Marigold petals fell to the ground, scattering around Miguel's body. He stirred awake upon feeling a few petals touch his head. Now wide awake, he could see the sun's morning light pouring in through the windows, shining down upon him. He sat up on his knees and looked around, then looked at his hands and saw that there was only cinnamon-colored skin – no bones, no transparent skin; just regular old flesh as it had been, prior to his journey through the afterlife.
His journey…
Oh no.
He looked to his right, and saw the guitar lying across him. He gasped and grabbed it, remembering the promise he had made to Imelda last night. He raced out of the tomb, through the gates of the cemetery onto the streets.
As he dashed through the plaza, his Prima Rosa saw him. "Miguel?"
"Ahi esta!" Tío Berto cried out.
"Miguel, deja de correr!" his father called out to him.
All of their calls fell upon deaf ears though, as he continued running towards his home. He was going to keep his promise and make sure that Mamá Coco didn't forget her mother, and that Imelda's memory continued to live on.
He threw open the gates as he rushed into the courtyard, hurrying as fast as he could to Mamá Coco's room, only to be stopped by Abuelita Elena. "Miguel Julio Rivera Ocampos, dónde has estado?!"
Miguel looked around, trying to find a way to get past his abuelita. "I can't say right now! I have to see Mamá Coco–"
Abuelita Elena gasped as she saw the guitar in his hands. "What are you doing with that guitar? Give it to me now!"
Miguel quickly moved to the side, rushing into his bisabuela's room and locking the door behind him. He ignored the cries for him to unlock it as he went over to his bisabuela, kneeling beside her. If it weren't for her body's movements signaling that she was still breathing, he would've easily assumed that she was dead right now. She looked like a dried up raisin. "Mamá Coco? Soy Miguel." He tried to look into her eyes. "Do you remember your mamá? I – I saw her last night, and we spent time together… and she told me how much she loved you."
Not a single word came out of the ninety-nine year-old's mouth.
"Por favor – you need to remember her, or else she'll disappear from the Land of the Dead and you'll never get to see her when you pass on to that world!" he pleaded.
Still no response.
He brought out his tatarabuela's guitar. "This is her guitar. When you were a little girl, she played it to you as she sang your lullaby." The guitar was cast aside as the old photo was pulled out of his pocket. "Look, it's mamá!" He tried not to cry as he showed her the photo. "Mamá, recuerda? Tu mamá!"
Mamá Coco was more silent than a corpse.
"Mamá Coco, por favor," he pleaded. "No te olvides de tu madre."
With no response from her, he stood up and breathed in and out. He heard keys jangling, and soon all of his living family was in the room.
"She's ninety-nine years-old – let the poor woman rest!" Abuelita Elena exclaimed, then went over to her mother. "Está bien, Mamita, está bien."
"I just don't know what's gotten into you," Enrique said, placing his hands on his hips as he walked up to his son.
Miguel couldn't take it anymore. His head tilted down as he finally started to cry, sniffling as tears rolled down his cheeks.
Enrique softened. Whatever anger he had felt melted away as he put a hand on his son's shoulder, only for the boy to throw his arms around his torso. He hugged his son, whispering, "I was so worried, Migue…"
"Perdóname, Papá," the boy sobbed into his father's shirt.
Luisa joined the hug, running a hand through her son's hair before moving her hand over her husband's. "We're all together now," she murmured. "Eso es todo lo que es importante."
"N-no," Miguel disagreed with his mother, praying to the gods that Imelda was still okay. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if she wasn't. "Someone's still missing…"
"Tranquila, Mamita," Abuelita soothed her mother. She turned to her nieto. "Miguel, discúlpate con tu Mamá Coco."
He took a breath, then exhaled. He wiped a tear away, still sniffling as he approached his bisabuela. "Mamá Coco…" he trailed off as his foot bumped into the guitar. His gears started turning.
If she wouldn't listen to what he had to say, then maybe she would listen to music.
"Miguel, apologize!" Abuelita ordered.
"Mamá Coco?" He picked up Imelda's guitar. "Your mamá's guitar – it's your inheritance. If she could, she would've written a will and stated that the guitar is yours now." With that, he started to play a few notes.
