Chapter Two
Shattered Dreams & Broken Locks
A.K.A: Michaela becomes a Grave-Robber and has an (semi) undead family reunion!
EXT. RIVERA COMPOUND - SUNSET
The air was flavored with the tender warmth of home cooked meals and fresh baked bread as many people, children included, began roaming the streets as the long awaited festivities began. Outside the Rivera Compound, it was common to see children running by with sparklers in their hands and paint on their faces. Rubbing her calloused palms together, Elena swung open the front gate to the Rivera Household with an exuberance rarely seen as though to beckon in friends not seen in many months. The bells of the old church chimed in the distance as a wide, homely grin spread over the elderly woman's countenance.
Turning back to her home, it was in a single wondrous breath she spoke a single phrase imbued with what might have been the most blissful happiness in the world. "Dia de los muertos has begun!" She headed off to check on the food in the kitchen, it wouldn't do for Abel of the twins to get their hands on it.
Benjamin and Emmanuel, also known as Benny and Manny, were besides Elisa who cradled a basket of cempasuchil in one arm. The other was wrapped around the swelling curve of her stomach. The twins, still so small at only two and a half years old, were only toddlers. They grabbed fistfuls of petals from their Aunt's basket and sent them scattering in wild patterns across the brick ground. Mama laughed at their antics before helping to correct them. "No, mis pequenos, like this." With her foot, she carefully brushed the fallen petals into a straight, if somewhat narrow path.
Reaching into the basket herself, she proceeded to gather a generous amount of petals and spread a heavier layer over the previous ones and then widen the path. The path, winding from the front gate, would lead straight into the ofrenda room. "We have to make a clear path for our ancestors. The petals will lead their spirits from the land of the dead to hear, back home to us. We don't want our family to get lost, to miss on all the wonderful food and drinks on the ofrenda, si?"
As her mother spoke, Michaela very cautiously crept out from the attic through the secret entrance. Keeping a tight grasp on her guitar (as well as Dante's collar), she snuck along the tiled room and winced as some tiles gently wiggled slightly in place. Some were as old as the compound itself probably. They weren't loose, but had lost just enough of a firm hold to be able to shift minutely from side to side occasionally. The somewhat warm air had her sweater sticking to the back of her neck, damp with sweat as she focused on getting down without being seen.
After what seemed like an endless period of time, the teenager managed to clamber from the roof and down into the bed of the workshop's truck, finally scrambling from the truck to solid ground once more. Thankfully she hadn't lost her grip of her guitar, and Dante hadn't barked and given them (and their precious cargo) away. Michaela pulled the guitar even closer to her chest. It had taken months of working on, scavenging paint and old wood board from projects, even occasionally scrounge the streets and a dump a ways outside of town to find everything she needed (and then a way to sanitize the items from questionable locations like the dump without seeming suspicious on what said items were needed for).
Now all she needed to do was get out the compound and to the plaza. She'd rather beg forgiveness than ask permission. Not when the latter option had been tried and truly failed. The abrupt sound of footsteps and voices however, had her plastering herself against the wall with a hand on Dante's collar again to keep him in place. If all else failed, he could be her distraction. Tio Berto and Papa came around the corner from the storage shed, carrying on of the folding tables. Doubling back, Michaela just barely heard her father asking where to place the table.
Pivoting on her heel, she then proceeded to nearly suffer a heart attack from the sight of her grandmother coming up the sidewalk behind her while sweeping the ground. Pulling away, she ended up having to retreat back to the courtyard. With Abuelita coming from one direction, Papa and Tio Berto from another, maybe even Mama and the twins from wherever they got to (unknown variables in the plan), Michaela needed a place to hide...if only to stash away her guitar so that it wasn't confiscated (or worse). She ducked through the entryway of the ofrenda room, hiding just out of sight against the wall next to the door.
Leonel and Berto walked into the courtyard, still carrying the table. Elena looked up at them from where she stood outside the gate. "Put it down further into the courtyard."
"Down near the kitchen?"
"No, put it next to the other one."
Michaela exhaled in relief as they moved away, only to go rigid upon noticing Dante slowly padding up to the ofrenda with his nose high in the air. "Oh, no no no..." Stepping forward quickly, she managed to move Dante away from the table covered with the fancy lace hem counterpane that was yellowed with age and probably a family heirloom, something very easy to pull at covering a surface covered with very precious photos and many open flames. Not a good place for Dante, the perpetually hungry and mighty (clumsy) xolo dog, to ever be near.
In that moment, voices began nearing the ofrenda room again. Hissing under her breath, Michaela began frantically shooing Dante beneath the ofrenda. While she was at it, it would probably be a good idea to hide her guitar under there too. "Get under, get under...!" She whispered, finally just shoving Dante under the table by his rump and hoping he stayed there. "Michaela!" A sharp call from her abuelita had her back snapping straight like an iron rod was holding her up. "Yes?" Michaela squeaked in a voice several pitches higher than normal.
Standing in the doorway, there was Mama y Papa right behind Abuelita. They stared intently at her for a moment and her heart plummeted to her stomach. They had to have seen her hiding something under the table, surely. She was as good as dead.
Fidgeting, and fervently praying for the slightest chance of not being seen with what may as well have been illegal contraband, she glanced from her parents to her grandmother. "Why...why is everyone staring at me?" She stuck her hands into her skirt pockets, thankful she wore it instead of her jeans. Those pockets were way too small and no where near as comfortable, particularly when faced with certain doom (Read: Elena Rivera, her lovely and absolutely terrifying abuelita). Silence reigned supreme, and Michaela was completely assured of her defeat. She was grounded for life, going to be locked away in the workshop for the rest of her life, shaping shoe leather and hammering down soles...if she wasn't permanently assigned shoe-shining duty.
"Mama...Papa...I-" She tried to speak even before she had grasped an excuse for what they must have seen, but Mama's hand shot up, a finger facing her in a gesture known as 'be quiet for a moment". "Michaela..."she said softly, voice just barely more than a whisper. The teenager's heart skipped at beat. Then Mama's lips widened into a beatific grin and her eyes sparkled just as brightly as they had when she had told Michaela she was pregnant months ago.
"Your Abuelita has gotten the most magnificent idea in the wide world. We've decided that it's finally time for you to join us all in the workshop!" Abruptly, all Michaela's panic flushed down the drain, leaving her numb and completely dumbfounded, with a wide-eyed yet deadpan expression. Abuelita walked over and draped a leather apron over her shoulders while Mama continued speaking. Michaela, still frozen, finally spoke just before her mother continued. "What...?" she murmured, very terribly confused.
"No more shining shoes in the streets - you will be with us, here in the workshop, making them yourself! You'll be able to stay home after school with us everyday to work on cutting leather, shaping the soles and leather to the lasts, stitching uppers, taking measurements..." Elisa was positively buoyant.
