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whattimeisitintokyo · 4 years

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Somos Familia Ch 39: It Hits the Fan

Chapter 39: It Hits the Fan

Today was the day!

Miguel's birthday!

Héctor chuckled to himself as he finished shaving and wiping off the leftover shaving cream off his face, leaving behind the little tuft of hair that was his goatee. He had often considered shaving it off completely, being too old to have such juvenile facial hair, but at this point in his life it was practically trademarked. All his official photos and even illustrations of him all had it. He was practically stuck with it.

He chuckled again, letting his mind drift over these trivial things that made him smile. Any thoughts that didn't include what this day also was. Yes, he would put items on the ofrenda for his beloved daughter, tell her how much he missed her and loved her. Even give a respectful nod to Ernesto's foto. But other than that his thoughts were only on Miguel's birthday party. All the family would be there, everyone would feast on Miguel's favorite meals, presents, games, laughter and love. If he just concentrated on that then the pain wouldn't be so bad.

He didn't sleep well last night. He never did on the days leading up to Dia de Muertos. He vaguely remembered waking up crying once last night, but he was soon lulled back to sleep by his wife's calming presence and he was fine afterwards. She didn't even say anything when he awoke the next morning, and he was thankful for that. He could pass off the dark circles under his eyes on his age, and no one besides Imelda would notice.

He stepped into his walk-in closet and pushed aside Imelda's beautiful dresses to get to his clothes. He was feeling particularly festive today and pulled out his royal purple suit jacket off the hanger. Thinking about which tie would go well with hit, he looked up and saw something gleaming in between the hanging clothes.

The golden tooth of a grinning skull.

Immediately his mood dropped as he blankly stared at the headstock of his once prized guitar. He didn't feel any pride or joy in looking at it, hadn't even played it for over nine years, but he couldn't bring himself to hate it either. Many times he had considered giving it away or, in his more depressive states, simply throw it into the dumpster where he felt it belonged.

But he never could. Because his beloved wife had given it to him on his birthday, oh so many years ago.

'Y-you… bought this for me?! I don't know what to say…'

'You don't need to say anything Héctor. Feliz Cumpleaños. Now stop saving your money for it and go buy yourself some food, tonto.'

And then she had kissed him for the first time ever. On the cheek, yes, but it had made his whole head burst into flames and his ears buzz. It was the true beginning of their relationship, and this guitar was the key. It was a precious moment in his life: a fond memory. So no, he couldn't get rid of it so easily. But it wasn't going to stay in the closet anymore either. He'd have a talk with Chente later about sending it off to Rivera de La Cruz Records to be put on display to the public if they wanted it. It would still be his, but he wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Picking up a red necktie he pushed a bunch of clothes over the guitar, concealing it again, and walked away.

--------------------------------------

"Facundo! Don't smear icing on your sister's dress! Anselmo! Osvaldo! Stop fighting, you're in front of company, show some respect! Ay, Dahlia hold the baby for me, would you? You're the oldest, you need to help Papá."

Miguel walked into the courtyard with Victoria to absolute mayhem, with Victoria pulling him out of the way just in time before a sticky pastry struck the wall where his head was. Nodding his thanks to his niece he looked out to see Elena and Charlie playing with five other small, very rambunctious children dressed in their best church clothes. Soiled in mud, breakfast foods and sans shoes of course, but there was an effort to get Martín and Rosita's children dressed nicely for the special occasion. Martín was standing over them, trying not to be knocked down by the running, screaming children as he also tried not to drop the baby girl in his arms. Matty was also seated at the table set outside, holding Clara and looking very smug that his own children were behaving themselves properly, and Julio was looking out at the chaos with a thousand-yard stare.

Sitting down after finally passing the baby to his eldest, Martín slumped into a chair with a groan and leaned towards Matty in exhaustion. "Remember the Nazis? How easy it was with them? They were so neat and organized. Precise."

"They blew your leg off, amigo."

"At this point in my life, I wish they blew something else off."

"Papá, Papá!" One of Martín's sons came up to him, pulling on his sleeve and smiling with gapped teeth. "Charlie wants to play horses! Can we, por favor?"

"Ay, all right." Reaching down underneath the table, Martín fumbled around a little with belts and straps before pulling off and giving the child his prosthetic leg. "Don't get it dirty and do not, I repeat, do not… stick forks in it again."

Suddenly Julio sat up with a smile and shouted. "Hey everyone! The birthday boy is here!"

All the little children stopped immediately to look at Miguel standing in the doorway, before screaming again and running into him for hugs. This time Victoria didn't help, and Miguel let out a squawk when he was bombarded with seven sticky children. "Feliz cumpleaños, Miguel!" several little voices yelled out.

"Agh!... Gr-gracias… AHH! You guys are squeezing me to hard!"

"Ah, there you are mijo." Imelda swooped in and managed to pry the little ones off her son, brushing down his hair and giving him a kiss. "Fashionably late to your own party, I see. You look very nice today."

"Gracias, Mamá." Miguel said, pulling down his sleeves to cover up the wristbands that Victoria had made for him. 'I've gotta look nice for my performance tonight.' He said to himself. It wasn't a charro suit that he would have liked to wear, like a professional mariachi, but the bolo tie and shiny new boots were a nice touch.

"Well I hope your hungry." Imelda said. "We've been cooking up a storm all morning in that cramped little kitchen. And Wanda has made a delicious surprise for you."

"Cinnamon rolls!" Wanda said happily, placing a tray of pastries absolutely dripping with icing and candied nuts on the table. "My grandmother's recipe. I really hope you'll like them, but if you're anything like your brother then I know you're going to love them Miguel."

"No, I don't love them." Matty said, already double fisting the freshly glazed rolls with hungry eyes. "I'm damn near addicted to them. I crave them all day every day. But they're considered a Sunday food, and I'm forced to go without all week! It's torture, hermanito, pure torture."

"Which reminds me, since I'm making them on a Friday that means you've had them two times this week. So, we can skip them on Sunday and have them the next week."

"What?!"

"It's actually a little funny." Wanda said as Matty started to hoard as many rolls as he could in front of him. "Rosita's had three so far, but she's been pouring lime juice all over them. Lime juice! Can you believe it? How can you eat something so sour with something so sweet is beyond me!"

