Miguel cried. "Papá, you said my family would guide me. W-well, he is family! And he was a musician… I-I think that means I'm supposed to be a musician too." His voice was breaking, Hector could feel the knot in his throat as he struggled to explain to his family.

This was eerily similar to an incident years ago, when the first memories of his first life first started coming back to him, and he discovered that he was now his own great-great-grandson… a music lover, and a De La Cruz fan. He threw all the posters and records away, only to be discovered by Abuelita when he was looking for matched to burn all the merchandise. He had to endure a long rant given by Elena about the history of the family and the music ban. It hadn't been pretty, but it helped Hector understand what had been going on in his family since he died, and why exactly was he being left out of the ofrenda each year.

"Never! That man's music was a curse! I would not allow it!" Abuelita Elena's ire seemed to fuel each time the man in question was being brought up.

"If you would just let—"

But Miguel was again interrupted… by Mamá Luisa no less. She managed to make her normally gentle voice sound threatening.

"Miguel…" It was a warning to keep silent.

"You will listen to your family. No more music." Papá Enrique sentenced, arms crossed over the chest.

"Just listen to me play." Miguel pleaded one more time, although he knew it was futile by this point.

But just as Miguel lifted the replica of the original skull guitar, it was snatched away by Abuelita Elena, who keep it away from Miguel's grasp as if she was afraid it might burn his fingers.

"You want to end up like that man?" She pointed at the photo still within Miguel's hands. "Forgotten? Left off your family's ofrenda?"

"I don't care if I'm on some stupid ofrenda!"

There audible gasps coming from the silent members of the family. Hector himself didn't know what had come over him to say such a thing. Hadn't he spend the better part of his afterlife in the Land of the Dead trying to cross the bridge? Wasn't it his life—or death's—goal to cross the cempasúchil bridge even with no foto on the ofrenda?

What changed then? Maybe it was because the sole reason he had wanted to cross the bridge was so he could see Coco, and now he was alive again. And he could see her, every day he wanted to. He could visit her in her room; he could tell her about his day at school, and goofy stories about how much his way of running had changed, and he could share mandarina with her. And she would listen.

Maybe he could blame his twelve years old hormones instead.

"No!" He cried when Abuelita lifted the guitar over her head, but nothing could be done to stop her from smashing the instrument hard against the ground.

Hector had closed his eyes when the sound of impact first reached his ears, and he was vaguely aware of papá Enrique yelling "mamá!" at the same time Elena smashed the guitar a second time for good measure.

"There. No guitar, no music." She said, satisfied. Her tone softened considerably as she reached a hand to Miguel. "Come. You'll feel better after you eat with your family."

Miguel violently jerked away. Anger and hurt burning in his eyes.

"I don't wanna be in this family" He bolted out of the hacienda.

Yeah, I'm definitely blaming the twelve years old hormones…

He was grimly aware of his papá yelling after him, but he just kept on running.

He reached the plaza, and he stood. Staring grimly at the gazebo where a stage manager with Calavera makeup on her face was checking everything was in order for the talent show. What did he say to his family? That he wanted to be a musician?

Well, now was his chance.

With a determined stance, Miguel approached the stage manager and, suddenly, he was all shy again.

"I wanna play in the plaza. Like my tatarabuelo! Can I still sign up?" He asked hopefully.

"You got an instrument?" She asked.

Hector was suddenly reminded of the smashed guitar back on the courtyard of his home.

"No… but if I can borrow a guitar—"

"Musicians gotta bring their own instruments. You find a guitar, kid, I'll put you on the list."

Looking distraught at first, all disillusionment was wiped off Hector's face when an idea struck.

"My own instrument, eh…"

How could he had forgotten!? He had an instrument! One that hadn't been played for seventy-three years… and even if the whole of Mexico thought it belonged to someone else… well, what did it matter? That guitar was his, and Ernesto De la Cruz could suck it up!

He raced to the cemetery.

Between a sea of flowers and candles, families surrounded the graves. Miguel sneaked through unnoticed, slipping to one shadow to the next. He was so focused in trying to not draw attention to himself, he almost tripped with hairless lump.

"Dante!" Miguel screech-whispered in horror.

The dog barked excitedly, and Miguel shushed him, putting both hands over his snout.

"No, no, no! Dante, stop! Cállate!" He whispered frantically.

Trying to get rid of the dog, Miguel swiped a chicken leg off a nearby grave and threw far, hoping Dante would follow it. Once Dante was off sight, Miguel could finally reach the mausoleum. He pressed his face to one of the windows, and there he spotted the white skull guitar—in the same place it had been every day since he started coming here to check.

He waited for his cue; a firework loud enough to cover the noise of the window latch breaking under his weight, and slipped inside with the stealthiness of a cat, landing on his tiptoes.

He crawled over the marble sarcophagus and found himself face-to-face to the guitar. Miguel wiped off a layer of dust, revealing the polished wood beneath. He could see his awestruck reflection on the surface of the guitar.