Abuelita then swallowed her up in a gigantic hug, the embrace so tight Michaela could hardly breathed, she was pressed so tightly. "Our Angelito is going to carry on the family tradition. Your ancestors will be so proud, especially when they visit on Dia de Los Muertos." She beamed as she pulled away, cupping Michaela's face in her calloused hands, hardened from decades of work. She turned to the ofrenda, and Michaela now took note of new offerings there, not just the food and flowers seen earlier.
Elena led her over to the ofrenda. "You'll craft huaraches like your Tia Victoria, rebozos like Tio Victor..." Elisa stepped up to her other side, continuing her mother's sentence. "And we can't forget about wingtips, Papa Julio's specialty." Taking a step back, Michaela was overwhelmed. This...had absolutely not been expected. Where was the yelling, the lecturing? She...she couldn't spend all her time making shoes after school. She wanted to go to the plaza, to practice music, not shoe-making!
"B-but what if i'm no good at shoe-making?" She asked tentatively, hoping the tremors in her voice would be mistaken for minor anxiety and not the outright horror she felt. Making shoes was a lucrative business, one which allowed her family to be financially well off, but that wasn't the career she wanted for herself. Elisa grasped her daughter's hands, "Michaela, you have nothing to worry about. Your family is here for you, to help guide you, and we will always be here."
She paused, lifting Michaela's chin so that their eyes met. "You are my daughter, a Rivera. And a Rivera is...?"
"A Shoemaker. Through and Through." Michaela muttered reluctantly, breaking her mother's gaze to stare down at her feet, struggling to hide her inner turmoil. If she said she wanted to perform music, would her family be there for her? Provided she could ever navigate her way through that world of endless competition and talents all vying for the brightest stage and largest audiences, all too willing to stab others in the back, where rumors and scandals reigned supreme.
Papa came over from the door way, pressing a kiss to Michaela's head. "You will make us proud, mi poco amor, and your baby brother or sister will be the proudest of us all, having such a wonderful big sister." He smiled softly over his family of three, before grasping his wife's hand. "Take as long as you need to organize your thoughts, you seem a bit shocked." Striding towards the door, Michaela heard him call to somewhere in the courtyard. "Berto, break of the good stuff, I want to make a toast."
Abuelita was the last person to leave Michaela, smothering the girl's face in kisses.
At work in the workshop...when would she have time to sneak away to the attic or plaza to practice, or dance? She could find a way to manage it, maybe, but...
Lost in her thoughts, Michaela seemed to deflate like a balloon left over from a party for a few weeks. She probably would have remained like that for a while if it hadn't been for a sudden and jarring noise from the ofrenda, like the clattering of plates on a counter. Snapping her head up, her heart plummeted as she noticed Dante back out from beneath the table, on his hind legs, eagerly licking at a plate of mole and entirely ignorant of slightly shaking the entire ofrenda while he was at it. Michaela nearly fainted at the ugly illusions crossing her mind, of Dante knocking the table over, all those lit candles coming down on the old family photos...
"Dante, Dante no! Get down, that food's not for you!" She cried, struggling not to shout as her family worked away at finishing up the courtyard. Grabbing the dog by his collar, she barely managed to tug the mutt away from the table. Finally ripping his away from the completely polished off plate of mole, the table clearly shook one last time, and for one heart stopping second she thought it would tumble over completely.
Instead, something almost as awful happened.
The picture frame which enshrined Papa Imelio's photograph swayed back and forth, like a loose hair ribbon caught in a breeze. It swayed back and forth once, twice...swayed forward once more...and toppled from the apex of the ofrenda to the ground, lading face down with a sickening crack of glass. All of Michaela's blood rushed from her head to her feet and she went pale.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" Rushing over, she gently lifted up the frame and pulled it to her chest, sweeping the shards of the broken glass pane beneath the ofrenda table. The wood of the frame itself cracks apart in her hands, falling to the floor and leaving her with only the photo and little bits of wood that she brushes away to prevent splinters. "Damn, what am I going to tell..."
A small section of the photo unfurls from where it had been folded away and hidden for years on end, just as something slips down from the back of the photo, the back encrusted with old and weak dried glue paste. An envelope. Judging from the folded section (completely paste free), the envelope had been pasted to the back of the image and then the photo was folded back, maybe as a way to keep it in place...?
In the background besides the faceless woman holding Mama Coco, an instrument was leaning up against the wall on a stand. A very familiar stringed instrument, with a head shaped like a skull and paint as pristine as white bone. A breath of shock passed Michaela's lips. "De la Cruz's...guitar?"
Carefully folding the photograph and slipping it into her pockets, she swiped the envelope from the floor and peeled it open. The contents were a letter covered with a spidery, elegant script, though there were fingerprint shaped smudges at the corner, and it was a bit large. The page was yellowed with age, but remarkably sturdy.
November 16th, 1921
Miercoles
My Dearest Imelio,
I write to you from 'Nesto and I's hotel room. Mexico City, can you believe how far from home I am? My heart aches for want of you and our darling baby in my arms, and you should know I long for your embrace in more ways then one. We did converse just before I left on giving Coco a baby sister or brother after all...
It is lonely on the road, even if I am not alone and Ernesto is with me, but I tire of traveling. I always expect to see Coco wandering in at night, asking for her lullaby, or of the twins running around plotting some new invention sure to drive you absolutely mad. I see you in my dreams, working away at your bench for new orders, or 'working' at yourself just for want of me...To hear your voice would be the greatest delight of all. You are poetry, music, and life itself to me, mi amor.
Have Coco and the twins behaved well for you? In your last letter, you said our sweet baby doll looked so lonely...and also that she would not behave for her siesta. Try laying with her. She seemed quite comfortable when I did so, so maybe that would be of help to you.
I've purchased a train ticket today, for the 7th of December, back to Santa Cecilia. It is three weeks away, but it is always safe to be prepared in advanced. After all, there can be no way I would wish to miss Coco's birthday the next morning.
Three weeks, Imelio. Wait for me a bit longer, and I will return to you.
Your faithful and eternally loving wifey
P.S: We have already held two performances today, and enclosed is my half of the earned money and an advertisement. I also splurged a bit and bought some rather pricey soap, scented like roses, for Coco. They should have arrived with this letter. I remember when we caught her adorning herself in my perfumes, the ones you ordered for Christmas. She seemed particularly fond of the 'Roses' scent. To think such a precious thing had been sold so cheaply, even on sale...it was truly a wonderful gift Imelio. Please give her and the twins my love and kisses, and please, tell me how you are. I feel lighter when receiving your letters and news.
As she read the letter, Michaela's cheeks flushed as some sentences touched on far to many details then Michaela had ever wanted to know her Great-Great Grandfather's sex life. Then she paused. "Ernesto...brother...Coco?!" This letter, this handwriting...this was...this was from her Great-Grand Grandmother!
Mama Coco's Mama, she had been performing with Ernesto de La Cruz! She was his sister, or at least a little sister figure to him! That practically made Michaela related to him, his great-great niece! (Mama would be his great-niece, or great-grand niece, or...whatever!).