The others laughed a little and started to doll out the rest of the pastries to everyone else, with only Matty noticing the way Martín's face had turned pale white and he sunk lowly in his chair. "Lime juice?… Oh, no no no no nooo…"

Matty shook his head with pity, but mostly with exasperation, and ate his cinnamon roll. "Cochino…"

Breakfast was delicious, of course, and the party continued throughout the day. There were party games, cake and ice cream and even more sugary delights that threw all the little children into an even more manic frenzy until they had finally passed out underneath the shade of the tree. The ofrenda had been set up, decorated with flowers and offerings for Imelda's parents, Leti, the late Facundo and even Matty's friend Barto, while the adults shared stories of their dearly departed despite Héctor's best efforts to divert their attention to another party game or business idea he had. Even Chente and his best friend Javier had come to whish him a happy birthday to join the festivities. They always seemed really cool to Miguel, and he also felt like they understood his frustration with the lack of music.

Miguel absently kept checking the clock every so often, time seeming to move achingly slow as it creeped towards seven. He had hidden his guitar underneath the ofrenda table, somewhere he knew his father wouldn't be near that much, so it would be ready to be picked up when he left.

But for now his concentration was on opening the last birthday present, then he could go get his real gift. "Wow, sneakers! Gracias Tío Oscar y Tío Felipe!"

"Not just any sneakers." Felipe said proudly.

"But the new Rivera Freeflyers!"

"The new line of children's shoes-"

"-that goes on the market next year."

"Designed by us of course."

"But you're the first kid to wear them!"

"Feliz cumpleaños!"

Smiling, Miguel set the shoes back in the box. "That's really cool. Thanks again. Is that the last present? Aw man, that's sad. But I guess good things can't last forever. Well, if we're done I have some stuff I-"

"Atata. Not so fast, Miguel." Héctor walked up to him, smiling widely. "Because I also have a present for you."

Sitting back down, glancing at the clock again, Miguel's smile drooped a little in uncertainty. "Okay…"

Clearing his throat theatrically, Héctor stood next to his son in the center of the room spoke loud for all to hear. "Twelve years ago today, Miguel Rivera… beloved nephew, tío, brother and son… was brought into this world. A harrowing, frightful day for the whole family, especially for his dear mother, mi diosa, but one that ultimately ended in triumph. For that tiny baby was able to grow into a healthy little boy, and who has now grown into the fine young man standing before us all today."

"And since you are on the brink of adulthood, it's high time that we start thinking about your future, Miguel. Specifically what you're going to do for a living when you grow up. Now as much as we, and pretty much the whole world, loves your Mamá's shoes I get the feeling that's not where your passions truly lie. But after having a talk with Chente yesterday, we came to the conclusion that maybe your future lies with… Rivera de la Cruz Records."

Miguel noticed the way his father flinched at saying Ernesto's name, like he always did, but that didn't matter at the moment. There was a sudden bubbling of excitement and anticipation welling up inside of him, and he happily looked over at Chente for a confirmation. The former assistant, now CEO of the biggest movie and music production company in Mexico, gave him a silent smile and thumbs up. Turning back to his father with a big smile, Héctor continued.

"So your mother and I talked about it last night, and we both decided the best opportunity for you would be-"

Miguel could see it now: His name in lights, the crowd chanting his name, strumming a guitar just like, no better, than Tío Nesto's. Singing songs that he had written himself, the crowd singing along with him because they were so good, so memorable. Immortalized for all time by doing the one thing he truly loved to do: Playing the guit-

"-to start training you in business, just like your brother! And to start with that, we're going to enroll you in business management classes!"

…..

"… What?"

There was not a sound coming from anyone else in the room. Wanda, Julio and Coco looked at each other in complete disbelief and mild disgust, Matty slowly bringing his hand over his eyes in complete exasperation. The other adults in the room cringed and suddenly became very interested in their plates of leftover food and cake, except for Vicente and Javier. Poor Chente stared at Héctor like he had just condemned the man to his death, eyes wide and mouth agape in horror, while Javier was bent nearly in half in his chair. Shoulders shaking and biting down on his clenched fist, Javier was doing everything he could to not just bust out laughing at the entire fiasco in front of him. Oblivious to everyone's obvious displeasure of his grand announcement, Héctor continued.

"There's a school nearby. In San Benito. They specialize in training children for college. Mateo, you went there, remember?"

Nodding and smiling painfully, Matty said, "Yes, Papá. I remember going… I remember willingly going-"

"Well, you did so well there that we thought Miguel would too! Now, they've got a new program where they include room and boarding, and you can do your regular schooling there."

"Which" Imelda interjected, "I have already vetoed. They still have just the same smaller classes every other weekend that you went to, Mateo. I don't want our little boy to be away from home for so long."

"Right," Héctor said. "I agree with her. You'll still go to school here, so don't worry about that. You won't miss your friends or your family. But I feel like this is a great opportunity for you."

Miguel felt like congratulating himself for how well he was hiding his displeasure from his parents. No, displeasure was too light a word for how he was feeling. He felt like his face was about to break and shatter for how long he was holding the rictus of his earlier smile, and his heart and stomach freefalling down to his boots. He felt like he was slowly dying, and yet his parents were looking at him like they were doing this for his own good. And they were proud of it too!

Maybe it was his own fault: being so secretive about who he truly was and what his interests were. His parents didn't know who he was at all and thought he would be glad that they were practically dooming him to a fate worse than death.

Swallowing painfully, almost as if he felt like he was about to cry, Miguel croaked out. "W-well… That's… a lot to take in."

"It's just an idea, mijo." Héctor said gently, as if finally sensing that his son might not be totally ready for such a radical change in his life. "And you've got plenty of time to decide. We can talk about more in the morning alone."

"It's just that that- uh…" Miguel fumbled a little with his wristbands hidden under his sleeves. "I'm not like Matty was when he was my age. I mean… I'm more like a normal kid, you know. Not a nerd like him."

"…Hey…"

"I mean I not as smart as him. I won't be any good in a school like that."

"Don't worry about that, Miguel." Imelda said softly, placing her head gently on his head and smoothing his hair. "You'll have your family here to guide you. We'll help you every step of the way. You won't be alone."

