Strained Relationship

Rosa didn't walk to school with Miguel, as they normally did. He'd completely ignored her during breakfast, although she'd sat next to him, not sure which she craved more: his friendship or his forgiveness.

Her primo sometimes behaved passive-aggressively when he was upset on somebody. If he did it to hide his hurt feelings or to shield himself from further getting hurt, she'd never been able to pin-point.

Her parents and grandmother hadn't addressed her many words, a telltale sign that their disappointment hadn't magically diminished. Not that Rosa had been expecting it to.

School was worse than the tense, melancholic morning. Her colleagues whispered when she passed by, others pointed at her when they thought she didn't notice them.

But the worst were the stares. They were everywhere, watching and judging her every move. Even her friends regarded her with pity, which only worsened her disconcerted state.

I didn't break a leg, I just got busted! She wanted to yell, but knew it would serve nothing.

At least no one mentioned the incident to her face. Not directly. One of her friends hugged her tightly when they met and asked if she was okay. Lucia definitely knew her reply was a lie, but thankfully didn't challenge her patience.

During the last eight months, Rosa had been visiting her every once in a while to practise together. Lucia had been playing the violin for more than three years, and she'd offered to help out. To say the least, Rosa had been ecstatic.

But now, Rosa had to tell her about her decision to cut out all contact with music from her life. Her friend endeavoured to persuade her, but Riveras were stubborn and steadfast people, much to Lucia's dismay.

Classes were strangely tedious. Rosa partially managed to get her mind off her worries, but the fear of having to confront stern looks at home consumed her bit by bit. Her teachers questioned if she was okay, as what they didn't define as "okay" was one of the top students in class being distracted.

The best - and sole - good part of the day was that she laughed alongside her friends at lunch and during breaks, which assuaged some of her negativity.

By the time she arrived home, Rosa already felt worn out. But the day was only halfway through, therefore she kept pushing. No more mistakes, no more time wasting.

No more dreaming about music.

After a hurried meal, she didn't raise her head from books and notebooks for two hours straight before she joined her family in the workshop.

She drew multiple designs for shoes, boots and sandals, showing each of them to her papá or tío Enrique for approval. She assisted Franco as he made wingtips, handing him any tool he needed, she helped Gloria serve customers, she delivered pairs of shoes with Abel to the ones who couldn't pick their orders up.

Miguel was also helping however he could, but he was clearly not trying his best; he had to be awoken from his day-dreaming multiple times in order to pay attention, which didn't last long, to no one's surprise.

He avoided her like the plague. Each time she approached him with a question, his responses were either monosyllabic or as short as he could make them. Rosa forced herself not to dwell on how much she'd hurt him if that was the way he was trying to cope with it. She didn't dwell on her own pain, which his actions deepened.

Ultimately, she finished dinner, and went straight to her room to slump onto the bed.

She didn't wake up until an hour later, her head pounding. She got up with a rapid motion, only to knock over a framed picture on her nightstand. She fumbled until she grasped it right before it would've crushed into the floor.

Sitting on her knees, Rosa surveyed it.

There she was, smiling along with her older brother and cousin, a few years ago when they'd been on a trip in the mountains.

She set the photograph back up, ignoring the memory which stung her.

8.49 p.m.

Miguel couldn't be asleep yet; he was sometimes a night owl.

She glanced left and right, but her suspended fist didn't budge. Inside, her cousin was playing and singing softly. Afraid she'd tear up, she knocked on his door. She heard the instrument being shoved just as she pushed the door open.

"¿Primo?"

She glimpsed his worried face. He appeared oddly out of place, even in his own room.

But Rosa understood. He'd thought it was someone else coming in, proof being the guitar hidden only halfway under the bed behind him, as well as his arms shielding it protectively. The scene hurt her, for music had brought them closer, but now it was pulling them apart.

He turned glum, but said nothing, obviously waiting for her to make the first move. Which she did.

"Miguel, I want to talk to you."

Still, his lips remained pursed.

She sat in front of him on the carpet, her legs crossed. He pushed the guitar further behind the throw blanket. Just in case anyone interrupted.

Rosa took a deep breath. "There's something you need to know."

His brows raised.

"When I was old enough to remember important things, I made a promise to our family."

She paused as she scanned him, ensuring she'd engrossed him in the conversation. She let the memory play out in her mind as she recalled it aloud.

"Rosa! Bring him back, mija! He needs to sleep." Luisa calls out from the bedroom.

Rosa's trot is unsteady as she carries Miguel, her arms as tight around him as the hold of a seven-year-old girl can be. Little Miguel laughs jovially, his feet barely touching the floor. His mother chases them, but her niece refuses to let go of him.

"I want to play with him!"

"You've been playing for hours already, sobrina. Your cousin needs to rest now." Luisa gently tells her, crouching to fondle her cheek.

"But look, Tía, he's laughing!"

She clutches Miguel as if he is her lifeline, and he continues to titter.