"Mama Coco's madre...Ernesto de La Cruz's younger sister! My Great-Great-whatever Uncle!" The sound of movement broke Michaela from her breathless reverie. Pivoting sharply, an old wicker wheelchair with an even older occupant filled her vision. Mama Coco sat in her chair, eyes alight when an odd sense of mischief. Elena had once explained to a younger Michaela that Mama Coco had good and bad days, where sometimes her memory was strong and other times it was a bit lost in fog, so it was the duty of the familia to help her though the fog. Good Days and Bad Days also had good and bad moments, where her memory would clear or be occluded from her for a moment or so.
It seemed, for now, Mama Coco was having a Good Moment. A spark was seen in her old eyes. "Mija, you said something about mi mama?" Her weathered voice was warm, far stronger than it had been in the earlier ofrenda incident. Michaela strode over to her, quickly. There was no way of knowing how long Mama Coco's lucidity would last, and she wanted to ask some questions (plus, talking with Mama Coco, lucid or not, was the greatest).
"Mama Coco, did your Mama know Ernesto de La Cruz? His guitar...it's in the background of Papa Imelio's photo." She spoke quickly, almost stumbling on her words in her haste to actually ask her question. Coco gently brushed the hem of the woman's skirt with her fingertips, old joints unable to work as well as they used to. "Mama loved that guitar so much. She was musician, mija, and sang such beautiful songs with it...Papa loved when she played."
Almost choking on her saliva, Michaela filed that information away for later. 'Mama loved that guitar', from what Mama Coco was saying, she had that guitar on a regular basis and played it frequently..."Mama Coco, did you know Ernesto de La Cruz?" The elderly woman's eyes were glazing over, going dull as the fog retook her mind...but she did pick up some of what Michaela said.
Blinking wide eyes, she looked at the young girl who had called her Mama. Such a sweet looking girl, was she looking for Coco's Tio?
Michaela was about to give up on asking Mama Coco much else, was about to excuse herself when Coco spoke. "Tio Ernesto?"
Jubilation burst in Michaela's chest, and she swiftly pressed a kiss to her great-grandmother's cheek before pocketing the letter with the photo. Grabbing her guitar and slipping on the strap, she began rushing through the courtyard, to the back of the workshop, before clambering into her attic hiding space. As quickly as she could, she scrambled to her little makeshift ofrenda of the Globally-Renowned Superstar.
It took her less than five seconds to locate the crate of vintage vinyl disk of the man's recordings. Sifting through them, she thought she would spontaneously combust before she could find what she was searching for. Finally, she found it.
Ernesto de La Cruz, Remember Me Album.
The guitar on the album was either a perfect replica...or the original itself, now enshrined in De la Cruz's mansion-esque mausoleum. That guitar was not famous until De La Cruz, so there was no way her family would have had a replica years before his debut. Mama Coco's Mama had to have been pretty close to De la Cruz, not just because she called him her brother, but because she utilized the guitar frequently (besides smudges the shape of likely her fingerprints, there were music notes scrawled in the margins of her paper, small sketches of flowers, and sketches of instruments.
The guitar was an exact match. No doubt about it.
A breathless laugh escaped Michaela, until she nearly collapsed to the floor in hysteric giggles. She laughed, until in her near perfect bliss, a wondrous Idea blossomed in her mind.
Elisa paused in walking with the twins to the ofrenda room. An odd sound trailed down from above her, like loose ceramic tiling being moved. Looking up, her vision swam with black spots as she saw Michaela running across the rooftop, boots and skirt and red hoodie. She stepped forward, half caught in a sweeping tide of panic and uncertainty. How had her daughter gotten up there without a ladder? She was going to fall and break her neck! It wasn't like Elisa was in any capable state to catch her either. Not with what the girl was holding...and just like that, Elisa nearly did faint, with Lucas striding forward to assist her.
Michaela was jubilant, feeling as though she were floating over the world like a graceful ballerina over a stage. In one hand, she cradled her guitar which was also kept secure by the strap over her shoulder and across her back. In the other hand, tightly but gently held tightly between her fingers, was Papa Imelio's ofrenda photo.
Lucas glanced at his daughter, the setting sun shrouding the girl in a halo of orange-pink clouds and rich golden light, making barely anything more than her silhouette viewable. "Michaela, come down from there! It's dangerous." Michaela all but cackled, hopping down off the roof through use of the truck bed and the wooden boxes piled on it. The ease in which she did so only increased her parents unease. Just how often did she climb up to the roof?
Rushing over to her parents, she took no heed of Elena's appearance from the kitchen and the expression of absolute consternation which spread over the matriarch's face. Bouncing on her heels, Michaela began speaking rapidly to her parents. "I know who my great-great grandmother was! She wasn't just some prostitute musician!" Her parents took unnoticeable steps back as Michaela began edging her way closer to them (with Elisa's baby bump and the very much forbidden guitar, it wasn't like there was much space between them to go around).
Elisa, baffled, stared at her daughter. "What are you talking about?" Michaela folded the photograph after taking one last longing glance at it and returned it to her pocket. "Mama Coco's Mama! She wasn't just a musician! She was the sister of the greatest musician of all time! Ernesto de la Cruz!" she cheered, eyes glowing with life. This sense of empowerment...nothing could bring her down from this.
She brought her guitar closer to her chest, to her heartbeat as though the would could absorb the essence of such complete bliss and happiness and allow her fingertips to birth that emotion into song. Music ran through her veins just as surely as the blood of two magnificently talented musicians, regardless of fame. That was their legacy, their blessing to her.
Meeting her parents eyes, she felt as though she was shining as brilliantly as cloth made of pure diamond, or had been reborn as the brightest star in the night sky. Nothing could pull her from such an unimaginable height.
"I'm going to be a musician!"
Michaela had forgotten something vital. Stars which burn the brightest have already burned themselves out, light years away from where humans watch the afterglow. No matter how high you ascend the state of bliss, there will be a long way to fall if the stairs collapse beneath you. So it was falling she did, right into the abyss of hell.
Elena had torn the guitar from Michaela's back, severing the leather strap with a pair of embroidery scissors. It now laid discarded at her feet, with the memorial albums of De la Cruz at her feet. Antonio had given her them as a gift a few days ago, she hadn't had the chance to put them away in the attic yet. She had been so overjoyed to receive them, and now they were lying with the dirt. To Abuelita, they were probably worth no more than dirt.
The woman in question peered at her granddaughter, anger evident in her posture and tone. "What is all of this? You're keeping secrets from your family?" She sounded almost as wounded as Michaela felt. Almost.
With the exception of her parents on both sides of her, Michaela was absolutely encircled by every other member of her family. Abuelita took the center, as overwhelming a presence as Papa Imelio must have been. There was Franco behind Elena, Tio Berto and Tia Carmen to her right, Gloria and Abel and Rosa to the left. Benny and Manny, looking a bit confused, stood just in front of their sister. Watching her. Judging her. Whatever they were thinking, it surely wasn't anything kind or supportive.