"And to help you even more, here's another present!" Héctor said. From behind his back he pulled out a small briefcase, made from leather dyed in a brilliant shade of red, and the letters M.R. embedded on the front in solid gold. Placing in the boy's hands, Héctor smiled widely and clapped his hands with pride. "Look at that. Another businessman in the family! You look so professional already! Ha ha!"

Glancing down miserably at the briefcase, as if he were handed a live grenade instead, Miguel nodded and once more looked up at his parents with that same faked, gritting smile. "Gracias Papá… Gracias Mamá…"

"Aw, feliz cumpleaños, my boy!" Héctor said as he hugged his son happily. "And don't just thank me. Thank Chente, since this was also his idea!"

"Ohhh…." Vicente moaned, trying to ignore the way Javiar was applauding loudly next him with that stupid smug grin of his. "Please don't thank me…."

"Better watch out!" Héctor jokingly said. "One day Miguelito here will take your job out from under you!"

"…I'll do that…"

As the adults carried on with their conversation, Miguel kept looking at the briefcase in hands. It really was a beautifully designed briefcase, something that Matty probably carried around all the time and would probably love having himself, but all it did was make Miguel want to cry. This wasn't what he wanted at all. This wasn't him. And the fact that his own parents didn't see that in him, couldn't see that, broke his heart.

He would have started crying then and there until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning he saw Victoria standing next to him, giving him a look of sympathy and understanding. But also of defiance. Glancing down at the briefcase in disgust, she said, "Put that thing away and go get your guitar. Wanda and Papá will distract Abuelito and everyone else. It's showtime, Tio."

With a start Miguel looked over at the clock and gasped. All his inner turmoil had made him nearly forget about the contest! And it was in twenty minutes! With Victoria giving him an encouraging smile and a slight shove Miguel took off to the ofrenda room. Ducking underneath the tablecloth he flung the accursed briefcase underneath it and grabbed his prized guitar, feeling so much better now that it was in his hands. Glancing to his late sister's foto, and then to his Tío Nesto's, Miguel gave them a watery smile.

"Wish me luck." He whispered, and then headed out the doorway.

No one noticed he, Victoria, Matty and Coco leave the party at all.

Except for one little girl with a big mouth.

---------------------------------

Picking up a small, fried grasshopper from the bowl on the side table, he twisted it to and fro for his grandson to see. It was such a lovely surprise: Here he thought there wasn't many chapulines left for the season, and then all of a sudden Julio gifted him with a heaping bowl of the crunchy little things! Then Wanda had come up to him, saying that his grandchildren wanted to spend some time with their grandfather and to tell them stories. He was more than happy too, even if it was odd that he and the children were practically shoved into the kitchen and the door was slammed shut. But for now, with Clara babbling happily in his arm and with Charlie's rapt attention, he continued his story.

"So at the end of the day, there I was: Scratched up by dried alfalfa, bitten all over by every mosquito there ever was, and with a bag of caught grasshoppers slung over my shoulder. I took it to old Señor Perales and he would fry them up for the customers, and for my pay he would give me a handful of them on a stale tortilla. Sometimes that would be the only thing that I would get to eat for the whole day. But I didn't mind much, it was worth it for me. They're good, no?"

"They're salty." Charlie said as he crunched one with a grimace.

"Sí. Salty, crunchy and my favorite snack. And that was the first job I ever had at four years old. Your age, mijo! Grasshopper catcher extraordinaire."

"My friend Timmy likes to pick out earthworms from his Mommy's garden and eats them too, even with dirt on them! Is that the same thing, Grandpa?"

"No, your friend's just odd."

"Oh."

The sound of the door being opened caused the three of them to look, only to see Elena poking her head in. Héctor was immediately worried: His granddaughter looked very troubled, staring at the floor and lip trembling, trying to decide if she should come in or not. Shifting the baby in his arms to free his hand he held it out. "Elena? Is there something wrong?"

Nodding a little, she slowly edged her way in and closed the door. "My tummy hurts…"

"Aww, too much cake and ice cream, huh?" Héctor asked kindly, squeezing her hand when she took it. "I guess it also didn't help that your cousins gave you too much excitement as well. Well, if you want I can walk you home-"

"It's not that, Abuelito." Elena said softly. "My tummy hurts because I feel guilty."

"Guilty? Did you and your sister have a fight? Because if you said or did something to make her upset I'm sure she'll forgive you. That's what a family who loves each other does, mija. We always forgive each other with time."

Eyes widening, Elena looked up at her grandfather with a slight glimmer of hope. "Really? Family forgives each other for anything?. They don't… get really mad and hate them for it?"

"Of course not."

Elena smiled a little at that, looking like she felt a little better. Then her smile faded, and she shook her head. "No, no… Papá says that I should always do what my parents say…"

Blinking in confusion, Héctor nodded in agreement. "Uh, yes… Yes, children should do what their parents say. Your Papá's right."

"Buuuut…"

"…But?"

"But you're Mamá's papá…" Elena said slowly, nervously picking at her fingers and biting her lip hard in agitation. "So, she has to do whatever you say… right?"

Now he was growing concerned. Pulling his granddaughter close to him, Héctor made Elena look at him squarely in the eye. "Elena, if something is wrong with your Mamá you need to tell me, claro? Now, what's going on?"

"….Well…"

------------------------

"Congratulations, Señor Magallanes."

"Oh you too, Mrs. Rivera."

Chuckling and clinking their mugs of coffee, Julio and Wanda sat on the old boarded up well and each took a sip of the hot brew. They watched as the Reyes children ran around the courtyard in a wild frenzy, having woken up from their sugar comas and putting an end to their parents' moment of peace and quiet, and smiled smugly to themselves. Both because they were thankful that their own children were not as wild and rambunctious, and also for a job well done.

"Nice work on getting the fried grasshoppers so late and getting so many. I'm told they're a seasonal…delicacy." Wanda grimaced at the word.

"Gracias. And that was a nice move of giving him your kids. 'Charlie wants to hear all about you when you were his age!'" Julio chuckled at that. "It really was a nice distraction."