Abuelita was about to cut in, but Enrique grabbed her shoulder and stopped her before she could snatch the guitar away. "Now wait just a minute, Mamá."
Miguel held back tears, trying to keep his voice from faltering as he started to sing the lullaby. Memories of his tatarabuela's gentle, tender voice flooded in while he did so.
"Recuérdame, hoy me tengo que ir mi amor,
Recuérdame, no llores por favor."
"Look," Luisa spoke softly, and everyone soon noticed Mamá Coco stirring awake.
"Te llevo en mi corazón y cerca me tendrás,
A solas yo te cantaré soñando en regresar.
Recuérdame, aunque tengo que emigrar…"
Mamá Coco's eyes opened, and with every note she began remembering everything, including her mother. Her spirit found its way out of its vegetated state, and her eyes became clear as she looked to her bisnieto.
Much to everyone's shock, her scratchy, old voice joined Miguel's youthful, vigorous one in unison.
"Recuérdame, si mi guitarra oyes llorar…"
Like the rest of his family, Miguel was also shocked at what he saw, yet he was also delighted. A feeling of success bubbled within him as he smiled at his bisabuela. Somehow, it was then and there that he knew that Imelda's memory was safe and secure.
"Ella con su triste canto te acompañará,
Hasta que en mis brazos tú estés,
Recuérdame…"
Mamá Coco beamed at her bisnieto, then looked at her only daughter. She was concerned as she saw some tears rolling down her cheeks. "Elena, qué pasa, mija?"
"Nada, Mamá," Elena replied, sniffing back tears. "No tengo nada."
Mamá Coco looked back to Miguel. "My mamá used to sing me that song," she said, remembering how she used to sit at the edge of her bed while her mother sang to her. "She told me that it was our song, and no one else's."
"Your mamá loved you so much, Mamá Coco," Miguel said, now sobbing again. "She tried to come home, but she couldn't make it because she was – she was–" he was cut off as he started hiccupping due to all of his crying, memories of the previous night still fresh in his mind as if they had only happened minutes ago.
Mamá Coco cupped his face in her hands, smiling as she heard how much her mother loved her, finally getting the confirmation she'd been seeking for a century. She reached into a drawer, pulling out a notebook. "I hid the letters and poems she wrote me, since I feared Papá would've taken them away or they would've been burnt by someone," she explained as she opened the notebook. "And, I kept this as well…" She stopped at a page, plucking out a small piece of paper.
Miguel's eyes widened as he was handed the piece of paper. He turned it over in his hands and saw that it was Imelda's half of the torn photo. He picked up Papá Héctor's part of the photo, putting Imelda's piece where it should've been. She's home, he thought contentedly, filled with relief.
"My mamá's name was Imelda. She was a guitarist," Mamá Coco began to speak of her mother. "When I was a little girl, Mamá would play, and she and Papá would sing and dance. It was a beautiful time."
The family listened in as Mamá Coco recalled all of her memories of her mother.
(It was at that moment that not only was he now certain that Imelda was safe and that her memory would live on forever, but he had also learned just how strong a daughter's love for her mother could be.
And just as he kept his promise that Mamá Coco would not forget her mother, he would also keep his promise to never forget how much his family loved him.)
Miguel looked at his arms as he and his family headed back inside the house. His wrists had bruises all over them, due to how tight de la Cruz's grip had been on him. Her bony thumbs had scratched at his skin, leaving visible marks all over that not even a nearsighted person could miss. Not to mention, there were some bruises on his face as well due to his former idol flinging him across the roof as though he were a rag doll, costing him his hoodie and the last of his innocence.
And of course, it was his Prima Rosa who noticed first. "Miguel, your arms!" she gasped, pointing to the marks. "You're covered in bruises!"
The rest of his family's eyes darted to his arms, and they soon saw the injuries as well.
"Dios!" Enrique cried out. "What happened to you, mijo?"
"And where's your jacket?" Luisa pointed out. "You always wear it. Where has it gone?"
"You never answered my question, either," Abuelita Elena spoke up. "Where did you go last night?"
"You'd say I'm crazy if I told you," Miguel replied, hesitant to reveal where he'd been in fear that they'd think he was suffering from a delusion of sorts. "Or maybe you'd call me a fool."
