by Diana Lopez
Miguel can only shake his head as he passes Tío Berto and his papá unloading rolls of leather from a truck. The sun is bright, so he must squint as he makes his way through the family compound. When he reaches a giant cypress tree, he looks around to make sure no one’s watching. Then he climbs the tree onto the roof, carefully scuttles across the tiles, lifts a sign advertising the family business, and slips into the space behind it. This is Miguel’s secret attic hideout, the one place where he can get away from his family’s expectations and just be himself.
In a corner are several pairs of shoes that someone discarded years ago. Miguel ignores them and focuses on an ofrenda he built to honor the memory of Ernesto de la Cruz. He lights a few candles to illuminate the posters, songbooks, and albums that he has carefully arranged. But the candles reveal something else, too—a guitar! It’s not as fancy as the guitar that de la Cruz holds on his album covers or even as fancy as the guitar he held earlier in the plaza, but it’s just as special, because Miguel has crafted this instrument himself. He cobbled it from scraps he found in Mariachi Plaza and around the shoemaking shop—a beat-up soundboard, old strings, a bridge made from a comb, and tuning pegs made from bent nails. The instrument is held together with duct tape, leather scraps, and lots of love. Studying one of Ernesto de la Cruz’s album covers, Miguel takes a marker and traces the one-of-a kind skull designs from the famous musician’s guitar. Miguel’s version is slightly off-center and a bit crude, but he decides it’s good enough.
He’s about to tune the guitar when he hears footsteps pattering on the roof and the sign moving. Someone has discovered his hideout in the attic! Miguel gasps, but before he can blow out the candles, Dante peeks in.
“Oh, it’s you,” Miguel says, relieved. “Get in here. C’mon, Dante. Hurry up.”
The dog wriggles in and sniffs the entire periphery of the room, spending an unusually long time on the shoes in the corner. Then he plops in front of Miguel, an attentive audience.
“I just…I just wish I could get someone to listen,” Miguel says as he tunes the guitar. “Other than you,” he tells Dante, who replies by sloppily licking Miguel’s face. Miguel gives a grossed-out chuckle and turns his attention back to the guitar, strumming a chord that vibrates off the walls. “¡Perfecto!”
He studies the album cover. Ernesto de la Cruz poses confidently with his beaming white smile, and Miguel imitates him. He’s a little awkward, but pretending to be de la Cruz for a moment makes him feel better.
Then he picks up a videotape with Best of de la Cruz scrawled on the label. He turns on an old TV set and pushes the tape into a VCR. Like the guitar, Miguel made the tape himself, a montage of his favorite scenes from de la Cruz’s movies and interviews.
The first scenes come from a movie called A quien yo amo. Miguel strums to provide some musical accompaniment as de la Cruz imparts his wisdom.
“I have to sing,” de la Cruz says. “I have to play. The music, it’s not just in me. It is me.”
Miguel nods. This is exactly how he feels, too.
“When life gets me down,” de la Cruz continues, “I play my guitar. The rest of the world may follow the rules, but I must follow my heart!” De la Cruz passionately kisses a woman, and Miguel cringes.
Then there’s another clip from the film. In this one de la Cruz holds a guitar. “You know that feeling? Like there’s a song in the air and it’s playing just for you?” Ernesto de la Cruz pauses and begins to strum the guitar. Miguel mimics the hand positions so he can follow along as his idol begins to sing about never knowing he could want something so much.
After a few verses, the song ends, and the videotape switches to another movie called Nuestra iglesia. In this scene, de la Cruz plays a good-natured priest speaking to a nun.
“You must have faith, Sister!”
“Oh, but Padre, he will never listen.”
“He will listen to music!” Now de la Cruz bursts into song. He sings about music, how it has the power to change minds and hearts. He goes on, and since Miguel knows all the words, he follows along. When the song ends, de la Cruz tells the nun, “Never underestimate the power of music.”
The tape switches again, this time to a romantic scene with de la Cruz professing his love to a woman named Lola. She says, “But my father, he will never give his permission.” And de la Cruz replies, “I am done asking permission. When you see your moment, you mustn’t let it pass you by. You must seize it!”
Immediately after these famous lines is a clip of an interview. “Señor de la Cruz, what did it take for you to seize your moment?”
De la Cruz does not hesitate to answer. “I had to have faith in my dream. No one was going to hand it to me. It was up to me to reach for that dream, grab it tight, and make it come true.”
“And make it come true,” Miguel repeats.
The tape ends, but Miguel can still hear the words repeating in his mind. If he wants to be a musician, he’ll have to make it happen. When he sees an opportunity, he must seize it, just like Ernesto de la Cruz.
He reaches into his pocket to pull out the talent show flyer. “No more hiding, Dante. I gotta seize my moment!”
Dante wags his tail and pants happily.
“I’m going to play in Mariachi Plaza if it kills me!”
Miguel grabs his guitar and, for inspiration, his favorite album. Then he and Dante scurry out across the roof and peek over the edge. They must be stealthy in order to sneak away. Luckily, the setting sun casts long shadows, making it easier to hide—but then the courtyard fills up with people as Abuelita opens all the doors and announces, “Día de los Muertos has begun!”