Wanda hummed and gave a sultry smile, gazing off into the distance. "Well, Matthew has always said that I am… a master of distraction. In more ways than one"

"…Uh, right…" Taking an uncomfortable gulp from his coffee mug and coughing awkwardly, Julio changed the subject. "So when should they be back?"

"Well Miguel is the first act." Wanda said. "So it'll start at seven, he'll sing his little song, then Matthew and Coco will bring him right back. So I guess they should be back in about half an hour? Plenty of time before anyone notices they're gone. And if they ask we'll just say he went to a friend's house."

"Thirty minutes?" Julio asked, a little downhearted at the thought. "So, he won't get to stay to see if he wins?"

Wanda nodded in sympathy. "Yes, it is a shame. But honestly do you really think he would win? I mean, I know he's very good, but he'd be going up against musicians who have been playing for much longer than he's even been alive. It seems a little unlikely, right?"

"Sí, you're right… It still would be amazing if he did, though."

"Honestly I think the poor boy just wants to be heard. Can you blame him? Especially after that… gift his parents gave him. Ugh…"

"Sí. Let him have some fun for one night." Julio nodded, bring the cup back up to take a sip. "Thirty minutes. Plenty of time. Go out, perform, come back. No one will suspect a thing."

"All will be well." Wanda agreed.

The sudden slamming of a door hitting the wall startled everyone in the courtyard. All the children skidded to a halt, the adults stopped talking immediately, and all eyes turned towards a very livid Héctor Rivera.

"MIGUEL IS GOING TO PLAY THE GUITAR IN THE PLAZA?!"

Clara started to cry in fright in her grandfather's arms, but Héctor paid her no heed as he marched up Julio and Wanda. "Elena just told me that Miguel's playing in the contest! Julio, is that true?!"

Julio stared at his father-in-law, chalk white and looking like he was about to drop dead on the spot. His mouth worked itself up and down, but all that came out was choked squeaks and croaks. "Uh-uh…uh uh…ah…uh."

With a growl, Héctor turned his glare to his daughter-in-law. "Wanda, did you know anything about this?!"

Wanda, also much whiter than usual, managed to give a nervous half smile and shrugged with a weak chuckle. "Uh… No hablo es-pan-ol?..."

"Forget it!" Héctor shouted, placing the now screaming baby in her mother's arms and turning out to the exit. "You all want to go behind my back?! Fine! I'll put a stop to this myself!"

As Héctor left the courtyard in a mad dash, Julio wilted with a moan. "No no no no! This has all gone to hell. We had one job to do and we failed even that! Matty and Coco are going to kill us!"

Wanda shook her head, trying to calm down her poor baby. "No, they won't!"

"You're right. Only Coco is going to kill only me!" Julio cried. "Elena, why did you tell Abuelito?! You promised you wouldn't!"

Elena was sobbing by now. This wasn't supposed to happen: Abuelito had said that he wouldn't be angry, that he wouldn't hate Miguel for what he did. But it was all a lie! "You don't keep secrets from family, Papá! I couldn't stand lying to Abuelito!"

"What is going on here?!"

They all turned to see Imelda, Rosita, Martín and the twins coming out of the ofrenda room, confused as to why everyone was either in shock, scared or crying their eyes out. With a sigh Wanda came up to them. "Oh, Mamá Imelda, you might as well know now. Miguel was going to play the guitar at the music competition in the plaza-"

"What?!"

"- and Papá Héctor just found out. He's going after them to stop him. I've never seen him look so mad! I think he's going to do something-"

"Stupid…" Imelda finished, hitching up her skirts to run as fast as she could in her high heeled boots. "Dios mio, Héctor! Héctor come back!"

"Oh Rosita, could you take the baby?" Wanda asked as she handed Clara to Rosita. "I need to go to! Matthew might need my help! Come on Julio, Coco needs you to!"

"Wait! Coco will need my help as well!" Rosita cried out. "Martín, mi amor, hold the baby and hold down the fort. Oscar, Felipe! Let's go!"

"Wait, what?!" Martín cried out, watching helplessly as all the adults ran out of the Rivera complex, leaving him alone with nine children all under eight years old, screaming and crying with fright. Looking at Clara in one arm and his own crying daughter in the other, Martín growled in frustration. "Oh sure! Leave all the kids with the one guy who can't run away! I see how it is! This is discrimination! I am a war veteran, I deserve some respect and a break!"

"Don't worry, Tío Martín…" Elena sadly said, taking Clara away from her uncle and holding the baby close. "I'll help you with the babies…"

"Ay, gracias Elenita." Martín sighed in relief, patting her head gratefully. "You're a good kid."

Burying her face in her little cousin's blanket, Elena tried to hide as the tears came pouring out again with her sobs. She wasn't good. She didn't deserve the praise. She deserved to be punished, not Miguel. Miguel was going to be kicked out of the family. Abuelito hated him now.

It was all her fault.

----------------------------------------

"I knew it." Miguel moaned as he, his siblings and Victoria made their way to the plaza. Clutching his guitar for dear life, as if he was afraid it would be ripped away from him, he hung is head low while Victoria guided him by his shoulders. "I knew Papá would never even consider letting me play music, he just hates it too much. I'm gonna have to play in secret for the rest of my life."

"Yeah." Victoria sighed with a pout. "I guess I'm going to have to as well. I'll never get to dance in the likes of La Scala or the Royal Opera House. I'd even settle for dancing at a rec center at this point."

"Cheer up, both of you." Matty said. "Miguel, you know Papá doesn't hate music. He just… has some hang-ups about it that is hard for him to overcome. A lot of bad things happened to him, and he attributes it to music. You understand, sí?"

"No, I don't." Miguel said. "And that's easy for you to say. Papá sang and danced with all three of you and let you play instruments. I never had that."

"That's not true, Miguel." Coco said. "Papá used to sing to you all the time, especially when he tucked you into bed. And he played his guitar for you, don't you remember that?"

"No. I was a baby, Coco."

Coco tsked and shook her head in mock sorrow. "Well that is a shame. You should remember stuff like that. I, for one, can remember stuff quite vividly all the way from when I was about two years old. It's a gift I possess."

Breaking out of his current funk, Miguel looked up at his older sister and smirked. "Gee Coco, maybe you should be the one in the talent show instead of me."