Tio Berto spoke up. "It must be all that time at the plaza, with that Antonio boy..." Gloria cut in. "He's probably been the one filling her head with all these crazy fantasies, and that pobre nino is probably misguided enough by those mariachis that surround all the time to believe it himself. He's barely a year or so older than our Michaela." From the way Tia Gloria's voice hardened just the slightest bit, she spat the word 'mariachi' the same as when someone would insult another person with the word 'bastard' or 'whore'.
Anger flickered in Michaela's chest as the others murmured agreements, treating her like she wasn't even there. Like she was some deaf or mindless creature meant to be scolded or pitied for her empty-head. That wasn't even touching on how they were talking about everyone else in the plaza... like being a music lover, or god forbid, an active performer, made you something disgusting or...wrong! It was just...derogatory.
The worst of it was that Michaela didn't think her family, at least the Rivera's born by blood, realized just how derogatory that sounded. Tia Gloria's voice was just as sweet as always, as sweet as the sugar made to bake Michaela a cake last year on her birthday.
"Why are you acting like something's wrong with the people at the plaza? They may have their own private problems, but that's none of the familia's business! They're people like us, human like us. Don't treat them like scum beneath our heels just because they are more accepting of what we are not! And this isn't a fantasy!" Michaela finally snapped.
Turning to her parents, she showed them the ofrenda photograph. "Can't you see? Don't you see it? That guitar in the picture, it belongs to Ernesto de la Cruz, the man I was talking about earlier. That's great musician. We have to be related to him, though Papa Imelio's wife. In life, that guitar and his songbook were his most prized possessions, not just anyone would be able to get near them." Her finger was tender as it brushed the page.
"Papa Imelio's wife was-" Elena cut off her sentence, grabbing Michaela by the arm and spinning the teen to face her. "I've told you Michaela, that no-good woman is dead to this family! She's better off being forgotten, probably spent the rest of her life spreading her legs for men and dying from a rightfully earned disease! She abandoned this family, no matter who she was related to! I will not allow you to follow in that woman's footsteps."
"You don't know that! Where's your proof?" Michaela snapped back. There's not a chance in hell Papa Imelio's wife ran off, the woman behind that letter had no reason to run off, not in the way she had phrased things. Surely, surely she had a reason for not returning...
Mama stepped up and put a hand on Michaela's shoulders, drawing her attention. "Michaela, we know nothing of this woman. As much as what you're saying might be true, what Abuelita's saying could be too...and that isn't the future I want for you."
Michaela's dark eyes filled with hurt. "So you think that I'm willing to whore myself out for fame when all I'm asking is just to be able to perform? Just singing or playing the guitar would be enough. I don't need fame!" Elisa paused, realizing that Michaela had taken her words in the wrong way. "Michaela, mi bebita, that wasn't what I meant."
Stepping away, the girl looked at her mother. "Then what did you mean? That if by chance people liked me that the fame would go to my head, that I would turn my back on everyone just because of music? You said that you would always be by my side, that my family was meant to guide me, to support me! Whether you like it or not, Papa Imelio's wife was the matriarch of the family, the sister of Ernesto de la Cruz. I have their blood just as much as Papa Imelio's, or yours, or Papa's!"
Tears welled up. "They're also my family. Two great musicians, whether they achieved stardom or not, and when this is something so badly I want, when I have the chance to be just as talented as them in something I adore...and you just what me to throw that away because of something a woman long gone may or may not have done? We don't even know what happened to her! She left, and Papa Imelio lost it, banning music for everyone else because he lost his wife! For all we know, she didn't leave because some new man caught her eye, but because her own husband scared her off, even from her own child!" Michaela spat, anger turning to unforeseen venom.
Where Michaela had turned pale, Elena's cheeks began burning with fury. "Papa Imelio held this family together, Michaela! That woman was a curse on this family, just the same as the music she brought which swept her away, bad down to her soul, so don't place the blame on him! I will not allow you to perform music, ever!" She shouted. The two came head to head, tempers flaring. One thing about Rivera's: Most are stubborn to the point where only an act of god will alter their perception of things or convince them they are wrong (Example: Elena 'Papa Imelio's Rules Are The Laws Of God' Rivera VS Michaela "Only An Act Of God Will Stop Me' Rivera).
"If you would just let me-"
Lucas cut in. "Michaela." He spoke curtly, in his tone an unspoken warning which Michaela ignored with the exception of the vicious glare she sent her father. Michaela glaring, it had been utterly unexpected and knocked the breath from his lungs in the sheer anger he felt radiating from her. It was close enough to outright hate that it sent shivers down his spine in shock. Elisa tried to pull their daughter back from wherever her raging emotions had dragged her. "Michaela, you know the rules of our family and you will listen to them. No. More. Music.
Shaking off her mother's hold, she gave a sardonic smile that resonated with the bitter emotions that were festering in her heart. "And if I ignore them, what then? Will you cast me out the same way my Great-Great Grandmother was cast out? If you would just listen to me play-" As Michaela lifted the guitar from the ground, her mother's eyes hardened into a glare, some vaguely unidentified but no less desperate light filling her eyes. If Michaela just listened, this whole ordeal could already be over with. "No, Michaela. No Music. End of argument."
An odd expression filtered across Michaela's face at that moment, something that can only be described as unhindered pain. It was sweet and burned like cold water, nothing like cramps she was anxious or burning anger. If anything, it doused her anger and left only the smoking and damp ashes of desperation. "Please," she begged, "if you would just listen..."
Elena snatched the instrument away from Michaela, just as Elisa took note of her daughter's bleeding expression which transitioned from desperation to outright fear as the guitar changed hands. The guitar had an odd quality to it, nothing like the ones in Santa Cecilia's storefront windows...
Elena reached her breaking point. "You want to end up like that woman? Forgotten and left off your family's ofrenda!?" Her grip on the guitar neck tightened, the guitar that looked fairly well made, but almost as though it were cobbled together by cheap or old items, items that could easily be found on hand for free or on sale...just enough for a teenager's allowance...
Michaela's brows furrowed together. "I don't care if I'm on some stupid ofrenda, especially if it's one of a stupid family that doesn't listen to anyone but themselves!" Her words were barbed and calloused, though only truly intended to strike at a single target. It landed true, though it did so only too well. Michaela herself had lost all color once she spoke, and Elisa didn't think she could pale any further when Elena lifted up what she ascertained was Michaela's handmaid guitar. The callouses on her fingers, the odd hours spent hidden away in her room...it made too much sense.
As her mother pulled her arm with the guitar back, Elisa saw Michaela go white with realization. She watched Michaela leap forward, crying out with an anguished, "No!" Elisa followed seconds later, just as Elena's hand dropped with a fatal downward trajectory. "Mama..."
She spoke just a second too late.
A deathly silence fell over the hacienda as the polished and painted white wood splintered against the ground with a painful wail of snapping strings. Michaela seemed to go utterly lifeless as the guitar was brought down, again and again and again. All those months of hardship, or library research and saving up her allowance, of bartering with Antonio for materials...all of it. Gone. As Elena discarded the remains of the guitar head and neck, a breathless sob broke past her lips.
