The Vivid Disclosure

"Come, Rosa! I wanna show you something."

"Is it also related to music?"

"You got it!"

The midday sun warmed their backs as they climbed the sole tree in the hacienda, stepping onto the rooftop. Miguel pulled aside the huge Rivera shoe logo of the family business that was the entrance to the attic. With a thumping heart, Rosa entered.

It was dark at first, but, as her eyes got used to the lack of light, she could make out a few markers, jars and brushes dispersed onto the floor. A thin curtain was hanging in front of them.

"Shall we?" Miguel smiled as he lifted it.

Rosa's eyes widened in astonishment as they crawled into the slightly more spacious area. As Miguel lit the candles (this part of the attic had no windows) she noticed colourful flyers of outdated performances were stapled on a wall, and an old TV was set on the wall opposite to the entrance, surrounded on either side with pillar candles, marigold flowers, tapes, a record player, CDs, magazines, albums, songbooks, and photos of Ernesto de la Cruz, the musician who had a statue dedicated to him in the plaza.

Rosa had heard a couple of his songs, but apart from the romantic and energetic "Remember Me", she wasn't impressed with his music, nor movies, nor guitar skills. The guy had died in 1942, but was the most renowned musician in the world, venerated by many; Miguel apparently fell into that category too, judging by the fact that he had his own little ofrenda dedicated to him.

Her eyes shifted their focus, landing on…

"You have a guitar?!" she exclaimed, inching closer to the instrument to touch it. Her hand froze, gazing back at him. "Can I…"

"Sure, just be careful with it. It's pretty fragile."

She rolled her eyes. "When haven't I been careful?"

Her heart throbbing, she scanned the guitar from top to bottom; it was a makeshift instrument; judging by the broken and replaced strings and the big patch it had, she could tell that it had undergone several sessions of fixing.

Attentively, she gradually took a hold of it, as if fearing it might disintegrate under her touch. It was a strange feeling, something she had never experienced before. She had only seen and heard the music of some instruments, but to be given the opportunity to hold and play one was different on so many levels.

She frowned. "Actually, can you show me how to play first? I feel like my noodle fingers will snap a string."

He laughed. "That won't happen. What you should fear is a string snapping over your hand." He held up his right palm, where a thin deep red line decorated the skin of three of his fingers.

"So, what you told your mamá, Luisa, yesterday, about the knife incident was a lie," she pointed out categorically.

He bit his lip, "Yeah. But I didn't have a choice, I had to make something up. I couldn't simply say "I got this cut from the guitar I've been secretly hiding in the attic for nearly two years". No, definitely not. Fortunately, I repaired it, and it's like new."

She raised a brow. "But… isn't it exactly like the guitar de la Cruz used to own, the one that's hanging in his mausoleum in the cemetery?"

"Nothing gets past you, Rosa."

"Miguel, how obsessed are you with this musician?"

He grinned, "Very."

He turned the pegs of the instrument until he was satisfied before placing a tape - "Best of de la Cruz" - into the TV and turning it on. Black and white clips with the musician started playing out with his voiceover.

"I have to sing, I have to play. The music, it's… it's not just in me… it is me. When life gets me down, I play my guitar. The rest of the world may follow the rules, but I must follow my heart."

Rosa didn't want to admit she was mesmerised. The Rivera descendants had always been forbidden from taking part in the music classes at school (for which other students considered them weird). All she knew about music - and de la Cruz, for that matter - was from her friends who were kind enough to tell her about the subject, from the times she dared to turn on the concealed radio that was under her older brother Abel's bed (which he'd miraculously bought from one of his friends), when she'd circled the plaza in search of the audacity to step in and listen, the day she'd sneaked to the show…

The clips with de la Cruz were continuing, but Rosa wasn't heeding them anymore. Her cousin had crossed his legs on the floor and had started playing the guitar. She watched his fingers, noticing the calluses that she'd missed before. He was immersed in what he was doing; the notes were soft and gentle, and he was flawlessly matching the notes de la Cruz was plucking on his guitar in the clips. He appeared to do everything with such effortlessness!