Matty barked out a laugh and nodded. "Yeah, you could tell everyone what you had for breakfast in May of 1936."

"Or recite an old shopping list you made ten years ago." Victoria added.

Coco huffed and crossed her arms with pout. "All right, all three of you can go kiss a burro."

"Well we can't do that now, because," Matty said as they rounded the corner, "we have arrived at our destination."

As they all walked into the plaza, Miguel smiled when he saw the gazebo decked out in the familiar decorations for Dia de Muertos: garlands of cempazuchitl flowers, papel picado and, most excitingly, posters for the contest. He also saw several other musicians dressed up in charro suits and practicing on their own instruments. They had probably been practicing for much longer than he ever had and were probably better than him too. But Miguel didn't care if he won or lost the contest, he just wanted to perform in front of people. To show them all that he had what it took to be a musician. And luckily for him there were plenty of people who had come to watch.

A very… large amount of people.

Practically the whole town. Even other kids from his school were there.

Suddenly Miguel felt a nauseous curl in his belly, and his breath seemed to stick in his throat. Without realizing it he took a step backwards, softly bumping into his sister, and flinched in surprise when she knelt down to speak to him.

"Miguel?" Coco asked softly. "If you're nervous you don't have to go up there."

"Wh-what?" Miguel asked, wincing when his voice gave an unexpected squeak and trying to cough it away. "Nervous? I'm not nervous!"

"You're really pale Miguel, and you started sweating bullets in less than five seconds." Victoria pointed out. "It's actually quite impressive."

"Callate!" Miguel grumbled.

"It's alright if you've changed your mind, Miguel." Coco said and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. "We can just go right back to the museum, and Papá will have never known you were here."

The very mention of his father, how much he hated music, how he would be forced to play music in secret again if he backed away now, how this might actually be his last chance to perform before he was to go to that stupid business school, steeled something inside of Miguel. Straightening up, jaw clenched tight and his guitar held up like a shield, he shook his head vigorously. "No! No way! I'm gonna play in mariachi plaza if it kills me!"

"That's the spirit!" Matty said. "And good thing too because it looks like you're on now!"

"What?!"

"They're beckoning you over! Knock 'em dead and break a leg, gordito!" With a hearty slap on the back Matty propelled his little brother towards the stage. As they all watched the boy meekly walk to the contest coordinators, Matty leaned into Coco. "He can sing, right?"

Coco nodded. "Of course! He has the voice of an angel, you're going to be blown away."

"Either that or he's going to blow his dinner all over the stage floor." Victoria said.

Miguel took his place next to the steps of the gazebo, turning back to wave at the siblings and niece, who all returned it with a thumbs up. With his back turned to them again Matty sighed wistfully. "Papá would really love this. He would be so proud. If… you know…"

"If he was like he used to be?"

"Si…" Matty nodded. "It just doesn't feel the same without him here. Miguel is so much like how our father was: Filled with a love of music, bursting with creativity. Miguel may look up to Tío Nesto, but I see Papá in him more than any of us."

"You're right." Coco sighed. "I wish Papá were here to see this too."

"SOCORRO! MATEO!"

Coco and Matty immediately felt their hearts stop, blood seize up, insides clench and air leave their lungs as they heard their full names bellowed out from behind. Turning around they saw a sight they had never seen before. Héctor Rivera, normally so jovial and mild-mannered with all he encountered, marching towards them red-faced and glaring holes into their very souls. As he got closer and closer to them, Coco whispered, "Itakeitback, Itakeitback!..."

Placing himself in front of his sister and niece like a shield, Matty leaned causally on his cane and smiled shakily. "H-hola, padre! Qué tal? I d-didn't expect to see you come to the plaza today. They're having a music contest right now so you might want to go back and-"

"Would you both care to explain to me," Héctor said as he reached them, very close to seething like a bull. "why I had to hear from Elena that my son is going to play the guitar, on a stage, in front of an audience?!"

With a loud groan Matty turned to glare at Coco. "You told la Lengua Larga about the plan?!"

"I told you it was a bad idea, Mamá."

"So this was your idea!" Héctor growled as he glared at Coco. Distantly they could hear Imelda calling out as she was making her way to the plaza herself, but they all ignored her for the moment. "You're letting your brother perform? After what nearly happened to you? What did happen to your godfather?!"

Coco glared back. "What happened to Tío Nesto was terrible, but it was an accident that could have happened anywhere! It had nothing to do with music! Why can't you see that?"

"It has everything to do with what happened to him!" Héctor shouted. "And I will not have the same thing happen to my-"

"Put your hands together for our first contestant, Miguel 'De la Cruzito' Rivera!"

As a loud smattering of applause and cheers erupted, the family turned to see Miguel taking the small stage of the gazebo. Smiling nervously and waving at the crowd, he didn't seem to notice the brewing turmoil taking place amongst the audience. Héctor gritted his teeth and was about to make his way towards his son to put an end to this nonsense, when one of the nearby bands decided to strike up some intro music for the young guitarist. After all, the son of the world's greatest songwriter, the patron of Santa Cecilia, deserved a grand entrance for his musical debut.

And they couldn't have picked a worse song.

As the trumpets blasted the upbeat version of Remember Me and the audience clapped along to the beat, Matty and Coco moaned in dread and instantly went into damage control. Coco and Victoria shouted in vain over the crowd to get the musicians to stop, but their voices were lost among the deafening cheers and song. Imelda heard the song playing from the distance, and with a curse tried to run even faster to her husband. Matty grabbed his father by the shoulders and shook him, trying to direct his attention to him. "Papá! Papá, listen to me. Listen to my voice. It's okay. It's just a song. Come with me, we'll get you out of here…"

It had been about a year since he had heard that song last. Not intentionally, of course, but when a song is that popular people are bound to either sing it aloud or try to play it themselves. One such incident occurred when he was out with Elena for a treat of ice cream, when suddenly he had heard it. A quite lovely rendition on a violin by that scarf-wearing kid with the weird facial hair whose named escaped him. But it was enough to do the trick. Several painful minutes of him hunched low to the ground, pressing the heels of his hands into his ears hard, trying to get his breathing under control. His own granddaughter, seven years old at the time, was forced to take action herself: Swatting that kid with her shoe in order to stop him from playing, then sitting with him silently and comfortingly until the panic had finally passed. They had both lost their ice creams on the ground that day, but the two had grown even closer due to the experience.