It was as though her heart had been splintered with her guitar, though it hardened in the next second. Of course. Of course support would be too much to ask for, at least in regards to her living family.
Hearing Michaela's sob, Elena turned to her granddaughter - satisfied with a necessary (and cruel) job well down in her eyes. "No guitar, no music." She reached out to embrace Michaela, as though with shattering the guitar she had broken some enchantment over her granddaughter. "Come now, mija. You'll feel better after you ate with your familia." Just as her hand made contact with Michaela's arm, the girl seemed to contort violently as she twisted away and slapped Elena's arm down.
"Don't touch me!" She howled like an injured animal. Her eyes blazed as tears poured down her cheeks. "Don't fucking touch me. You don't know...just how long I worked...to build that," She gasped between sobs, "and you fucking smashed it! You didn't even bother to listen!"
Elena stepped away. If the ofrenda had been deathly silent before, now it seemed as though the complex itself had been caught with the void between life and death, only capable of intercepting Michaela's vocal and emotional pain. With a fierce movement, she ripped the photo of Imelio from her mother's grasp. She then slipped the photograph back into her pocket. She'd return it later, fetch a frame...or maybe she'd burn it. This...this was Papa Imelio's fault. If he hadn't made that damned ban...
Michaela staggered back to the gate of the complex. "I don't want to be part of this damned family." Her voice was hardly above a whisper. "Not one of you listen to me." For Elisa, the world went dead as her daughter turned her back and bolted out of the gate, hurt riding on the heels of her boots. Even the baby cradled in her stomach seemed anxious, kicking violently as though sharing in their mother's anxiety.
"Michaela!"
No matter how fast they moved after Michaela, the few precious seconds needed to catch up to her were wasted by staring first at Elena, and then the gate through which she had just passed, in silent horror.
Bursting out of the compound and rushing down the street, Michaela began rubbing at her face to scrub away any trace of tears. Dante, who had disappeared some point after she had found the photo and letter, looked up from a trash bag which had been on the street and began trotting after her as she passed. Eventually, her feet led her to the plaza.
The area was filled with people dressed festively, wearing skeletal face paint and mariachi uniforms. Many of them flooded the area around the stage, clearly planning to perform in the talent show. Swiftly navigating the crowd, barely hiding her wince at the crowded pushes and silently categorizing the amount of bruises she'd have from sharp elbows by the end of the night. At the back steps which led up to the stage proper, Michaela finally reached the stage manager who was sitting on a railing of the gazebo just behind it.
"I want to sign up for the talent show, is there still room?" Her voice was weak, and sounded pathetically desperate even to her own ears. The stage manager looked up from her from the small clipboard which held the sign up sheet. Crossing her legs, she raised in eyebrow at the teenager. Michaela could only imagine what she looked like, cheeks blotchy and tear stained, her clothing crumpled from her all out sprint to the stage, sleeves damp with residue from her tears and what might be snot, and and she couldn't forget the icing on the cake: her faithful xolo dog right behind her with his dopey tongue lolling out his mouth even as he crammed his own leg in his mouth and started to choke on it.
Finished with her skepticism scan, the woman looked at Michaela's empty hands. "You need an instrument to perform kid, got one?" Michaela imperceptibly flinched, aching with the loss of her guitar. "No, but I can find one-" The stage manager cut her off, shaking her head almost sadly. A mocking smile crossed her lips. "Musicians got to bring their own instruments to sign up," here the grin widened,"You find a guitar, Rivera, I'll find a spot for you on the list." Dropping off the railing, she lifted her cap just enough to look Michaela in the eyes. Dark hair with red highlights fell into dark brown eyes, the rest pulled back into a ponytail.
"Just keep in mind, Antonio's off limits to you now. Stupid bitch." With a last sniveling snicker, Mariana disappeared from view as the crowd swallowed her whole. Mariana Chavez, the wealthiest and most popular girl in town. Her mother was an popular actress is soap operas, many of which were played muted on the sole TV in the living room. Her father was a friend of Michaela's father, a retired performer who often worked from him as his wife's manager. She was also, through her mother an grandfather, an illegitimate child of Ernesto de la Cruz. She was already being lauded as 'Mexico's Darling Rising Star'. She coincidentally happened to have quite the largest crush on Antonio...and disliked Michaela solely for being so close to him.
Would...would that make them cousins of some sort? Mariana being directly descended from her great-great (great?) uncle?
Internally screaming at the notion, still traumatized by the 'play-dates' their fathers had tried to set up years ago between them, she shook her head to clear her thoughts before landing on something. What...what had she been talking about? Why had she called Antonio off limits?
Briefly scanning the plaza despite being frozen to the spot, her heart palpitated painfully as she search for him. He was probably her one friend in town, what did she mean 'off-limits'? She eventually found him, standing straight in a red and gold colored mariachi suit. His hair had been slicked back, and in one ear, she caught the barest glimpse of an earring.
Despite their friendship, this was the first time Michaela had ever seen Antonio so neatly dressed. His teeth flashed as he smiled at someone, pearly white with a single tooth of pure gold. The original had gotten punched out when he had protected Michaela from bullied mocking her about her...family, nearly three years ago. An unfamiliar sensation spread over her cheeks, blushing not from anger but some other foreign yet familiar emotion which made her want to duck her head beneath her hoodie like a turtle hiding in its shell. He looked...remarkably handsome right now, yet she thought quietly, she might prefer him in his jeans and button up shirt, arm around her shoulder as he made some stupid (and somewhat dirty) joke.
For a brief second, she considered walking over to him, finding that the warmth flooding her at the thought was washing away the melancholy that clung to her the same way a small jar of honey had once stuck to her hands after she had knocked it over and the golden contents spilled over the table.
He looked up at her, met her gaze, and held it long enough for her to realize he had seen and recognized her. Michaela moved just one step, before his eyes grew cold like black ice. His smile dropped, and he held his gaze only a second longer as it deepened into a fierce glower, before he grasped the hand of whoever he had been talking to and turned his back to Michaela. Then she watched as he leaned down to whoever he had been talking to, a girl just Michaela's height she noted numbly, before planting his lips over his companion's. A faint bruise, hidden beneath a layer of concealer, rested on his cheek.
When they pulled apart, Mariana glanced over Antonio's shoulder and gave Michaela a small and coy smirk. It was at that moment, the shock of the night piled up on her shoulders like boulder, and she felt like she might crack as though she were a poorly crafted ceramic vase beneath its weight compared to Mariana's ormolu facade. It was there that Michaela wished she were dead, for she was already dying in the most slow and painful way imaginable. It wasn't heartbreak.
This couldn't be heartbreak, because Michaela hadn't had a crush on Antonio. He had been her friend, just her friend...her only friend...She hadn't fallen in love with him. She hadn't.
Numb, she ignored how the warmth she had so previously relished turned to ice in her veins. Later, later she could mourn whatever it was she just felt as though she had lost, but she needed to find a guitar for the Talent Show. Find a Guitar...Just Find A Guitar.
