Hello! I'm alive! Surprising, right? Oh well, here is the final chapter to a Visit to the Plaza.
I just want to add a quick but important note saying that the songs in this fic will be in Spanish. I like the English version of songs but not as much as the Spanish ones. Besides, I only know the lyrics to the Spanish version and yes, I could search for the lyrics on the internet but I believe that Miguel would sing in Spanish and not in English since he is, after all, in Mexico. However, dear reader, if you don't like or understand the Spanish version, you can always imagine that Miguel is singing in English. The language of the songs will not affect the story at all.
So, that's that! Please enjoy!
El cielo no es azul
ay mi amor
ay mi amor
Miguel sang, his voice filling the air, captivating the public.
Es rojo dices tú
Ay mi amor
Ay mi amor
The silence in the crowd didn't last very long.
Ves todo al revés
Ay mi amor
Ay mi amor
Soon, everyone was cheering, clapping and dancing to the rhythm of the song.
¡Creo que piensas con los pies!
Ay mi amor
Ay mi amor
The boy danced around on the stage, jumping and twirling, all whilst not missing a single note on his guitar. People would later agree that he had looked un poco loco. But wasn't that the point?
Tu me traes un poco loco,
Un poquititito loco
Estoy adivinando
Que quieres y pa cuando
People would later agree that the boy had been born to play that guitar.
Y así estoy celebrando
Que me vuelvo
Un poco locoooo
Miguel had never felt more alive. Yes, he did miss Hector's additions but he made it work alright by himself. He let out everything he had. By the time the song was ending, it seemed like the Plaza had gained a new, brighter colour. It was only too bad it had to end.
Once Miguel sang the last verse and played the last note, everyone had almost forgotten about the kid's guitar. They kept cheering: "Otra! Otra!", asking for more. Miguel would have been all too happy to comply, if only he didn't have something else, something important, to do.
Es hora, Miguel told himself.
He walked forward, confidence showing off on his every step, until he stood in front of the microphone.
"Hola a todos," he started, and received a few holas back, "I hope you have enjoyed my song." At this people cheered and whistled. "You have probably heard of it before, it's called un poco loco." More cheers in response. "And it was wrote by my great great grandfather..." at this people started whispering and murmuring, was it possible that this boy was Ernesto's great great grandson? Probably yes, it wasn't so far fetched. Not real— "... Hector Rivera" Miguel finished. The whole Plaza stood still in the stunned silence. The only thing going around everyone's mind was, wait what? They didn't understand. Ernesto had written that song, right? In fact, he had written all his songs! Why would this twelve year old say otherwise?
"Oye niño! Ernesto de la Cruz wrote that song!" A random mariachi voiced most of the spectators' thoughts. Many murmured in agreement.
Then a woman spoke up. "How do you even know this?" Everyone started talking louder and louder.
"No sabes de lo que hablas, niño!" "Liar!" "Who are you to take Ernesto's credit away?" "Did you steal that guitar from Ernesto's mausoleum?" "You know nothing about Ernesto!" "It's not like you've met him!" "You're just a child, you know nothing!"
Miguel took a step back in confusion and fear. He hadn't expected this outcome. He had many other things planned to say but he hadn't even reached the part about Hector and Ernesto's friendship or Hector's death. He hadn't even passed the introduction of his little speech. He had no idea what to do. He looked around in desperation and to his demise, found that his father and abuelita were coming his way. Think, think, think. Miguel scolded himself for having been so unprepared and for not having predicted this reaction from the crowd. He was smarter than this. He should've known that adults would not listen to a kid. They would need some kind of — some kind of what, Miguel? Some kind of proof? Wait... that's it!
Miguel placed his hands around the microphone, gripping it tightly as if his life depended on it. He made a sudden movement and the microphone screeched, making everyone stop on their tracks and cover their ears in annoyance.
"You want to know how I know what I know. That doesn't really matter. The only thing that matters is that I know that what I say is true, I know it with my heart and soul. I also know that you don't want to believe me. After all, Ernesto's is this town's idol. Believe me when I say that just a few days ago, he was my idol too. I learned to play the guitar just by watching videos of him playing. I know the lyrics to all his songs by heart. I had created this shrine in his honour in a secret room where I would go to practice almost every day. He is the reason I started liking music.
"However, a few days ago, I found something, something hidden deep in my family history, that at first broke my heart. I didn't want to accept what I had learned. I didn't want to accept that Ernesto de la Cruz was a liar. But then, there is actual proof that he didn't write his songs. And if anyone is interested in seeing them..." Miguel paused for a second and looked at his mother, who was sitting looking worried at her son. Lo siento mamá, he said in his head. He was so going to get in trouble for this, "... then I invite you to come to my family's workshop, where I will show you the proof to my words."
He looked again at his mother. He did not hear her words but he could almost feel them. ¿Pero qué has hecho, mijo? ¿What have you done?
The crown was torn apart between wanting to ignore the child and accepting the possibility that his words were true. His abuelita was nearing the stage. Miguel had to settle this in a way that no one would forget. Everyone was looking at him expectantly and he knew that if he was to say something, he was going to have to make that something count.
"Hector Rivera wrote Ernesto's songs. I know it's true. I would bet my life on it."
Again the crowd erupted in shouting, talking and murmuring. His abuelita and father got up on stage. She took him by the ear and carried him away. His father took the mic and said, "the show is over."
He then left the stage and went to where his family awaited him. Miguel's father helped his wife stand up. He then went to Miguel and placed a firm hand on his shoulder and gave him a stern look. Miguel cringed but said nothing.
Many eyes lingered on the Riveras as they walked away from the Plaza, all together as a family that definitely had some very serious matters to discuss once they reached their home.
Translations
Es hora ~ It's time
No sabes de lo que hablas, niño! ~ you don't know what you're talking about, kid
Lo siento mamá ~ I'm sorry mum
A/N
Welp. Miguel's in trouble. How will things turn out for him, I wonder...
I'll update as soon as I can but I can't promise anything, since school is leaving me waaaay too much homework.
See you next chapter! Please keep leaving reviews! They usually make my day!