But those same feelings were rushing back just like that last time: Nothing had changed. Immediately his heart started hammering and it became hard to breathe, his insides squirmed and clenched painfully and those awful visions flashed in his mind again. As the song continued he didn't see his eldest son frantically trying to get his attention, but his youngest daughter wheezing her last breaths in his arms. Of Ernesto walking away from him to the stage, underneath the bell that would eventually turn him into nothing but a smear. And the blood, so much blood. He could smell it, practically taste it.

He was about to try to block out the sounds like he always did and then curl up in a ball, when he happened to glance at the stage again. Ernesto was there, about to perform with the bell perch precariously over his head. But no, that wasn't Ernesto standing there. It was-

"MIGUEL! NO!"

Breaking Matty's grip on his arms he made a run for the gazebo, pushing and shoving others out of the way. He didn't hear their exclaims of alarm and pain as they were roughly shoved aside or to the ground, nor the cries of his family as they begged him to wait, to come back. No, all he heard was that damned song playing loudly in his head, now a ticking timer to the point where, at the end, his boy would be no more.

Miguel didn't notice his father parting through the crowd at breakneck speed, too busy tugging on the emcee's sleeve to tell him to make those musicians stop playing the song 'That's the song I'm going to play.' But it was too late, and as the band played the last triumphant note he turned back to the crowd with an eye roll and hefted his guitar up to begin to play the song everyone had just heard.

Just in time to see his father diving straight for him.

Imelda reached her oldest children just in time to see Héctor tackle Miguel and send them both flying to the back of the gazebo. The incident was so shocking that aside from a large gasp from the crowd, it became so still and quiet. Quiet enough that everyone was able to hear the sickening crunch once the two of them landed in a crumpled heap.

A flash of terror made it's way down Imelda and her children's spines. "No…" she breathed, and then quickly made her way to the gazebo herself, the others following her.

The song was over, put panic was still surging through Héctor as he got up and immediately started checking over his boy. "Miguel! Are you all right?! Sit up, let me see!" He patted his body up and down, trying to see if there were any injuries, thankfully finding none. But the boy seemed shocked, and frantically he cupped the boys face to look in his eyes. "Did you hit your head? Look at me, mijo-"

"Papá…"

Miguel's eyes were widened with shock, but surprisingly the wind was not knocked out of him nor was he scuffed or marked in any way from the surprise tackle. The guitar in his hands, however, was not so lucky. It had taken the brunt of the assault and protected the boy from harm, but it had not survived. Three of the strings had snapped right off and were coiled in bent angles, the body was completely caved in from the center hole and up, and the neck had broken cleanly in half, now only connect by the remaining strings. His beloved guitar was now destroyed. His father had destroyed it.

"What-? Why?... What have you done?" Miguel whispered as he gripped the broken neck and tried in vain to get it to stick back into the position. "It's ruined…"

Héctor looked down at the broken guitar in his son's hands, taking in the cheap gold paint that had been sloppily painted all over it. The crude designs done in brown, and the headstock. That same mocking skull that looked so much like his own, except for the one personal detail that he had made for his older brother: The thin mustache above perfectly white grinning teeth. His worries and concerns over his son instantly vanished. He was fine. Now what came back was more comfortable, easier for him to handle: Rage.

"Where the hell did you learn to play guitar?!"

Miguel's attention snapped back to his father, and he shrunk back at the ferocious anger meekly. Before he was able to squeak out a pitiful answer, he felt eyes on him. Turning slightly he paled when he saw everyone in the crowd looking at him with morbid curiosity. The whole town had watched as his supposed debut had crumbled to ash, his most prized possession had been reduced to kindling, and his father was now bearing down on him about to start a very public fight.

It was all ruined. It was too much for him, and the poor boy broke.

With a choked-out cry of heartbreak Miguel flung what was left of his guitar away, shot up to his feet and fled from the gazebo. The crowd gave him enough room to make his getaway and he was grateful. He didn't want to be held back, didn't want to be touched by anyone. Especially his family. He heard his Papá angrily yelling at him to come back, his Mamá pleading with him to do so as well. But he couldn't even look at anyone right now.

He just ran and ran, broken sobs escaping as he gasped and panted.

He hated his birthday.

#coco #coco pixar #pixar coco #coco fanfic #Hector Rivera #miguel rivera #mama imelda #mama coco #worst #birthday #EVER

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mareebrittenford · 6 years

Text

Space Zombies #4

So far in the story: (part #1 and part #2) (part #3) Lyse, looter and scavenger of abandoned and destroyed space ships found herself on board a ship that had supposedly been overrun by a plague. Except the sick are still walking around and seem to want to eat her.

She managed to escape back to her own ship with the friendly dog she found on board. But that’s just the beginning of her problems…

This is a weekly serial. It’s the result of me putting an urban fantasy concept in space. Sort of space opera with a twist, and lots of fun tropes. So please, check it out!

“Say, I have a great idea!”

Finally Felipe decides to get involved. The way his voice grates against my nerves means he’s dialed his ability up to maximum. He can’t charm his own children, but the use of his abilities still jar my senses some how.

The officer turns slowly, almost as if he’s fighting it. But in the end he can’t resist the compulsion. Felipe beams at him.

“Have you fellows ever had the pleasure of visiting Aptar Station? It’s not called the gem among the stars for nothing! I assure you, it’s the best place in the galaxy for some young men like yourselves to spend your precious shore leave.”

The officer blinks, probably confused because so much charisma is being laid on but Felipe hasn’t asked him to do anything yet. “I have heard it’s exotic.”

Save me please from being exotic. But I paste a smile on, prepared to play my part in the little scene Felipe is playing out.

“Indeed it is! And since you’re going that way, perhaps you could give us a wake ride? And perhaps on the way you could contact young David’s family, and they could meet us on Aptar and we can all raise a glass together to celebrate my daughter's wedding.”

It’s an excellent solution. Probably one that the officer would have agreed to even without the ridiculous amount of power Felipe is laying into his speech.

