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imelda-riveras · 6 years

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No Dejaré De Quererte: A Fanfiction | Chapter Two

A/N: Here I am back with chapter two, as we continue the saga of Imelda navigating her feelings in two different eras. From the bottom of my heart, muchas gracias to those of you who have left reviews; it means more to me than you know. I just am utterly giddy every time I get feedback on my writing, especially when you enjoy it!

Imelda couldn't figure out her own feelings. She wasn't sure she was prepared to pick back up a century old relationship, or that she even wanted to. A century old marriage. A marriage. To love and honor, in sickness or death. In death. Even in death, she remained connected irrevocably to Héctor, a point she wasn't sure was a blessing or a curse.

You have a second chance, Imelda. Don't waste that. You're not stupid.

So what? Her mind threw her own fears back in her face. So you get another chance? For what? A redo at a relationship that ended because he left?!

It wasn't his fault. She argued with herself. He was murdered. I'm supposed to blame him for his own murder?

You're not ready and you know it. Her head, her memories taunted her. As always, they were an ever present shroud she could never escape. She shook her head violently to clear her thoughts away. She could hardly ever re-start a relationship with Héctor. She had too much to keep to herself. Too much she could never share. An impossible fantasy. But she couldn't shut him out. She couldn't shut her own heart out.

__________________

A few days later, Imelda boarded the train for Mexico City.

"But why Mexico City?" her brothers had asked.

"It's the last tour date I have for him. He'd always written me dates they'd planned on as many in advance as he could."

No matter what had happened to Héctor, no matter what decision he'd made, she doubted she would still find him in the city. But at least perhaps she could find a lead, some answer on what his next plans had been. Why he hadn't written her.

She was used to feeling alone, but she hadn't felt the sensation in four years, not since she'd married. It was impossible to feel alone with Héctor, or as he had enjoyed putting it, cuando la otra mitad de tu corazón está ahí. Imelda had rolled her eyes at the phrase, pretending she didn't like the . . . melodramatic factor of it all, but she had to admit to herself the sentiment was accurate. She had repeated it to herself over and over when he was gone, so familiar that she could hear his voice saying it to her. Without Héctor, she felt alone, utterly alone, and she'd only staved off the feeling when he toured with the knowledge that he would return soon enough. Now she wasn't sure.

She settled in her seat on the train, taking the window side. If she was unlucky enough to get a seat partner, she wanted the advantage of being able to stare out the window and pretend she couldn't hear a thing. She didn't want to hear anything, didn't want to be so acutely aware of a world for her that didn't have Héctor in it, one that was becoming more of a reality with every hour that passed.

__________________

"Has Héctor come back with his things yet?"

That was Imelda's first question when she walked through the door of the house. Victoria raised her eyebrows.

"He has been back, Mamá Imelda. The real question here is where have you been."

"Where is he?"

"I put him in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. Tía Rosita is putting his things away; what he has anyway. You know, I think he needs some new shoes."

Imelda gave her a look as she swept over to the mirror, patting her hair down and tucking hairs back into her braids.

"Where is she putting his things? There's not really any room."

"The chest in la sala."

Imelda continued adjusting her hair.

"Tell her to move them." "To where exactly?" Victoria crossed her arms. "There is quite literally no other spot in the house. All the rooms are occupied."

"Put them in my room."

Victoria grinned.

"They wouldn't do him much good there since he's probably going to sleep in la sala too, at least for now."

Imelda pivoted on her heel and strode towards the kitchen. "No he's not." "Oh no?"

"No. He can go in my room for now."

"Ohho. In case you forgot, Mamá Imelda, there's only one bed in there."

That girl and her mouth. She has got to learn to keep opinions to herself.

"I am well aware of the layout of my own bedroom, Victoria. Mind yourself."

She disregarded the latter warning.

"Whatever you say, Mamá Imelda," Victoria said, but her expression did not match her words, as she tried to hide a laugh behind an ever-growing smile.