"We won't call you crazy or a fool," Enrique promised. "Just please, tell us where you've been."
Knowing that his family would continue to pushing him to tell the truth, he decided to ignore whatever anxiety plagued him and did exactly that. He recalled everything – getting cursed for taking the guitar, meeting the dead Riveras, the whole blessings thing, his stubbornness leading to him meeting Mamá Imelda even though they knew nothing of their relation at the time, all of the time they had spent together before being separated after their duet, how he met Ernestina de la Cruz and then discovered how she murdered Mamá Imelda, how he and Mamá Imelda discovered they were related, how the rest of the family reunited with them, how they all stood against de la Cruz, how she tried to throw him off a building before Pepita came in and how she had been exposed to the world; he recalled everything, up until he woke up in the tombs.
When he was done explaining everything, he saw his family gaping at him in shock. "Um…" He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little uncomfortable with all the silence. "Are – are you guys okay?"
"Are we okay?" Enrique repeated his son's words. "We should be asking you if you're okay!" He and Luisa pulled their son into a hug, both horrified upon learning what their son had gone through. "Mi pobre, dulce niño… to think, last night you went to hell and back and we didn't even know… lo siento mucho, mijo."
"My brave little hero," Luisa whispered, stroking her son's hair gently, peppering his forehead with kisses.
"So that's why you weren't in the plaza or the cemetery," Tío Berto realized.
"All this time, you were cursed and stuck in some kind of limbo," Tía Gloria muttered, her voice shaky and weak.
"Meanie de la Cruz!" one of his twin cousins, Manny, yelled.
"Meanie Tina hurt Miguel!" the other twin, Benny, squeaked.
"That diabla!" Abuelita Elena spat, angered that someone would even attempt to throw her nieto off a building. "How dare she try to murder our dulce, precioso, querido pequeño Miguelito? I hope she rots underneath that bell for the rest of her afterlife, until she's forgotten!"
"It's okay," Miguel tried to calm everyone down. "I'm fine. I'll be fine, I swear."
Tía Carmen looked from her nephew to her only daughter. "Rosa, could you go treat your primo's wounds?" she requested.
The fourteen year-old nodded and went over to the freezer, pulling out an ice pack. "Come on, Miguel. Let's go," she said, and they went upstairs into the bathroom. Using a paper towel to hold the ice pack, she carefully pressed it against her primo's bruises, making the boy hiss at how cold it was. "Lo siento, pero it's the only way it'll stop swelling."
"Lo sé, lo sé," Miguel mumbled, trying to ignore the icy cold feeling in his wrists. His thoughts went back to last night – to his argument with his abuelita and father, and how he'd snapped at everyone, especially his cousin. Looking back at it now, he felt bad for letting his anger get the better of him. "…hey, Rosa?"
She looked up from the wounds she was treating. "Yeah?"
"I'm sorry," he apologized. "For… for snapping at you back there. I let my anger get the better of me, and I–"
"I'm the one who should say sorry," Rosa interrupted him softly, a look of guilt on her face. "You were right in a way. I was looking out for myself. I shouldn't have stopped talking to you, I shouldn't have shut you out like I did – but I was afraid that if I'd get caught and… and I thought that if I tried living up to my middle namesake, then maybe I wouldn't have to worry about my violin being confiscated." She looked away from him, shutting her eyes tightly as she sighed. "But in the end, it made things worse."
"Violin?" he asked, confused.
"You thought you were the only secret musician?" She smiled bitterly, standing up and putting the icepack on the sink counter. "Venga, let me show you."
He followed her as she led him into her room, watching as she went to carefully shut the door behind them. Then, she went over to her bed and knelt down, pulling out something from underneath it.
Miguel's eyes widened as he saw her hold a makeshift violin in her hands, complete with a bow. "You… you–"
"At the end of the school day, I have this music class," Rosa began to explain. "I told the teacher about the music ban, and they agreed to take it off my schedule online while keeping me in the class – that way, no one would suspect that a Rivera would be a secret musician." She ran her hands over the instrument. "When I'm at home, I keep this hidden underneath my bed. When the room's being vacuumed, I hide it in my drawers with all my clothes. I kept this a secret since 2015, and Abel is the only one who was aware of this… until now."
