Coco couldn't remember the last time she'd heard her father's voice. Along with her memories of him being around and playing with her, the memory of the last time he sang to her was non existent in her mind.
She could still very faintly gather a memory of what his voice sounded like. Just not the last time he'd used it in front of her, or Mamá, or their Superhero. And the sound of his voice was the only memory Coco had left... except for the songs he'd performed.
Three of them. She could still remember three of the songs Papá had written.
One of them was Un Poco Loco, which always made Coco laugh when Papá had sung it for Mamá or hummed it to himself. The way Coco remembered it is by remembering how Papá had told her that Mamá always made him crazy with love when they were younger, and if Mamá had been in the same room as them Coco would watch as she blushed and rolled her eyes with the tiniest smile. Papá would grab Mamá's hands, kiss her cheek, and spin her around as he played that song.
The second one, Coco couldn't remember the name of, just the tune. And who it was for. Even now it made her giggle when she pictured Ernesto's crossed arms and narrowed eyes whenever Papá had sung this song to him, trying to get Ernesto to dance to the bouncy, upbeat melody and failing nearly all the time. Ernesto, for whatever reason, seemed to hate that song. Coco had once been curious about why, but Ernesto's reaction to the song had become so normal that Coco didn't want to know the reason behind it after a while. Not that either Ernesto or Papá would give her an explination anyway.
The third was Coco's favorite. Remember Me. That was their song. Only theirs. It filled Coco's heart with warmth every time she pictured Papá singing it to her, sitting on her bed while he kneeled in front of her, serenading her in his soft, tenor-like voice that hit every note perfectly, every time. Every now and then, Coco thought she could still very vaguely remember her younger self reaching out to touch Papá's face while he was singing, but that memory was so faint that Coco couldn't tell if it was real or just her aching heart creating illusions in her mind.
Often, forgetting the ban on music Mamá had made many years ago, Coco would hum Remember Me to herself, the memory of Papá's voice fresh in her mind all the time. It was almost impossible not to sing just for a little bit, even though Coco knew the risks of it. She'd fuel herself with memories of her father's voice and imagine she was singing with him.
Once when she was running an errand for her mother, delivering their custom-made dance shoes to one of the studios in town, Coco had discovered an extra pair in the package. She put them on and danced to the tune of her father's songs all the way home until her mother found her and scolded her.
Another time she'd been taking a break from her work and snuck around to the back of the hacienda to dance to the illusion of her father's voice. She'd been dancing for a long time when suddenly she tripped, fell, and sprained her ankle from misstep. Mamá had scolded her then, too, figuring the reson behind the injury faster than Coco thought she was able to. It'd been very hard to stop Victoria and Elena's cries when they found her as well.
Even when Coco told herself to stop, stop dancing and stop listening, she just couldn't. She hated that she had to, that she could no longer sing out loud or dance or hum to the tunes played outside the hacienda. She hated that her Mamá had shifted from warm and accepting of any music to stone cold and stern, chasing the mariachis away.
Most of all, Coco dreaded the fact that she had no idea why Papá was still gone. Or what could've happened to him. Or why in the world he was letting Ernesto use his songs and claim them as his. Especially the song Papá had written for her.
At first, Coco didn't notice Ernesto's twisted versions. Thanks to Mamá's music ban, there were no radios or speakers to be used in the house at all. Which meant that, other than the few mariachis that still had the tiniest ounce of courage in them to perform close to the hacienda windows, Coco had no way of listening to any music.
Including Ernesto's.
It had been a Saturday afternoon, the only day other than Sundays or holidays that the shoemaking shop is closed and there's no work to do. Mamá Imelda had already had to chase a couple of musicians away from the front porch that morning for trying to catch her attention with their tunes. Coco was helping Julio get lunch ready, setting the table while he grabbed the plates full of food to be set in the middle. Victoria and Elena were having a rare argument about the rules of a game they were playing with Rosita. Mamá was sitting in one of the living room chairs, reading one of her favorite books. Oscar and Felipe's laughter could be heard from their bedroom down the hall, their voices rising and falling constantly like usual.
Coco grabbed some more glasses and set them in front of the two plates she'd missed, thinking of how her father would be helping as well or chatting animatedly with Mamá if her were here, playing his music for everyone. She was yanked from her daze when she heard the faint static of the radio, the only one left in the house, positioned on the windowsill above the sink, the sun glinting off of it's glossy paint and making Coco squint when she turned toward the noise. She sighed and turned to look at her mother, who was already eyeing the device with her brows furrowed.
Coco, knowing what would surely happen if the radio wasn't turned off soon, turned to Julio.
"Turn that off, por favor," she told him while straightening the silverware.
Julio nodded at her, setting the platters of food in his hand on the counter and reaching toward the radio's controls. The radio cracked with static as he turned the knobs, making Coco wince at the jarring sound.
Eventually the static stopped, but not the music. Coco saw Mamá cast her a pointed glance, and Coco walked over to Julio's place and started messing with it as well.
But something stopped Coco in her tracks.
It was a tinny, discordant, bouncy melody that hit her ears hard. Guitar music joined the ballad, and Coco recognized that part of the song instantly.
"Wait," she said, tugging on Julio's sleeve. "Is that...?"
It was.
It was Papá's song, their song, and at first Coco's heart leapt. But the voice singing it wasn't Papá at all. The voice was thicker, more suave, and definitely higher than Papá's voice.
Ernesto was singing the song, and Coco's joy was replaced with confusion and anger.
Ernesto wasn't singing it with the passion or love it deserved. The tune was jumpier than it was supposed to be. And there were way more high notes than normal, too. Rather than the song giving off a loving, tender air, all Coco felt was emptiness as she listened, her hands shaking and tears of anger pricking at her eyes. Coco balled her right hand into a fist, her left one twitching violently as she felt for the switch and turned the radio off. The tears started to fall.
Soon Coco felt Julio's hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay?"
But Coco's mind was too full to answer. She hunched her shoulders and broughter her fisted hands to her face as she sobbed, barely registering the sounds of her family members' voices colliding with each other as they ran to her.
"Mamá!"
"What's the matter, Coco?"
"¿Qué ocurre, mija?"
Feelings of betrayl and confusion were swirling in Coco's heart as she wiped her eyes and stared at the concerned faces of her familia, seeing Elena's arms reaching out to her as she, too, started to cry.
"I'm fine." But Coco's answer tasted like poison in her mouth. All she could think of was Ernesto, stealing her and Papá's song and showing it off for himself, not even realizing how wrong that was.
Coco walked away from everyone with no further words, more tears gushing out of her eyes as she collapsed onto her and Julio's bed with her arms hugging herself.
That was our song, Ernesto. It belonged to me and Papá.
As she layed there, she wondered why, how, Ernesto could've ever thought it was okay to perform that song like it meant nothing. With each passing moment that day and the days following, Coco despised herself for ever trusting Ernesto.
He was no Superhero.
He didn't deserve his fame and he definitely didn't deserve her or Papá's affections.