Imelda harrumphed and continued into the kitchen, leaving Victoria in her wake. Héctor sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in hand, a spoon in the other, with which he was absentmindedly stirring the drink into a small whirlpool. He did not notice her entrance, which, Imelda thought, was highly unusual. It was generally pretty hard for anyone to not notice her entrance into a room. She stood just inside the kitchen for a moment, feeling frozen. She still wasn't sure what would be appropriate conversation, and her stomach had taken on an unfamiliar feeling of raw nervousness.

"Héctor," she finally offered. His head jerked up, eyes meeting hers with an expression of pure apology and love rolled into one. "So," she continued, "did you have any problems getting your things over here?"

"No problems," he chuckled. "There wasn't much to bring, if that's what you mean. I'll keep them out of the way."

"Oh no, I didn't mean that. I just didn't mean to, ah," she glanced away, uncomfortable, "abandon you . . . back there."

"It wasn't a problem. Oh! Not that you did abandon me, it just wasn't a problem . . . in the first place."

Imelda nodded. The two sat in silence. Héctor stirred his coffee into an even bigger whirlpool, mimicking Imelda's emotions.

"Well." Imelda finally rose from her seat and moved towards the door. "I'm going to go to bed. Goodnight, Héctor."

"Goodnight, Imelda." His eyes were pained, and she tried to block the image out of her mind. She would never sleep with that burned into her head.

__________________

The train trip to Mexico City was miserable. In terms of material time, it was comparably short to some of the train journeys she knew Héctor had endured. But she was used to keeping busy to . . . well, she wasn't sure what, and she wouldn't admit it anyway. She was uncomfortable without something to keep her busy, to give her something worthwhile to do, to give her a goal. It occupied her thoughts and prevented her from ever acting like something affected her. She did not have that luxury on the train. Instead, she was left alone with her own notions, just her and her mind, which was not her preferred choice for company right now. The only thing that could run through her head was the possibilities of what she would find in Mexico City, running faster and faster, a whirling black hole, until she produced a call and response in her own head.

What if he well and truly left? Oh, don't be silly Imelda, you know Héctor. It's your Héctor. He would never do that . . . But what if he did? You've heard stories like that.

What if he's injured? Or hurt? Dead? You would have gotten word if anything had happened, you know that. People don't just drop off the face of the earth without leaving any trails behind them. He has to be okay. He has to be. But what if- Stop. He is okay. We will be okay . . . will be okay . . . okay . . .

She shook her head to clear it, feeling dizzy. She had to get ahold of this. A good start would be some fresh air.

__________________

She wasn't sure how to conduct herself. She always took her hair down for bed, but this wasn't a normal night. Héctor was going to be sleeping there too. Sleeping, she added in her head for extra emphasis to Victoria. As if she could hear her.

A knock on the door came half a second later.

Speak of the devil.

"Come in."

Victoria peeked around the door, taking in the room, then entered, bringing with her a steaming mug of hot cocoa.

"You didn't get your cocoa from the kitchen tonight," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Imelda sighed. She always, always got cocoa before bed. Always. Was she really that absentminded?

"I was about to go fetch it," she answered, a flippant tone adorning the edge of the claim. "It would get cold while I prepared for bed."

"Mm hmm." Victoria nodded, unconvinced. "So, Héctor hasn't come in yet? I thought I better knock."

"Victoria," Imelda sighed, taking the mug from her granddaughter. "Let me nip that in the bud right now. Your ideas, insinuations . . . they have to stop. This is enough of an awkward situation as it is."

"I was being considerate," Victoria returned. "He is going to be staying in your bed."

"I didn't invite him back into my bed," Imelda clarified. "This is a matter of practicality. There's not any other room in the house. You know that. We only get a new room when there has been a new arrival, and Héctor has been here already. We're just sleeping together."

Damn it.

Victoria tried to stifle another look, to no avail.

"Well, technically-"

"Don't even go there, Victoria. You know exactly what I meant."

Victoria rose from the bed.

"Sí, I know what you meant. I don't think perhaps it came out the right way . . . or maybe it did?"

Imelda rolled her eyes.

"Goodnight, Mamá Imelda," she said, shutting the door behind her.

"Goodnight, Victoria."

Oh, for goodness' sakes. That girl. Her head certainly did fill with foolish ideas.