"'Nesto… you wouldn't mind if I just—took this for a few hours, right?" He started, almost shy, and he cursed himself in his head. What was he doing, asking for permission to take his own guitar? Shaking his head to himself, Hector extended his arms and closed his hand around the neck of the guitar.

At the moment he made contact, he felt a rush of warm wind rushing through his body—all the way from the tip of his fingers to the smallest of hair in his neck. It was a nerve-shaking feeling; like coming home. And in a way, it was exactly like that. That guitar had been a gift… from the love of his life to him. A wedding present… Hector had hated seeing it hanging on this place—had hated when people referred to it as Ernesto De la Cruz's famous guitar… and he wondered if Imelda had hated it too—if it had been a factor in her decision to ban music from their lives.

Miguel jumped from the tomb, still overwhelmed with feelings, and couldn't resist playing. It had been so long… would it even be in tune? Of course, it was! The groundskeeper would make sure of it, even hiring a professional to do the job if he didn't know how… right?

Just as Hector played the first chord, the air around him vibrated with the strings. He stopped, staring dazed at the empty space. He could swear the cempasúchil petals had flown a little before returning to the floor.

Suddenly, a flashlight shined through one of the windows.

"The guitar! It's gone! Someone stole De la Cruz's guitar!" Someone was yelling.

Everything in Hector was panicking when he heard the jingling of keys and the door unlocking. The groundskeeper entered with a flashlight.

"Alright, who's in there?" He growled.

Startled, Miguel put the guitar away, visibly backtracking while breathing heavily.

"I-I'm sorry! It's not what it looks like… De la Cruz and I are—"

But Hector fell silent when the groundskeeper kept walking… straight through him! He didn't seem to see him.

Next thing he knew, Miguel was running through the cemetery. He ran through a crowd who didn't even registered his presence. He could hear mamá and papá yelling for him not too far ahead, and he runs to them, panicked.

… And then he tripped and fell into an open grave.

"Dios Mío! Little boy, are you okay?" Finally, someone who could help him.

Miguel gladly took her hand, ignoring that he should be feeling an odd feel at doing so, and climbed out of the grave, stumbling a little not to fall again.

"Thanks, I—"and then he took a good look at her face.

He screamed. The woman screamed too. And Hector ignored the prickly feeling that he shouldn't be so scared—he had been around skeletons before, and he had been one before. But he had grown unused to the sight of bones without skin to cover them.

Miguel backed away, as more and more skeletons surrounded him. He fell on his back, not on a grave this time, and scooted away from a kindly skeleton face who tried to get him on his feet again. Hector couldn't find a logic explanation for his panic, just that he was a twelve years old kid with skin over his bones, surrounded by people without it.

As he backed away from the initial crowd of skeletons, Miguel found himself avoiding more and more. They were pointing at him with curiosity and even a little fear on their skinless faces. Hector couldn't be more relieved when he finally reached a familiar face.

"Dante!? You can see me? W-wait! What's going on?"

Dante barked, pointed, and started running through the crowd.

"Dante! Dante!" Miguel followed him, running at full speed and trying not to lose sight of the dog.

And then… Bam! He ran into a moustached skeleton and fell to the ground. The skeleton's bones flew apart and scattered everywhere.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry—"Hector rushed his apology as he chased the man's head to toss it at the rest of his body.

"Miguel?"

Two more voices joined them.

"Miguel?"

"Miguel?"

The bones flew magically to the disembodied skeleton, magnetically attaching themselves to construct a short body with a grey moustache, a cowboy hat covering his bald skull, and a leather apron tied around his ribcage. He stared at Miguel joyfully.

"You're here! And… you can see us?" He then turned confused, giving into the realization that that shouldn't be possible.

A plump woman—well, Hector thought she was plump judging by her bones. She was a skeleton, it was kind of hard to tell— dragged the boy up to her ribcage and hugged him in a manner that strongly reminded him of Abuelita Elena.

"Remind me how I know you?" Miguel's voice was muffled as the woman was still hugging him.

"We're your family, m'ijo!" She laughed.

Miguel took a good look at her. That bone structure… it was eerily similar to…

"Tía Rosita?"

Miguel turned to the short man whose head is still turned the wrong way. A tall woman with glasses straightened it.

"Papá Julio?" He recognized the man as Mamá Coco's late husband—his yerno. So that other woman must be…"Tía Victoria?" His granddaughter. Abuelita Elena's sister.

Tía Victoria poked his cheek, sceptical. "He doesn't seem entirely dead."

A living person ambled through Miguel's non-corporeal form.

"He's not quite alive either…" said Tía Rosita.

"We need Mamá Imelda. She'll know how to fix this." Said Papá Julio.

Hector's heart started hammering at the prospect of seeing Imelda again—he didn't know if he should feel excited or terrified.