"Rosa," Carmen appears in the hallway, "you'll play again tomorrow, mijita. Come now, your father and Abuelita want to speak to you."

She lets go of her cousin after a good-night peck to his head. His mamá picks him up, and her gaze lingers on him until he's out of sight, until she cannot see him wave at her anymore. She takes Carmen's hand.

"Am I in trouble, Mamá?"

"No, cariño, don't worry. It's something else."

Upon arriving in the living-room, Rosa climbs into Berto's lap, who almost crushes her in a bear hug. Her Abuelita smiles.

"Rosa," she begins, "it's time we talked to you about this, just like we did with your brother a few years ago."

The girl gets quiet, her eyes large.

"What is a family?"

"The most important thing in the world." she chirps without thinking.

"And what do we do as a family?"

"We protect one another."

"¡Bueno! Our smart little niña." Elena ruffles her hair before going on with seriosity: "Rosa, no matter what, family comes first. Siempre. Can you promise us something, mija?"

She vehemently nodded.

"That you will always look after your primo Miguel, because you're older than him?"

"¡Sí, Abuelita!"

Rosa was speechless after the flashback ended. At the time, she hadn't realized the major importance of her promise, but it had gradually occurred to her as years had gone by.

Miguel was silent, and when she eyed him again, his expression was a mix of astonishment, awe and regret. He probably felt worse than she'd imagined that their relationship had collapsed.

"That day, I indirectly made a promise to you too, primo ."

"And why did you tell me this?"

"Porque it's my job to warn you to be careful. If they find out…"

"What are you trying to protect me from?"

"Miguel, if there's something I learned from what happened, it's that music separates people. Or at least that's the final result if one from our family has anything to do with it."

"Now you sound just like Abuelita, and definitely like Mamá Imelda. And to think that you even played an instrument… What are you trying to protect me from?" he inquired once more, stressing each word as irritation settled in.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I fear that music will take you away from us."

His eyes widened. He'd told her about the possibility of him leaving Santa Cecilia to pursue his dreams…

"No. No, you wouldn't tell them…"

"I would if fate threatened to split us up!"

In the back of her mind, Rosa registered how similar to Elena she'd spoken, how much she took after her grandmother.

The boy was pale, and the last bit of disbelief on his face faded, replaced by a horrified glare.

"You wouldn't tell them… I trusted you, Rosa!" His voice broke as he got up, hands clenched into shaking fists when he slowly inched the guitar farther under the bed with his heel.

She got up at the same time, not slacking her scrutinizing gaze, as if she could see into the depths of his soul. She had to make herself listened to.

This hurt. It hurt so downright much. She shouldn't have come to him. She should have waited until the waters were calmer.

"I will tell them if I suspect you have any plans. I know telling on you will make me a despicable cousin, but the world won't take care of you like we do, primo . We could lose you forever, you could lose yourself out there, don't you get it? And I'd never forgive myself because I promised, with all my heart, that I'll always look after you." She pressed both hands to her chest, blinking tears away.

"Are you threatening me?" he incredulously whispered.

"Maybe I am."

Silence ruled. They were so close they were breathing on each other's faces.

"Don't trifle my warning, Miguel! I'll do anything to protect you."

"What you'd do could never be called protection, Rosa."

She didn't know if that was the truth. Only now was she aware of how desperate she'd sounded.

"Trusting you truly was my biggest mistake."

His words were like a slap coupled with a scarring dagger. His flaring glower intensified as he crossed his arms, while hers deflated. The space between his eyebrows wrinkled.

"You're no longer welcome in my hideout. You've chosen your side, so stick to it, and don't come crying at my door because I won't open it. Have fun making shoes! And don't you dare reveal my secrets!" He nearly shouted.

Rosa found herself outside his room. She tried the knob, but the door had been locked.

"Miguel! I'm not done yet! Let me in!" She banged on the wood, not sure why she still wanted to talk to her cousin after he'd rejected her so flatly.

Her efforts were in vain, and she was left weeping after locking the door to her own bedroom. She slid down the cool wall.

This wasn't how she'd expected things to go; she had hoped they would make up. She was tired of arguments, tired of missing his company, tired of recalling their good times together, both with music and without it.

Remorse, shame and bile rose in the pit of her stomach all at once. Her throat was roped by the tight collar of anxiety. She hugged her knees to her chest, clinging to whatever was left of her hopes.

Berto was the first to find his beautiful daughter curled up on the floor, sobbing her heart out. Carmen came in shortly after. To their utter dismay, they were unable to comfort her. When Rosa told them she needed to be alone, they unwillingly let her be.

Even later, her troubles weren't eased by the comforting assurances of any of her relatives.

Miguel pressed on his ears, attempting to block the annoying thumps on his door. His cousin could pummel all she wanted.

His heart was ripped up into a million stinging shreds. He checked the courtyard before grabbing his guitar and climbing out the window.

Once in the attic, he collapsed, tugging on his messy hair almost hard enough to root it out.