Miguel hides on the roof as children run by with sparklers. Then he spots his twin primos, toddlers Manny and Benny, carrying baskets of marigold petals and haphazardly scattering them on the ground.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Mamá corrects them. “We have to make a clear path.” She demonstrates, creating a path from the ofrenda room to the front gate. “These petals guide our ancestors home. We don’t want them to get lost. We want them to come and enjoy all the food and drinks on the ofrenda, ¿sí?”
The toddlers nod, their eyes full of wonder and anticipation. They follow Mamá. Miguel and Dante take the opportunity to drop from the roof, just outside the compound, but the coast isn’t clear, because Papá and Tío Berto round the corner carrying a small table from storage.
“Where should we put this table?” Papá calls out.
Miguel and Dante back up toward the courtyard to avoid the adults, only to find Abuelita shaking out a rug. She’s turning toward them! Luckily, Miguel and Dante jump into the ofrenda room before she sees them.
“In the courtyard, m’ijos,” Abuelita answers. She is out of sight but her voice is clear.
“You want it down by the kitchen?”
“Sí. Eh…next to the other one.”
Inside the ofrenda room, they find Mamá Coco, and Miguel puts his finger to his lips so she will keep his presence a secret. But it’s too late. He hears Abuelita’s voice—right outside the door!
“Miguel!”
“Hurry! Under the table,” Miguel tells Dante as he stuffs his guitar and album beneath the tablecloth. “Get under! Get under!”
“Miguel!” Abuelita calls again.
“Nothing!” he says, panicked.
He whips around. Abuelita and his parents are looking at him. His heart is racing and his palms are sweaty from the stress of almost getting caught. He wants to pretend like nothing unusual is going on, but he can’t help stammering. “Mamá…Papá…I…”
Papá lifts a finger to silence him. “Miguel.” He takes a deep breath. “Your abuelita had the most wonderful idea!” He giggles with excitement. “We’ve all decided—it’s time you joined us in the workshop!”
“What?!” Miguel says.
He’s heard rumors about people seeing their lives pass before them when they have near-death experiences, and that’s what happens to him. Miguel hears the announ
cement and immediately sees his visits to Mariachi Plaza, bands performing in the gazebo, his secret hideout where he plays guitar and watches film clips, Mamá Coco’s room where he quietly hums. If he starts making shoes, he won’t have time to do anything related to music. It breaks his heart to realize this. But how can he tell his family? He loves them and doesn’t want to disappoint them, especially when their faces are beaming with pride because becoming an apprentice is a big step.
I think I’m cursed, Miguel decides, because of something that happened before I was even born.
Papá holds out an apron and drapes it over Miguel. The apron is made of leather, but for Miguel, it’s heavier than the steel armor that the conquistadors wore. He feels trapped by it and by all the expectations it represents.
“No more shining shoes. You’ll be making them!” Papá says proudly. “Every day after school.”
“No more going into town?” Miguel’s voice cracks, but no one seems to notice. They just stand there, still beaming with pride.
Abuelita grabs Miguel’s cheeks and squeezes them affectionately. “Ooh! Our Miguelito’s carrying on the family tradition. And on Día de los Muertos! Your ancestors will be so proud!” She gestures to the shoes adorning the ofrenda. “You’ll craft huaraches just like your tía Victoria.”
“And wingtips,” Papá adds, “like your papá Julio.”
Miguel backs away from the ofrenda. He desperately wants to escape. “But what if I’m no good at making shoes?” He won’t say his next thought out loud, but the truth is he doesn’t even like the idea of making shoes.
“Aw, Miguel,” Papá says. “You have your family here to guide you.” He waves his arm as if presenting the family. “You are a Rivera, and a Rivera is…”
“A shoemaker,” Miguel finishes, his voice defeated. “A shoemaker through and through.”
Everyone turns to admire the photos on the altar. Miguel peeks over their shoulders to see even more generations of his family, and he starts to feel claustrophobic in the tiny room crowded with Papá, Mamá, Abuelita, Mamá Coco, and too many ancestors to count.
“That’s my boy! Ha-ha!” Papá says. Then he calls out, “Berto, break out the good stuff. I wanna make a toast!”
As Papá heads out of the room, Mamá gives Miguel a soft smile. He smiles back, trying his best to fake happiness. Satisfied, she follows Papá out the door. Last is Abuelita, who smothers Miguel with tons of kisses before exiting.
With the family gone, Miguel turns back to the ofrenda and discovers Dante on the table, chomping at the pan dulces they left for their ancestors. The bald dog has never looked more content, but Miguel is horrified.
“No, Dante! Stop!”
Miguel grabs the dog and pulls him away from the ofrenda, but all that movement shakes the table. The frame with Mamá Imelda’s photo sways back and forth, and before Miguel can stop it, the picture topples to the ground with a sickening crack. The frame has broken, and Miguel must shake away the fragments as he lifts the picture. He knows Dante didn’t mean it, but he feels like everyone is working against him. The last thing he needs is to get in trouble for breaking a picture.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Miguel cries.