Desperately, she began roaming the plaza. Running up to performers she vaguely knew from performing in the plaza, she begged for one of them, any of them to borrow a guitar. She even once tried to ask Antonio's friends, who had at least been cordial to her in the past.
Stunned from being shoved into the wall, Michaela landed hard on her side and scraped the palm of her hand as she pushed herself up on her shaking arms and managed at least to pull herself into a sitting position. "Get out of the plaza, Rivera! You're not wanted here!" One of them sneered, spitting at her skirt and throwing an empty can of cheap beer at her. It landed hard against her cheek, like a slap to the face.
Why...were they acting like this? Why had Antonio turned away from her, with Mariana of all people? What had she done? Even earlier, when he had been chased around the plaza by abuelita, he had laughed it off and rushed away to prepare for tonight...he had smiled at Michaela as he had left...so why? Scrambling to her feet and turning her stinging cheek away from the boys, she ran from them and their jeering. Later, she could figure everything out later. Find a guitar.
Eventually, she neared the edge of the plaza, where the monument to Ernesto de la Cruz stood proudly. On her knees, Michaela placed the palm of her hand against the plaque at the base. "Tio Ernesto...what is it I'm supposed to do?" Miserable tears began to pour down her cheeks as she peered up a the statue. No answer came from the unyielding stone. The Plaque shone as fireworks began to light up the sky, the beginning of festivities for the next three days. {Seize Your Moment!} it read, bold and proud as any answer. If she listened close enough, maybe she could even fool herself she heard it in his voice.
She took out the photograph, looking to her faceless great-great grandmother. The fireworks illuminated the yellow paper, drawing Michaela's eyes from the woman to the guitar that rested silently behind her. She looked from the guitar, up to the statue.
An odd, somewhat sickening and immoral idea began building itself in her head. At worse, she'd get arrested. A reckless idea only the desperate would follow. Unfortunately, Michaela found herself drowning in her desperation. The desperate are truly reckless.
She found a guitar.
Across the hilltop, endless rows of graves were lit up with what seemed to be hundreds to thousands of candles. The glow was sacred, almost holy. As though it were a warm embrace. The cemetery was a sea of flowers, fruit, and food. Offerings for the dead. A chill sunk beneath Michaela's hoodie and blouse as she hid within the shadows. Keeping her steps light, she hid behind the next family to pass the gates of the cemetery, walking casually among them as though she were just another member of their family.
Eventually, she broke away from them to hide within the shadow of a larger grave, waiting until another family passed by in order for her to interlope with them to head even deeper within the cemetery. From people to shadow, shadow to people, she repeated the process until she reached far enough back that not many people were around to notice her presence. It was remarkable how easy it was to be invisible to others when they spoke while you were silent.
Out of nowhere, Dante bounded out of the shadows. She had lost him earlier after...being caught in the crowd at the plaza. He barked joyously at her, bounding around her as he shouted for all the world to notice her. "No, Dante! Shhh!" She hissed under her breath. When he didn't, she reached into her pocket and fished out some pan she had filched from the kitchen earlier. "Here!" She chucked the bread across several graves, wincing as Dante rushed over the offerings and wiped out all candles with his wagging tail in his pursuit of food. Oops.
Within the next half minute, she came up to the side of De la Cruz's mausoleum (really, it could be a mansion all on its own). On its left, she pulls herself up by gripping one of the windowsills, before resting on it. The ledge was small, just barely enough for her to keep her balance. The inside was mostly dark, illuminated by lit candles and the occasional bursting of fireworks overhead. Against the back wall, in the center, was Ernesto de la Cruz's casket. A few feet above it was a portrait of him, and just below that...
A white guitar with a skull shaped head gleamed, the edges golden and the strings glimmering silver like solidified moonlight. The paint had an almost iridescent white hue, utterly stainless and seemingly pristine as the last day its owner had laid hands on it.
Gently nudging the window, Michaela nearly jumped out of her skin as there was a solid clanking noise followed by the rattling of chains. Taking a broader view of the window, she barely prevented herself from bashing her head against the wall in annoyance. Of course it would be locked. It's the grave of a rich and famous dead man with his most prized object enshrined within (besides the remains of his mangled body. There were real creeps out there). The chains were inside, not out, which is why she hadn't seen them. They did seem to be fairly rusty though...
Fireworks shot up into the sky rapidly. Michaela watched them. So it seemed that not only was she going to be a thief, she was going to be a vandal as well by the end of the night. A crimson hued spark flew into the air, Michaela counting down seconds as it climbed into the sky.
"I'm sorry." She whispered under her breath. Bracing herself, she threw the entirety of her weight into the window as the firework exploded into the shape of a marigold cluster. Not only did the chain shatter, but so did the glass. As she landed on the ground, they rained gently over her in small shards. remaining crouched, she moved to a dark corner of the tomb just long enough to straighten and spend a few minute brushing the glass from her hair and clothes.
Creeping to a small window, she glanced out. The cemetery had a slight increase of visitors, but nothing to worry about. She'd be able to get pass them. It would be performing with the guitar, that was the true problem. She snorted under her breath. She'd get charges of arrest the moment she stepped into the plaza. This was stupid, utterly stupid and ridiculous with no reward whatsoever...but it was the only option she saw.
Turning to the sarcophagus holding the corpse of her idol, Michaela placed a hand on the marble surface. Her hand looked like such a small, pitiful thing. To her surprise, it was heavily layered in dust. For someone so famous and beloved in town, if there was dust covering his coffin, there was an astonishing lack of maintenance. Looking down at her shoes, there was even faint traces of dust from the windowsills...which were pretty evident in the moonlight. She'd need to wipe those later.
Looking at the coffin carrying Ernesto de la Cruz's corpse, Michaela paled slightly. She wasn't tall enough to reach the guitar on her own. She'd need something to stand on, something just about the height of...the sarcophagus. "Senor de la Cruz? Please don't be angry with me. I've come to borrow your guitar, just for this one night. I'm...your niece, several generations down. My Great-Great Abuelita was your sister, and I wish to perform like she and you did. Please forgive me, but I need to you your coffin for a leg up..."
Gingerly, she clambered up onto the crypt, stifling a shriek as the lid slid slightly. As respectful as she was trying to be, she had no urges to see the bones of a dead man, idol and relative or not. It felt creepy, not to mention shameful considering she was practically sitting on him. Antonio would be making some stupid joke right now about how he'd probably enjoy such a pretty senorita on his lap...
Turning back, Michaela found herself face to face with the guitar. As she had slightly expected, it also had a heavy layer of dust on it. Gingerly wiping it way, Michaela relished in the smooth texture of polished wood. With the dust removed, it was so shiny she could see her reflection in it! She wanted so badly to hold it in her arms, the real deal, not just her ill-fated replica.