Miguel soaked in all of her words, then chuckled at the irony of it all. While she sometimes acted like Tío Víctor, she truly was Mamá Imelda's tataranieta. "Reminds me of when Mamá Imelda played for the first time," he remarked, smiling a little. "You're just like her… you've even got her looks."
She blushed a little at that, then smirked and wiggled her eyebrows, reminding him of their tatarabuela. "I am muy bonita, aren't I?"
Together, they laughed for a good few minutes. They soon stopped laughing, and she asked him, "So, does this mean you forgive me?"
He nodded. "Of course." He opened his arms. "Awkward primo hug?"
"Awkward primo hug," she said, opening her arms as well.
They hugged each other in an awkward manner, patting one another's back during the hug.
"You know," Rosa started. "I think Abuelita might lift the music ban, since your singing proved that music isn't all that bad."
"Maybe." Miguel pulled away from the hug, shrugging his shoulders. "The only thing I know is that Ernestina de la Cruz must be exposed, if Mamá Imelda's honor is ever to be restored."
"And if you and her are to be avenged," Rosa added.
"You mean if she's to be avenged," Miguel corrected her. "I'm still alive. De la Cruz didn't get to leave me in the cenote to die or throw me off the building, since Pepita took care of her."
"Y-yeah…" Rosa trembled a bit, terrified at the very thought of how close her primo had been to being murdered. Twice. "I'm glad she did. I don't know what I would do if you didn't survive…"
Seeing tears forming in his prima's eyes, Miguel pulled her into another hug. "Está bien, Ro," he soothed. "I'm here."
"Te amo, primo," she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. "Te quiero mucho."
"Yo también te quiero, prima," he whispered back.
December 1st, 1921
Dear Coco,
I apologize for taking so long to come home. I would've come back sooner, but your Tía Ernestina has been pressuring me to stay. She keeps insisting that we must continue touring the country, and that we'll get nowhere if we quit now. I'm afraid that she's obsessed with this dream of becoming a famous singer – so much so, that there are nights where I can barely even recognize her. She's changed so much, that she's no longer the same girl I grew up in an orphanage with. She's now some woman that keeps demanding for me to stay with her.
But I don't want to stay. I want to come home to you and your papá so, so badly. I want to be with you two again.
I've booked a train ride home next Wednesday, on December 7th. I promise you that once that train arrives in Santa Cecilia, I will be home and I will never leave you or your papá ever again.
Your loving mamá,
Imelda Rivera.
That was the last letter Imelda Rivera had written to her daughter, before she died of arsenic poisoning in the evening of December 7th, 1921 while trying to come home to her husband and daughter.
This letter and the songbook that Coco had kept were taken to the police station, presented as evidence that Imelda was the true musician and that Ernestina de la Cruz had murdered her.
In order to reach the final conclusion of whether or not this was true, the police officers – along with Enrique and Miguel Rivera – all headed to Mexico City. In the outskirts, they dug around until they came across a shallow grave, with the skeleton of a young woman in her early twenties inside of it.
Enrique held onto his son as the boy collapsed to his knees, letting out a loud cry as the cold, lifeless skeleton was identified to be his tatarabuela's.
The police took the skeleton to the station and had a few scientists run tests on it, examining it further before the cause of death was identified to indeed be arsenic poisoning.
With all of the evidence gathered, it was concluded that Imelda Rivera had been murdered by Ernestina de la Cruz, and that the older woman took the younger woman's songs as some sort of consolation prize.
Once the case was closed, Enrique and Miguel boarded a train back to Oaxaca. On the way home, Miguel couldn't help but feel a bit of grief at the fact that it had taken almost one-hundred years for the truth to finally come out.
But when they finally got home, the young boy's grief was gone as he saw a familiar hairless dog running up to him, with a letter in its mouth.
Miguel took the letter into his hands, and tears of joy pricked the corners of his eyes once he saw the handwriting.
It was from Mamá Imelda.
(The music ban was soon lifted after Enrique delivered the news, and everyone in the Rivera household rejoiced as they would finally be able to enjoy the one thing they had been missing out on for so long.
But in the end, what made Miguel truly happy was the fact that he'd done it. He had saved Mamá Imelda and avenged her.
And for the first time in all of his life, he felt truly complete.)