"¡Increíble! She has the guts to talk about protecting me after she carelessly betrayed me!"

He never should've opened up to her. He never should've trusted her to begin with. The people you love the most, hurt you the most. He should've known this stupid thing was going to end up a disaster which now hurt them both immensely.

He lied to himself that he didn't care if she cried her eyes out. She probably didn't care about his tears after all she'd done.

But deep down, Miguel knew he was wrong.

Not talking to her wasn't an option. At least not for long. He hated to admit it, but he'd been missing her company since their altercation.

Does she miss me too?

He didn't want to think about what had happened. About what would happen. About how heartbroken they both were. If their relationship could ever fully heal. Hence, Miguel thought about the most distressing songs he'd heard and allowed his fingers to pluck the strings of his brittle guitar until they bled.

He then went to Mamá Coco and confessed everything. On account of her Alzheimer disease, he wasn't sure she understood very well or even if her aged mind registered the meaning of his words. Despite that, it felt comforting to have someone to talk to who listened without judging or scolding him. Because of this, he greatly desired to be able to receive her advice about what he could do to mend things with Rosa.

But he was the only one who chatted since he'd entered his great-grandmother's room and until he left.

It became clear to the other Riveras that Miguel and Rosa had quarrelled. Heatedly.

Neither of the kids wanted to talk about what had transpired, why they were suddenly against each other after the closeness they'd shared, which hadn't gone unnoticed.

In spite of their struggles to make the two discuss what was bothering them and sort everything out, the cousins were stubborn and either invented some lies about what the problem was or simply insisted that what had happened (whatever that was, in the adults' minds), was insignificant, therefore didn't deserve to be debated, even though it clearly made them be at odds with each other about something.

Both Rosa and Miguel were suffering because of the lack of communication between them. Being close to one another felt awkward and tense. They started fighting over petty things more often than usual, and they spent less time together. The first weeks after their argument, one only saw the other during meals, hours in the workshop or breaks during school.

They were just children, though. And children do not hold grudges for a long time. Gradually, they rebegan hanging out together. From talking about their day at school to laughing at each other's jokes to playful banter and hugs.

Neither of them mentioned music or anything related to it; they both tried to avoid the occurrence of another fight.

Rosa could tell her cousin was treating her differently. She hadn't stepped foot into the attic ever since the day she'd returned her violin, not wishing to bother Miguel, but also since the place tugged burningly on her heartstrings. He was now hiding from her just like he was hiding from the others, as if she didn't already know everything he was doing. And it wasn't only that. Her cousin made a custom of shunning her; she took it he did that when the last thing he wanted was to be around her, be it out of furious resentment or painful memories.

There were times when she was questioned where Miguel was by her family. Sometimes, she shrugged out of lack of knowledge, but other times she lied in their face and felt somewhat guilty for it because she did know. She knew and still decided to keep her cousin's secrets, feeling torn between her family - and her promise - and the contentment which music constantly brought him. If he knew that she was deceitfully helping him, he never revealed it or thanked her. Not that she'd ever expect him to.

Somehow, Miguel wasn't as joyous as he'd been during those months. That particular detail in his demeanour saddened Rosa the most. Her company was missed indeed! Even after they apologized to each other (although awkwardly) and he'd gone back to his spirited self, his smiles weren't as big anymore. He wasn't as warm towards her as he'd used to be when they'd sung and played their instruments together. Music was the only thing he truly put his heart into; nothing - nobody - else could surpass that passion of his.

They grew apart. She knew Miguel would never forget her deeds, and the fact that there was no way she could fully redeem herself other than join him in the musical journey again - which she was steadily against - drove her depressed. Those times, she wanted nothing more than to yell and tear anything in her reach, but resolved to infuriatingly scream in a pillow in her room because of what she and her primo had been - No! - what they were going through.

She despised the moments when she was so desperate that she considered spilling his secrets, or even taking his guitar away and hiding it somewhere he'd never find it. She never did any of those things, out of emotional needs and because she was aware that it would destroy him. And whatever was left of their declining relationship. Plus, he'd made a playable guitar once, what would stop him from making another one?

Rosa relied on the fact that she and Miguel were both old enough (thirteen and twelve) to perhaps forget about what music had done to their relationship (for some reason, Rosa hated that she now thought about the art like Elena, even though she'd been looking up to her abuela since childhood).

She focused more on learning to make shoes and studying hard to distract herself from the rust of her and Miguel's relationship. Her pride didn't allow her to admit how much she longed for what she'd lost. But during the quietest hours of some nights, her soft cries were enough to make her admit the truth.

She was never able to entirely banish music from her life. When she was alone and sure that she couldn't get observed, she would turn on the radio for however much time permitted it, or tapped her fingers to a beat in her head, or hummed nostalgically. She even went into the attic when she was certain Miguel wasn't there to look longingly at her violin for hours.

Music refused to leave her being, and she knew that a tiny bit of it could never drive her away from her beloved family.

A few more months went by, and Día de Muertos knocked on the door…