Her heart pounded as she took several deep breaths. In one fluid moment, as though she were frightened of being snatched away before she took her chance (as she rightfully should be, literally skulking over someone's body), she lifted the guitar from the wall mount and cradled it tenderly in her arms. Stepping down off the lid, she stepped back so that she could look at the portrait again, this time with the guitar securely in her arms. The moonlight spilled in through the windows, and the cempasuchil glimmered faintly. They rustled faintly against the ground as they were stirred by unseen and unnoticed wind.
"My familia has said that music is a curse for over the last century because your sister never came back. They don't understand what it is like to have music in your veins, pumping through you, as necessary to sustaining your life as blood and air." Michaela paused, tried to pick up the words she wanted to speak from the jumpled and frayed mess of thoughts running through her head.
"My living family may not understand, but you would. I absolutely believe that. To follow my heart, to seize my moment!" Her head tilted back, proud and sure of her decision. "I've said things to my family I'm not proud of, but for now, I'm going to act first and pay penance later. With your blessing, I will perform in the plaza tonight and definitely, definitely..."
Her mind flashed with angry and cold faces. Elena, Antonio's friends, Mariana...
Antonio.
Her eyes burned. "I will become as bright a star as you, and they will see and hear me!" Her voice, quiet as she had spoken, seemed to resound around the room and linger within the stone walls. Confidence hummed within her veins, and with a sure and steady hand, she strums the strings of the guitar with her fingers.
In that moment, she felt the air around her vibrate. In a elegant arch, the marigold petals at her feet spun up around her briefly like a small whirlwind, almost as though it were caressing her body. The petals turned white, as though they had been bleached of color, white like the moon, white like bone. It culminated in a bright flash that had Michaela raising an arm to cover her eyes despite having already shut them.
Not even a moment later, the light faded and left only Michaela and the faint glow of the candlelight which painted the moonlight gold.
Cracking open one eyelid, Michaela waited for a second until she was sure it was safe to open her eyes. She scanned the room, looking for any sign of a flash bomb or anything of the sort which could have created that light, not to mention blowing up the leaves around her. However, there wasn't much to look at except the corners of the room. The sides of the sarcophagus was surrounded by offerings to Ernesto de la Cruz, just like the perimeter of the mausoleum itself.
"Where...did that come from?" Michaela murmured aloud to herself, before blinking. If she was talking to herself, she may just turn herself in. She's gone crazy. That was the only explanation. She fought with Abuelita, ran into Mariana, got shunned by Antonio, watched Antonio kiss Mariana, and then proceeded to break into the tomb of the most famous musician of all time to steal his guitar, which just so happened to be the original of the guitar she had made to perform in the annual talent show with, until her Abuelita had smashed it post-argument.
A sudden beam of light, clearly artificial in origin, shone through the window and nearly ripped Michaela out of her skin in fright. Eyes wide, she darted against the wall as someone's voice shouted from outside. "The Guitar! Somebody stole de la Cruz's guitar. It's vanished!" There was a sudden clamor of voices, before a younger one called out, "The window is broken, mira, mira! The window!"
Curling even further into the corner, Michaela struggled to breathe. That's it. She's dead. This was truly a stupid idea and now she's going to get arrested for it. Stupid, reckless, desperate Michaela, you should have just locked yourself in your room. While Michaela hyperventilated in the corner, clutching the guitar as though it were her lifeline, there was the brief sound keys rattling on a key chain just prior to the resonating click of a door being unlocked.
Pale as a ghost by this point, Michaela held her breath and stood up as the cemetery Groundskeeper walked in. The man, fairly young in his late 40's, called out. "Alright, who's been hiding in here?" He was holding a flashlight in his hand, and in the back of her mind Michaela silently went 'oh, that was him'. Michaela leaned the guitar against the sarcophagus and put her hands in the air, startled into moving by the sudden volume of his voice, a stark contrast to the muted conversation that had barely penetrated the mausoleum walls before.
"I-I'm sorry! I just wanted to borrow the guitar, just for the night-" Before Michaela could finish squeaking out her sentence, she froze. The man was right in front of her, looking right at her...as though he couldn't see or hear her. "Senor, are you-" In seconds, she froze before realizing what had happened. Her body shimmered faintly, almost like a hazy mist or hologram. The Groundskeeper was not behind her, carefully lifting up de la Cruz's guitar.
"There's nobody here!" He called out. "The guitar is still here."
Michaela rushed through the still open door to the Mausoleum, confused and terrified of the source of her confusion. What was going on, what had happened to her?! As she rushed through the cemetery, she only succeeded in furthering her stress levels. Every person she stopped before, every person she called out to, they acted as though the could not see to hear her. Or rather, they could not see or hear her. They ended up walking through her, or she through them, as though she could not interact with living beings, as though she was no longer a living being.
It was as though she were running through a forest, alone and isolated, unable to breath in the solitude despite being absolutely surrounded on every side. No compassion, no aide could reach her as she was. Then a familiar voice, her saving grace, reached her ears. Surely it was the sound of an angel. No, it was even better. Mama. Papa.
"Michaela!" Her mother's voice echoed over the graves and Michaela begins to pivot where she stands, searching for the point of origin. Eventually, she caught sight of her parents, Elisa's belly swollen with the 7 month old baby sibling of Michaela's dreams waiting for her. She began rushing forward, heedless of her passing through other. "Mama, Papa! I'm right here!" She continued to struggle forwards as her parents continue to call for her. What she would give for a hug...!
Papa was scanning for her, as though she wasn't almost right in front of them. "Michaela! Come home!"
10 feet.
8 feet.
4 feet.
2 feet.
Mama and Papa were right in front of her, right there...! Only for Michaela, in utter horror, to pass straight through her parents. Unaware of their daughter right behind them, the two Rivera's continued tirelessly looking for their unseen daughter. Turning slowly on her heel, Michaela stepped back in shock only to trip on something. It inevitably led to her falling backwards. As she turned to see if she could catch herself, she almost regretted it as she saw the gaping hole in the ground which awaited her, a freshly opened grave still waiting for its occupant.
With a short-lived cry, she fell into the grave, twin trenzas and all. Almost as though mocking her, Mama's voice floated to her. "Michaela! Where are you?!"
She landed hard, shaking with terror as loose dirt rained from the walls around her. Was she going to get buried alive? Was she even still alive? What if this was just some fever dream caused by her maybe, who knows, falling off the sarcophagus and cracking open her skull? Maybe she was just in some weird comatose state right now...
She could have started screaming at any second if it were for a sudden voice. "Dios mio! Are you alright, little girl?" A woman wearing a rather old fashioned hat peered over the ledge of the grave, reaching down an oddly bony hand. "Here," she offered, "Let me help you up." With some scarily mighty strength, the woman managed to pull Michaela from the open grave. Michaela looked down at her skirt first, brushing away the dirt on it as she thanked her savior. "I- thank you for helping me, miss-" She cut herself off as she looked up.