Despite the initial shock and astonishment she had experienced, hope was starting to rapidly rise in Rosa's heart. She listened intently, intrigued by the music and the calming atmosphere, wishing it would never have to end. The fervour Miguel put into playing was truly praiseworthy, and she could tell he was both talented and hard-working.

At last, Miguel finished the song; she forgot how to clap. They both just sat there, one still caught in his dreams and the other more delighted than she had ever been. The recorded video on the TV ended and was followed by a monotonous buzz, but neither of the cousins paid any attention to it.

They stared at each other for a couple more seconds before she broke the silence, a wild mix of emotions flowing through her.

"Tell me everything!" she pleaded, briskly closing the gap between them and taking his hand in hers. "Where did you find this guitar? Clearly, you haven't purchased it."

Miguel returned his cousin's smile, her excitement contagious.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I found it broken in the trash one day and I did my best to repair it so I could use it to learn how to play. All those hours that I spent looking at papá make shoes have surely paid off."

Rosa was staring at him in awe. "You're awesome, primo , have I ever told you that?"

"Yes, last night, in fact," he chuckled before handing her the instrument.

This time she took it with no hesitation. She turned the guitar so that her right hand was over its middle. She then glanced at her primo, who nodded and gave her an uplifting smile before grabbing the neck of the guitar and slowly sliding her fingers on the strings. Although she had no clue how to play and the few soft notes barely qualified as music, Rosa felt a display of another kind of joy dance within her, which filled all her nerves with pure delight. She giggled and proceeded strumming the instrument enthusiastically, with Miguel being just as animated as her and giving her a few pieces of advice here and there.

Rosa ceased plucking after a while and cautiously placed the guitar on the floor.

"So, how was it? What do you think?" he asked as she rubbed her fingers.

"What do I think? Uh…" she stumbled, being at a loss of words. She scrutinized the attic once more, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water. "This is… this is… a dream-"

"Yet to come true," Miguel added for her, lowering his head, and Rosa dismally perceived how much pain he was in. She saw herself in him on that day after the performance, after having faced the cruel truth of their family's principles head-on. She regarded him with sad eyes, feeling the words that lingered in the air.

"So, based on what you said, you've been playing for about two years."

He nodded, lost in a trance. "Mhm."

She saw with her own eyes how advanced in playing the guitar her cousin was; his ear for music must have been excellent. It was obvious he had been putting a lot of effort and dedication to get where he was. But, most important, passion and patience.

She truly admired him now in contrast to before, when she hadn't known about his potential.

"A year and a half ago, I heard some music coming from our neighbours. You know, the Vázquez family. Naturally, when mamá and papá weren't watching me, I went outside and stopped in front of their house.

"I think I'd been listening for about seven minutes when I spotted what looked like the bottom of a guitar in one of their dumpsters. I took out the guitar and realized that with a little care, I could turn it into what it had once been. It took me about three months to get it fixed and painted, but it was worth it. I didn't expect to make it sound too good, but right now, I think it sounds pretty close to a normal guitar."

She was staring at him in reverence.

"I've loved music ever since I can remember," he went on, "and over time, I knew I wanted to be a musician one day. So I managed" – he gestured around – "to gather all the things you see."

Rosa looked around once more, astounded and impressed by everything: from how resolute and undaunted her cousin was in following his dream, to how he had made his own playable guitar from a destroyed instrument that he'd found in the garbage.

"De la Cruz is the one who inspired me to become a musician," he continued fervently and shortly described the famous man for her, even though she knew perfectly well who he was. They were studying him in history, for heaven's sake!

"And his videos taught you how to play the guitar?" she enquired with inquisitiveness.

"¡Sí!"

Abuelita's words crossed Rosa's mind - No music in our house! ¡Nunca! - but she forced the thoughts away nonetheless. She was over them. She wanted to learn music with Miguel now. She wanted to welcome music in her life like an old friend, not to think of it as a curse anymore. Even if that meant keeping secrets from the family, at least she wouldn't be alone in this. At last, she would be joyful.

She clutched her right forearm. "Miguel, can I join you in this? I know I used to be a telltale when we were kids, but I promise I won't tell a soul. Por favor, can you teach me? Can you tell me everything you know about music?"