A/N: Oh, Victoria. Stop giving Imelda a hard time! I should have the next chapter uploaded within the week. And look forward to the first appearance of Ernesto in the next two chapters. Believe me, he's going to play a role here. As always, muchas gracias for the reviews so far and you know what I always say: reviews give me happiness + initiative to write more, so keep 'em coming!

Link to Chapter One

(Originally posted on FanFiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12804071/1/No-Dejar%C3%A9-De-Quererte)

#coco #pixar coco #imector #hector x imelda #imelda rivera #hector rivera #coco fanfiction #fanfiction #disney

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carldavidson · 4 years

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INSTANT ANALYSIS, NIGHT FOUR. My two cents.

By Carl Davidson

This was a night for our full conflicted consciousness to be on display. It opened with the joyful music from African American culture, with music from the church blending into modern rap and hip hop, calling out hope for the future. It was quickly followed by Rep Debra Anne Haaland of New Mexico, a member of the state's Laguna people, who migrated there and built their pueblos long before Columbus, Naturally, she was backing Biden, but simply that she stood there spoke volumes more.

The session ended with Biden asking God to bless our troops, a departure from the usual phrase, reminding us that his was a military family, as well as one rooted in the working class. (He calls it the 'middle class', a term I can't stand. It reduces us to consumers. If you asked a guy from my hometown, Aliquippa, in Western PA, when he was at work, what class he was in, he'd look at his hands and say 'working class'. But if you asked him the same question on Sunday, he'd look around his yard and porch furniture and say 'middle class,' dividing him from the 'lower class.'). Gramsci's 'conflicted consciousness' spotlights it all.

Those contradictions are part of the story of my life. When I grew up in the 1950s, we didn't call it 'the military,' we called it 'the service.' I saw too many high school buddies drawn into it, then sent to Vietnam, perhaps to recover later from physical wounds, but not the psychic ones. I was one who refused, and dedicated 15 years of my life, through battles large and small, to bring it to an end. Part of the reason was that my eyes were opened by the other battles praised that night, from John Lewis eulogies to hearing Ella Baker quoted as a speech opening. I knew Lewis personally, who stayed with me a few days at Penn State and inspired me to do my 'tour of duty' in the Deep South. Ella Baker was the mother and teacher of us all in those days. So for me, I have bitter memories of the Democratic party of those years, of the escalation in Vietnam and the sellouts of Blacks in Atlantic City and Mississippi.

I have family members in 'the service' today--Coast Guard, Marines, Homeland Security. They chose their careers for honorable reasons, and did well in them. I knew Illinois' s Sen.Tammy Duckworth when she first ran for office. So when images of our soldiers in Iraq crossed the screen tonight, there was a void. Those of us who rose up against that invasion and ongoing occupation knew it well. It was a stupid, brutal, unjust and imperialist venture, with Trump even bragging just today, 'I got the oil, We'll keep the oil.' I'd rather Duckworth had her two legs. And while Biden went on about his support for military families, which I understand, I also noticed a silence. He refused to mention his support for that war, backing the GOP, even though his own party was divided, starting with the heroic stand of Rep, Barbara Lee.

The story of Biden's empathy is authentic. I think it largely rises from his successful but still evident battle with his stutter. And the story shown of how he helped the young boy working on the same problem was heartwarming. No one can ignore the contrast with Trump on camera mocking a reporter with a stutter and a crippled hand. It tells you all you need to know about Trump, even though there is much more pond scum where that came from. The Democratic party is deeply conflicted this round; the GOP, on the other hand, has devolved into a fascist death cult devoid of shame. So I will give Biden a vote to defeat the fascist cult, but I don't kid myself that the Dems are one happy family. Far from it.

Biden ended with a line from the Irish poet looking for a day when hope and history would rhyme. It's a good line, but my guess it will arrive in a way unforeseen. The virus, together with all our other conflicts, has made the world, for the first time, view us not with fear but with pity. It's the end of the era of the America of Empire, and perhaps a beginning for the era of an America of popular democracy. If so, there will be much more room for poets and less for soldiers.

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