Is it wrong to force someone to do something they don't want to even though it's good for them?
Imelda used to wonder this.
Every time she was told by her mother to get to know the pesky men in town who flirted with her, and later when she became friends with Héctor and he told her that her "physical assault" (his words) toward others was a bad thing and tried to help her get it under control, she ran the question over in her mind, the bitter taste of it on her tongue.
She still does ponder the question every now and then, what with having to lecture Coco constantly about the music ban and having to teach her and Julio more skills in their business, which is now the most popular and respected family-run operation in Santa Cecilia.
Imelda hates seeing the longing expression on Coco's face every time she hears the strum of a guitar. She hates hearing Coco and Julio whisper back and forth late at night, somertimes about her, but mostly about Héctor, no matter how many times Imelda has told Coco not to waste a single thought on him. She despises seeing Coco's daughters' teary faces whenever Coco is in despair or looks upset.
That's when she wonders it the most.
Am I doing something wrong?
It does feel a bit odd to shut out the thing Coco loves most, to force her and Julio and Victoria and Elena to go on without the thing that's everywhere in the world. Imelda herself feels her heart clench whenever she reconfirms their rule and shuts out the mariachis who stroll by, memories of Héctor-- and what he would do if he saw her-- washing through her mind without her wanting them to.
What if I'm making the wrong choice?
Imelda knows this is the best way to get rid of Héctor... but does she really need to force everyone-- to force Coco-- to let him go, too?
It became a round about debate in her mind. It keeps her up more than her dreams do.
What am I doing? What if I'm wrong? Would Héctor want this?
That last question in itself drives Imelda near to madness each night.
But then again, why think of Héctor at all? He left and has no use to them anymore, so why should she and the others care about him when he obviously couldn't care less about her?
Besides, Imelda knows she's gone too far already, too far to go back and undo everything. Héctor's letters to her are ashes. His toys are collecting dust in the box Imelda put them in. His and her records are snapped in half. The shoemaking business is taking off even more now. And, somehow, Ernesto has Héctor's guitar, so bringing that back into her posession isn't possible.
The question repeats itself.
Is it wrong to do this?
No, Imelda snaps to herself firmly, rolling away from Héctor's side of the bed and glaring into the darkness, waiting for sleep to claim her. Her hands squeeze to fists and her nails dig into her palms as she continues talking in her mind.
Héctor has no use to us. It was his decision to leave, his choice to follow his Superhero to chase a fantasy. Imelda gags at the nickname Superhero, how it grated on her enough already but now seems to kill her even more just thinking of it.
What has he done to help this family? He left us. He brought this on himself.
This time when Imelda closes her eyes, the annoying, pestering question still prodding at her heart and the words of rage in her mind ready to explode from her mouth, she doesn't try to stop herself from sleeping.
This time she wants to sleep. So she can dream of chasing Héctor to the end of Santa Cecilia, nothing on her mind but lashing out and slapping his face until it bleeds.