There’s only one flaw with this solution.

There might not be a way I can get out of this without actually marrying David.

It doesn’t worry me nearly as much as it should. He’s my soulmate, so it’s probably inevitable that I make some sort of formal bond contract with him eventually, but I would like to have at least one private conversation with the guy before I get tied to him for life.

I’m fairly sure that Felipe’s devious brain could’ve come up with a solution where I had a little more flexibility at least on the timeline. But I have no doubt he’s honed in on what to him would be the most salient point of the entire encounter. The money.

David’s family has posted such a large reward for his safe return that instead of destroying our ship an entire squad of soldiers and their commanding officer have decided to ignore their orders and risk zombie contact for the chance of collecting it.

David’s rich. And my father wants to get as close to that money as he can.Even selling his own daughter out for it.

----

The flight to Aptar, which would’ve taken us several days under our own power is accomplished in a matter of six hours riding the wake of the more powerful ship.

I have a hundred questions whirling around in my head, but no chance to ask them. The officer who I now know to be Jr Lieutenant Taylor has left two soldiers on board with us. Probably so they can remove the explosive charges they placed earlier-- which I appreciate-- but they have a dampening effect on conversation. All the questions I want to ask David can’t be asked when there’s any possibility of being overheard. Because of course as his betrothed I should already know all about him.

And wake riding always makes me nervous. Yes it’s fast, but it also requires giving over control to the lead ship. Full navigational coordination is vital to make it work. The other ship would be in just as much trouble as us if they mis-navigated. But I still don’t like the loss of control.

I spend most of the trip in a tense silence watching David eat. And boy does he eat. You’d think that the dehydrated meal packs he’s chowing down were the most delicious food ever created.

His ratcheting anxiety feeds into mine.

By the time we drop out of transitional space near Aptar I’m wound to a blade edge of tension, ready to snap at anything.

But the sight of my home station soothes me a little. I always love view coming up on Aptar. Seeing it’s sparkling silhouette hanging in space always gives me a twist in my heart. Not just because it’s my home and one the places I feel safest in the galaxy, but because it’s beautiful.

When humans first began to live in space-- not just visit for short trips-- a need was seen for permanent way stations. They were built in the most efficient way possible. Hideous boxy things created by stitching together a few freighters and then building them out into permanent habitation. Ugly on the outside, depressed on the inside. I’ve heard the suicide rate among long term residents is ridiculously high. Whispers of course. Most of them are owned by large corporations that tend to hush up that sort of information.

Aptar is completely different. Our founder, the first Premier Streeter, was a spatial, and he designed the place after extensive study of aesthetics, architecture and everything that was then theorized about what humans need to thrive in a nonplanetary environment.

“Wow,” David gasps. I glance over at the two soldiers and they’re gaping too. I guess we’ve got three newcomers.

“Pretty amazing huh?” I whisper, tugging David a little closer to a porthole window.

I’ve heard Aptar referred to as dew covered spider web floating in space, mostly by planet born types. I can’t see it. Phil says it’s because their eyes aren’t used to distinguishing the subtle tones of black on black that you get used to in deep space. Or perhaps they spend a lot of time looking at spiders when they’re on planets.

To me it looks like some friendly tentacled creature, happy and alive in the depths of space, it’s many slender arms sparkling with pinpoints of light. And it’s reaching out to welcome us home.

The CM crew transport tows us into the main dock, instead of our own private berth where we’d usually head, but at least we’ve made it here. I’m home and I’m safe.

As soon as we enter step off the ship I can smell the change in the air. Ship bound air always smells stale compared to this. Even here in the main customs area, which mostly smells like grease, fuel exhaust, and travel worn bodies there’s still that warmer texture to the air and the shadow of a taste of green things growing.

The military are held up at customs. None of them seem to speak spanish, so they need an official translator. David is also held up. The Jr Lieutenant is claiming he’s their prisoner, but of course they have no proof, and he has no identification with him, having arrived on our ship as a wolf. He’d probably have to sit there for hours while his identity was certified and his status was sorted out, so I call in a few favors and use my connections. I claim personal responsibility for him and and demand to speak to the Premier privately. It’s not something I’ve ever done before, so it gets things moving rather quickly.

Felipe has disappeared, probably trying to avoid fallout from so blatantly manipulating a military officer, but Phil hovers as I wait for my escort.

“Go home Phil. Say hi to your mom for me.”

I know he doesn’t want to, he wants to stick around and see what happens. But there’s too much that’s dangerous and uncertain going on here. I want him well out of it.

He groans, but nods. “I’m coming by your place later to find out what’s going on though.”

It only takes a few minutes for the escort to show. It’s the Premier’s personal assistant, and daughter, Alexis. She’s a few years older than me, but we basically grew up together. Sending her means I’m not in trouble. Yet.

“Hey Lyse,” she says. “What have you got yourself mixed up in this time?” Her eyes flick over David curiously, but she knows better than to ask for details before her mother has gotten all the information first.

“Oh this and that, you know how it is. How’s the family?”

“Same old same old. My brother is still imagining that one of these days you’re going to give up on adventuring and come home and marry him.”

Amusingly David slides his hand into mine. Okay. So he’s not completely against this whole fake betrothal thing. That’s good. Because with how things are rolling there’s a fairly high chance of it turning into a real contract within days.

Alexis doesn’t miss the gesture, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. I should introduce David, but I can’t explain anything until Devonda gets first crack at this information.

“I’ll explain everything, later, okay?” I hedge. We both know that ‘everything’ is really ‘everything I’m allowed to tell you.”

But she nods and grins. “I cannot wait to see my brother’s face.”

“You’re evil.”

“Nope. I just love saying ‘I told you so.’

I do not want to think about Lionel and his expectations right now. I have enough to worry about.

We’re lead through the twisting maze that surrounds the government offices. A security measure. And a show of wealth and power. I just think it’s beautiful. The promise of plants and water that I could taste at the entry port is fulfilled as the smells of earth and flowers and herbs roll over me. The lighting is all designed to simulate earth sunlight, and there’s gardens and fountains everywhere. People say it’s like being in a particularly beautiful old earth city. I can’t help reaching out and plucking a bright red geranium from a window box, and inhaling the bright green scent of it.