"You have already joined me, prima. I am more than glad to have you by my side." He grinned cheerfully.

"But why did you reveal your secret to me? Why did you offer to take me to the plaza last night?"

He contemplated for a minute. "I can't deny that sometimes… I get a bit lonely spending so many hours here in the attic. Ever since I started learning the guitar, I've been wishing to share music with my family. I used to talk - and I still do - to our bisabuela Mamá Coco about every detail of everything I'm learning.

"Then I realised that you seemed to have the same passion for music as me. The first time I thought that was when you sneaked off to watch that performance at school two years ago, and I tossed and turned in my bed for weeks whether or not to let you in on my business.

"You gave me the answer when you completely stopped listening to music, but I was still holding out hope. And am I glad I did, 'cause a few months ago, you started going to the plaza, and I don't think I'm wrong to believe that you've been going there at least once every two or three weeks, including yesterday!"

Rosa had listened intently, her eyes almost bugging out. "How on earth do you know how often I've been to the plaza?!"

"I may or may not have heard some rumours at school, but they weren't mean rumours."

She massaged her temples. "You spy!"

"Hey, it's not my fault, I just overheard! Isn't it good that I did though? Otherwise we wouldn't be here now, would we?" He grinned sheepishly.

"Sí, sí, primo, but you owe me."

"I owe you nothing!" He crossed his arms, making her laugh.

Rosa raised her finger. "One question."

"Do tell."

"Why didn't you perform last night in the plaza with your guitar? Or why didn't you walk up on that stage and dance?"

He was visibly taken aback. Whatever question he'd been expecting, it surely wasn't this one. He looked to the side and she could literally feel how unsure and timorous he was.

"I… I don't know. I mean, I've never really played for anyone but me." Miguel bit his lip and rubbed his arm nervously; it almost seemed that he was embarrassed. "I know I told you about my dreams, but I merely don't have the stomach to perform yet. It's just that… argh, what a great aspiring musician I dare call myself!"

Seeing him so discouraged and dejected hurt Rosa more than she could have ever imagined; it was clear that the loneliness accumulated over the years in following his passion without any support had made Miguel insecure and brokenness was seeping in his heart. She couldn't bear to see him that way.

He had learnt to play the guitar and dance just from watching other people do it. Music truly was in his blood, and his self-teaching abilities were outstanding! After having witnessed his talent, she felt awful that he wasn't able to show his abilities for the world to see.

"Listen, primo! If there is something I know for sure, it's that you're not alone in this anymore." She approached him and took his hand in hers, squeezing it reassuringly; it was the least she could do. "I know it's been hard, but I really believe you should try. After all, if you don't give it a chance, then you'll never know."

"Rosa, it's not that simple," he retorted, frustrated, putting his head in both hands. "I guess I should just keep doing what I've been doing until now and see how things go."

He had a dread of playing for an audience, a lack of self-assurance she didn't quite comprehend. He was so brilliant, so bright, so gifted, he knew how to do so many dazzling things! She had always envisioned him dauntless and optimistic; but if he didn't want to, then she wouldn't pressure him. It was his choice, not hers, and Rosa was already experienced in having doubts about her own self, so she completely understood his decision, therefore opting to let it go.

Even if it pained her to see him insecure when he had no apparent reason to be so, she didn't wish to hurt him by insisting he perform without regard to his feelings either. She made a goal to help him overcome his nerves, just like he was helping her on her barely-started musical journey.

She solemnly promised herself to find someplace where her little primo would allow himself to let out the music within his artistic soul without fear.

Miguel seemed lost far away.

"Primo," she clasped his shoulder, determined to encourage him; he focused on her. "I know this might sound ridiculous right now, but I promise that you will be able to play and make music for the world someday. Freely, I mean, without the worry of our family in your heart."

A tiny part of her expected Miguel to burst out laughing at how stupid that came out, given that she obviously didn't have any control over the future.

He didn't. He simply put his hand over hers, the touch of his still-forming calluses vaguely registering to Rosa. His eyes watered.

Before she could add anything else though, Miguel put on an enlivening smile to hide his desolation.

"I think I hear mamá calling us to lunch."