To her utter shock, she could stop herself from crying out. The woman who helped her was wearing clothing somewhat odd, not seen for at least half a century. Over her forehead, across her cheekbones, and even down her cheeks she seemed to be wearing makeup in odd, but beautiful and unique shapes. Not only that, but her hand...where there should have been flesh, there was only smooth and polished bone. Bone.
The woman had an oddly similar reaction to Michaela, was struck the teenager as odd. She wasn't the one with her bones on display!
Backing away quickly, she ran her back into someone else and they collapsed to the ground. Briefly stunned, when she managed to collect herself, she realized she cradled a considerable weight in her hands. Focusing her gaze, her heartbeat nearly stopped in horror. A man's head rested in her palms, cleaning severed at the neck, as though it were something like a doll's! Then it spoke. "Do you mind?" For a second there was only a disgruntled expression on both faces. Then, this time, she really did scream. Evidently, her screaming and appearance freaked him out too, because he yelled as well just as what she believed to be his body (literally a headless body slowly standing back up and striding towards her) reached her side.
Yelping, she tossed the head into the open and waiting arms before bolting away down the path. Glancing back, all she could see were partially skeletal and translucent beings, many of which happened to be staring at her in wide-eyed and open-mouthed shock as she fled. There were so many of them, why were there so many of them?!
She continued running, running until she felt breathless and collapsed behind a grave just by the side of the cemetery, its visitors (partially skeletal and the human) departing for the night. There, she sat and hid herself while she caught her breath, while trying not to hyperventilate.
Quite some time passed before Michaela regained her breath and a small amount of her wits. This was too surreal a situation to find herself in. What new, fresh hell had she delivered herself to? Eventually, she managed to build enough courage to cautiously peer over the head of the tombstone she had nestled behind. Her eyes scanned the graveyard. The Half-Skeleton ghosts (spirits?) seemed to be celebrating Dia de los Muertos just like everyone else, despite their clearly non-human qualities (read:visible bones and the ability to pull themselves apart like dolls).
It was...interesting to watch them. Some were dancing with the music from the plaza, and vaguely she recalled that the talent show must have started by now, and others were cooing over family members. Yes, one such 'spirit' reminded her of the sweet elderly abuelita who had lived with one of Rosa's friends. She had passed away just a month or so ago...She leaned over a toddler with his mother's arms. "Look at how big you've gotten while I was away, my sweet handsome little man!" she cooed softly, an adoring smile so often seen when she watched her grandchildren. It made Michaela's heart ached to see such warmth, especially when, just an hour and a half ago, she and abuelita had fought...
Something wet, warm, and almost rough brushed against her cheek. Screaming from fright, Michaela nearly smacked whatever had just done that before a soft bark reached her ears. Turning her head, she was met with a sight for sore eyes. Dark eyes, floppy ears, truly her might xolo dog come to the rescue! "Dante! You can see me?"
Dante gave his human an affronted look. Of course he could see her. She was his human, the bestest human. Why wouldn't he find her? Michaela couldn't help but wonder if Dante thought she was stupid when he continued staring at her for a second longer. She sighed. "What am I going to do Dante? My family can't find me. I tried, but Mama and Papa didn't see me. They walked right through me!"
Dante gave a resounding bark, and leaped onto his human, rousing her to her feet. Giggling, she got up. "Okay, okay, I'm up. Now what?" Dante wiggled eagerly before turning and pointing his body back down the path, before starting to bound his way through the crowd, barking all the while. "W-wait! Dante!" Michaela chased after her. Well, at the very least, no one could call her fat by the time this was over.
As Michaela began rushing through the cemetery, she forgot to pay attention to anything but Dante. Unfortunately, this inevitably led to her (literally) crashing into a second person in a single night. "Lo siento!" She cried breathlessly, as whoever she crashed into scattered apart. One leg went here, the other went there, the arms went over here...after a moment, they seemed to roll back to where the torso was (like remote controlled cars).
The man's head rests in his lap, white hair and a white mustache faintly peppered with black hairs, his face seeming oddly familiar even though his voice was unknown. "Michaela?" he yelped, pulling his head back on before spinning it as though to ensure it was secure. Three others converged from where they had drifted off as this voice. Their statement, in general, was spoken at once in the same tone. "Michaela?"
Two women and a man. One of the woman had pleasantly plump body, a bit heavier than Abuelita with a nice shape, (like a cuddly stuffed plushie) and she also had a cheery face that reminded Michaela of Tia Gloria.
The other two, twins from the look of it, were tall and skinny. Both wore glasses and had dark hair, and stern faces. The women was at least a head shorter than her brother, and had her hair tied up in a bun. Her left hand was bone. The man wore a dark shirt, dark slacks, leather boots, and had his hair slicked back with bangs parted to the left (in the words of her classmates, probably 'a smoking cut of meat'). Both wore work aprons over the clothing.
The man rushed forward, cupping Michaela's cheeks. "How are you here? Here, as in HERE here!" He pulled away, taking in the teenager's evident shock. "And you can see us?!" All at one, the woman with a broad body and cheery expression swept Michaela up into her arms and crushed the girl to her bosom. The other three gave the woman a wide birth as she swung Michaela around, almost smothering her in the embrace (the twins seemed to at least pity her). "Our Angelito Michaela can see us!" She squealed, hauling the teen around for a moment longer.
Face hidden and voice muffled, Michaela asks a question burning in her mind. "You all seem...very familiar to me, but remind me how I know you?" The woman pulled away, leaving Michaela to nearly swoon while the others present suppressed any humor they felt at her situation. She smiled widely. "We're your family, mija! Though really, I think you've only met, out of us present, Victoria."
Squinting, Michaela aligned all the photographs on the ofrenda with the image of the woman before her. It took a second before the realization clicked in her mind.
"Tia... Rosita?"
End of Chapter (Definitive)
I am a quarter away from finishing the chapter right now (10:49 PM, Dec 16, EST)
Is the body parts still being able to be pulled apart too gruesome, or just plain strange? (11:02 PM)
I think my Mom is sleep eating again, save me. (11:09 PM)
Also, I'm almost done! One more section, and then I'll have to start the next chapter! Yay! (11:10 PM)
How can I write basically 11,000 words on fanfiction, but can barely finish an essay? My previous english teachers must be ashamed of me. (11:11 PM)
Right now I'm wondering if the way I've written this chapter has changed. I'm also wondering what I'm doing with my life, but that's not the point right now (11:15).
Was it weird the way I dropped Mariana and Antonio in? There are reasons for their presence, but still...should I just remove the "Love" here? (11:33)
Think of body parts pulling part the same way Frankie Stein does from Monster High, closest thing I can think of (11:38)
Most spirits are held so well together that they can't actively pull themselves apart without relative discomfort. Unless it's done repeatedly.
My descriptions of the deceased relatives are poor. please forgive me, I'll try more detail later (11:48)
Seriously, it feels almost insulting to them. (11:55)
TWELVE O'CLOCK MIDNIGHT ON THE DOT, I AM DONE!
Thank you for your reviews, I'll probably go into depth in later chapters, but for now, I need sleep and happy December 17 for those who suffer through EST time like i do.