And then, two more familiar silhouettes were hurrying towards them. Even as skeletons, Hector could easily distinguish between Oscar and Felipe.

"Oye!" Felipe called to their attention.

"It's Mamá Imelda—"started explaining Oscar.

"She couldn't cross over!" Felipe finished.

As the other three gasped, the twins continued.

"She's stuck—"

"—on the other side!"

Hector decided to chime in at that moment, proceeding with his unnecessary flashes of recognition of his cuñados.

"Oscar? Felipe?"

"Oh, hey Miguel." Both greeted as casual as if it was an everyday occurrence. Then, they actually processed who was in front of them, and both of them gave an identical little scream of terror.

"I have a feeling this has to do with you," Tía Victoria gazed at Miguel, giving him the same look Abuelita did whenever she was judging her grandson in silence.

"But, if Mamá Imelda can't come to us—"Tía Rosita started, concerned.

"Then we are going to her! Vámonos!" Papá Julio finished for her. He grabbed Miguel by the hand and started towards the edge of the cemetery.

The whole family was behind them, Dante included. As they approached the giant cempasúchil bridge, Miguel stopped suddenly, staring in awe at the gigantic bridge of petals that he never once, in over ninety years, got to cross. Now he was standing on the other side, about to go to the same place he spent so long trying to leave.

"Whoa…"

The family passed over an invisible barrier, but Miguel lingered at the threshold, shuddering slightly.

"Come on, Miguel. It's okay." Papá Julio said reassuringly, and Hector found the whole exchange weird. This is his daughter's husband… looking at him as if he were a mere kid. Well, he was a kid… and he supposed, to the man Miguel was just his great-grandchild.

Hector passed through the barrier. The same feeling from before in the mausoleum came over him now: a warm wind, washing through his bones like a hot shower. During a millisecond he felt different—in his old body, perhaps. But that feeling is over as quickly as it started, and Hector is now with both feet on the bridge.

The petals glow as he stepped on them. He walked tentatively at first, and he reached down with one hand to drag his fingers over the petals. He wasn't falling through…. The bridge could now hold his weight.

Dante rushed pass him, running with his tongue out and barking joyfully.

"Dante, Dante! Dante, wait up!" Miguel ran behind the dog, concerned that he might lose Dante in the crowd. That stray dog had managed to get a spot on Hector's heart.

He found him at the crest of the bridge, rolling on the petals. He sneezed some in Miguel's face, who grimaced.

"You gotta stay with me, boy. We don't know… where…"

Hector ought to have had pay more attention to the view during his stay at the Land of the Dead. This was… breath-taking. Bright coloured buildings towering as far as they could reach. Lights everywhere—the festive atmosphere was palpable.

"This isn't a dream, then. You're all really out there…" He whispered, vaguely aware of that his family caught up to him.

"You thought we weren't?" asked Tía Victoria.

Just for the fun of it—and to cover his real meaning—Hector answered with a snarky, infantile comment.

"Well, I don't know, I thought it was one of those made-up things adults tell kids… like… vitamins."

"Miguel, vitamins are a real thing," Tía Victoria explained with a professional air.

"Well, now I'm thinking they might be." He faked a wide-eyed look, pretending to be horrified.

They received many odd stares as they descended the bridge. One little skeleton girl gasped and pointed at Miguel, was scolding by her mother who, upon a closer look at the object of her daughter's shocked stare, gasped herself and hurried the little girl away from the Riveras. Miguel covered his head with his hoodie, trying not to look at anyone in the eye.

He found himself staring into Oscar's analytical gaze, and he couldn't help but back away a little.

"Ay, how I miss my nose," Oscar whined, touching the empty spot where his nose had once been.

Miguel arched an eyebrow.

Oookay then.

A giant alebrije flew past their heads, and Miguel stared in awe at the proximity of it. He couldn't remember his time in this land very well—all his focus had gone into grasping the memories of when he was alive. His time in the Land of the Dead had been a lonely one.

Oscar mistook his awe for something else.

"Real alebrijes. Spirit creatures…"

"They guide the souls on their journey…" Tía Rosita piped in.

"Watch your step, they make caquitas everywhere." Felipe chimed in with a joke.

The Grand Central Station is packed with people. Skeletons formed in line to cross over to the Land of the Living but also, skeletons returning from their journey visiting their families. The Riveras guided Hector to the re-entry line, and they moved with it until they were before the arrivals agent.

"Welcome back, amigos!" The agent greeted cheerfully. "Anything to declare?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Papá Julio moved aside, and Oscar and Felipe pushed Miguel by the shoulders.

Hector smiled sheepishly.

"Hola." He greeted shyly.

The agent's jaw fell off its place.


A first glimpse of how the heck a hundred-year-old dead guy got reincarnated in a millennial (or is it Gen Z? I don't even know anymore...)

EDIT: I'm using Grammarly to check the spelling of some of the words. I hope this chapter is finer now.