Alexis just shakes her head and smiles.

I smirk. “Sorry, was that one of yours?” The apartments in this section are far beyond my price point, and most other peoples. But I’m sure Alexis could afford to live here if she wanted to. She doesn’t, instead choosing to live in the same slightly shabby area that do.

I’m glad of David’s hand in mine, he keeps getting distracted, staring around him. I pull him closer. “Is it true? Is this what earth looks like?”

He shakes his head. “Not where I’m from. But maybe Greece, or Lebanon.”

It’s all too soon that Alexis leads us into a small private chamber announces me by my full name and bows out, closing the door silently behind her.

Rare, pointlessly expensive orchids line the window that overlooks the market districts, their flowers the only hint of decoration in the spartan space.

Devonda is already seated at the desk. Poised to intimidate any unwanted guests. Her blue tailored jumpsuit is a world apart from my baggy beige one, and somehow the cool color brings out the warmer tones in her dark skin.

I wonder for a moment if this was the best idea. Then Devonda leans back, the beads in her braids chiming together melodically, her dark eyes roaming over David. “What have you brought me this time?” she asks, sounding unimpressed, but she’s grinning at me.

I have to admit, David doesn’t look very impressive at the moment. He’s only about 5’7” when he stands up straight, and he’s not doing that now. He’s hunching in on himself and refusing to make eye contact. You’d think he was terrified. But while I can feel some anxiety and uncertainty, it’s almost as if he’s just being-- submissive?

“This is David Smith, and he’s my soulmate,” I say. No point hiding that from Devonda. And hey maybe she’ll stop hinting that I marry her son already.

Her eyes widen in surprise, and I suppress a smile. Surprising Devonda isn’t something I get to do very often. But this isn’t really the time for feeling smug.

“And also?” I continue, because he’s the least of it. “There’s something very very bad going down that you need to know about.”

------

It doesn’t take long to fill her in about hearing about the huge cargo ship that was ghosted, and me and Felipe deciding to check it out. Devonda shakes her head at me over that. She is aware that some of what Felipe and I do isn’t strictly legal, but I don’t usually tell her so bluntly. But I feel like in this situation full disclosure has more value than plausible deniability. Well, mostly full disclosure.

“How were you able to escape?” she asks.

“Because David’s extra,” I say. “He’s as fast as me, possibly faster.”

I determinedly don’t look at him. Devonda’s abilities aren’t empathic, she’s spatial, but that doesn’t mean she’s not gonna read a dodgy reply if I show any sort of tell. Yet for some reason I feel the need to hide the full nature of David’s abilities. Changing form the way he does isn’t something I’ve ever even heard of before, and after what he said before I feel like that’s something that he should get to decide about revealing or not.

“He’s also extraordinary? What type?”

“Agility as far as I saw.” I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back hitting me with a wave of gratitude and relief.

Devonda turns her attention to David, frowning. “You’re an agility type?”

He glances at her briefly before he goes back to staring at the floor. “Ahh, I guess? I’m fast and good at jumping and climbing? I don’t really know. I just thought I was a freak. I didn’t know that you guys existed, or that I could come here?” His voice rises up at the end in a question. He’s not sure if he really is welcome on Aptar.

Devonda chooses to ignore his implicit question, so I squeeze his hand again and try to project welcoming vibes.

Devonda steeples her hands and rests her chin on them , watching us thoughtfully. I feel like I’m ten years old again, and caught in some sort of misbehavior. I know that lightning fast brain of her’s is moving us around like chess pieces in four dimensions. She studies David for a moment before returning her attention to me.

“Why did you cross the plague line? Even for you that seems foolishly reckless.”

The question feels irrelevant, but I know that coming from Devonda it’s anything but. So I consider it for a moment. Yes I’d been interested in what that massive ship could hold, but that wasn’t really the reason.

“I think David was calling me. I felt like I had to go in.”

Devonda nods slowly. She’s been married to her soulmate for more than forty years, so guess she’d know if that’s normal.

Her eyes going back to David. “And you young man. I don’t believe for a second that it was an accident that you were on that ship. An unknown extra, suddenly appearing in such a volatile situation? Especially since your name isn’t on the manifest as a passenger or crew. What were you doing there?”

Forget wondering how on earth she has access to that sort of information. I gave up asking that a long time ago.

David mumbles something and hunches into himself even further, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.

“What was that?”

“I’m not at liberty to say ma'am. I’m sorry.” He sounds miserable. I would be too.

“How would I go about getting you permission to talk? I’m assuming you’re not working for the CM.”

David is silent for a moment, considering.

“You might start by contacting Svetlana Scheren.”

Devonda straightens and swears. She spins in her chair, making the rapid hand motions to open an external channel.

“Out, out, take him away Carlyse. But stay in contact and don’t let him leave the station. I will need to talk to both of you again soon.”

I’m not going to stop to question her. The name David gave her obviously means something to her. As we hustle out the door a woman appears on the com screen, blinking and yawning, clearly just been woken from sleep. She looks sort of familiar, like I’ve seen her before, but never registered her as important. She’s blonde with pale skin, perhaps forty or so. “This better be good Devonda, otherwise I’m going to cancel your override priority.”

“Good morning to you too Svetlana, and perhaps you’d like to tell me why you’re hiding extras from me. Do you want me to tear up our contracts?”

Oh boy. I do not want to be in the vicinity when that level icy death is in Devonda’s voice. I close the door behind me quickly.

Alexis is hovering on the other side. I dodge around her, still towing David by the hand. “Devonda is on an important call, probably best not to disturb her,” I say. “You know how to get hold of me if she has any more questions.”

What a joke. I’m going to be back on that carpet within a few hours.

Alexis wants to pump me for gossip, but is an hour or two alone with David to just talk so much to ask?

“Do you maybe want to go somewhere and talk? I guess you’ve got questions.”

Or perhaps he wants to get as far away as possible from the crazy woman who drags him around and is just as bad as everyone else trying to stake a claim on him.

“Talking sounds good. And um, sorry, but I’m kinda hungry. Can we get something to eat around here that doesn’t taste like reconstituted cardboard?”

#space zombies #part 4 #serial space opera

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