He holds the old photo of Mamá Imelda with a young Coco and the mysterious headless musician. Suddenly, he notices that a section of the picture has been folded and hidden by the frame all these years. Miguel desperately wants to unfold it, but he hesitates because he feels like he’s prying. The hidden section is like a locked door or a gate with a NO TRESSPASSING sign, but he can’t help it. He has to look! When he unfolds the picture, he gasps. Next to the mysterious musician is a guitar—not just any guitar—but the guitar—the one with a skull carved into its head!
Miguel is beside himself. “De la Cruz’s guitar?”
Then Mamá Coco speaks. “Papá?” she says, pointing at the picture. “Papá?”
Miguel’s eyes widen as the connection dawns on him. Could it possibly be true? But of course, Miguel thinks. I have always felt a great connection to this musician. His father was right when he told Miguel to look to the family for guidance. The answer was there all along!
He grabs his record album from beneath the table and sets it beside the photo. The guitars are a perfect match! Miguel can’t believe it. He has admired this guitar for as long as he can remember. The tuning pegs, the rosette, the bridge, the skull designs on its head and body…for Miguel, these details make the guitar more than just an instrument. They make it a work of art.
He kneels beside Mamá Coco’s wheelchair and shows her the picture. “Mamá Coco, is this your papá—Ernesto de la Cruz?”
“Papá! Papá!” she replies.
It all makes sense. Mamá Imelda’s husband left his family to seek fame and fortune. Ernesto de la Cruz indeed became a rich and famous musician who played a guitar that looked exactly like the guitar in the photo. What did he say in A quien yo amo? “The music, it’s not just in me. It is me.” Music runs in Miguel’s blood, too—not just shoes. Órale, the headless musician standing beside Mamá Imelda must be Ernesto de la Cruz!
“‘I am done asking permission,’” Miguel says, quoting one of his favorite movies, determination rising. “‘When you see your moment, you mustn’t let it pass you by. You must seize it!’”
Miguel will no longer keep his love for music a secret. He’s tired of hiding and pretending. It’s time the family learns the truth, the real truth. It’s time they accept him for who he really is!
Miguel grabs the guitar and runs into the courtyard with his instrument, photo, and album. His entire family is related to the most famous musician in Mexico! Perhaps with this new information, they will finally understand.
“Papá! Papá!” he calls.
Everyone turns to look at him—his parents, his grandparents, his aunts, uncle, and primos.
“It’s him!” Miguel says. “I know who my great-great-grandfather was!” He takes a deep breath before making his big announcement. “Mamá Coco’s father was Ernesto de la Cruz!”
“What are you talking about?” Papá says.
Miguel sets down his items, whips off the cobbler’s apron, and strikes the pose from de la Cruz’s album. “I’m gonna be a musician!”
The family encircles him, and at that moment, Abuelita takes a good look at his handmade guitar. “What is all this? You keep secrets from your own family?”
“It’s all that time he spends in the plaza,” Tío Berto says.
“Fills his head with crazy fantasies,” adds Tía Gloria.
“It’s not a fantasy!” insists Miguel. He picks up the photo of the faceless musician, hands it to his father, and points at the guitar. “That man was Ernesto de la Cruz, the greatest musician of all time!”
Papá takes the photo, looks at it, and sighs heavily. “We’ve never known anything about this man. But whoever he was, he still abandoned his family. This is no future for my son.”
“But Papá, you told me to look to the ofrenda. You said my family would guide me! Well, de la Cruz is my family! I’m supposed to play music!”
“Never!” Abuelita says. “That man’s music was a curse! I will not allow it!”
“If you would just—”
“Miguel,” Mamá warns, and Papá, in a stern voice, says, “You will listen to your family. No more music.”
“Just listen to me play.”
“End of argument,” Papá says.
Once again, Miguel remembers de la Cruz’s words about seizing your moment and fighting for what you want. He picks up his guitar, but before he strums a chord, Abuelita snatches it away. Then she points to the man in the photo.
“You want to end up like that man?” she asks angrily. “Forgotten? Left off your family’s ofrenda?!”
“I don’t care if I’m on some stupid ofrenda!”
The family gasps, and Abuelita’s eyes harden. Miguel knows this is a direct insult to their way of life, to everything they believe in, but what about his way of life?
His beliefs? Don’t they matter, too?
He never gets a chance to explain, because Abuelita lifts the guitar, and guessing what she’s about to do, Miguel shouts, “No!” and Papá shouts, “Mamá!”
But it’s too late. Abuelita forcefully throws the guitar, smashing it to bits—the guitar neck like a broken bone, the strings like torn ropes. Miguel wants to wail but he’s too shocked. He thinks about gathering parts for the guitar, putting it together, and playing it—all those hours of work and joy smashed in a matter of seconds.
“There. No guitar, no music,” Abuelita says, victorious. “Come. You’ll feel better after you eat with your family.”
But Miguel’s heart feels as smashed as his guitar, and no amount of food is going to make him feel better.
“I don’t want to be in this family!”
He snatches the photo from his father and bolts out of the hacienda, Dante following.
“Miguel! Miguel!” Papá calls, but Miguel ignores him. He is the great-great-grandson of Ernesto de la Cruz, and he, too, will seize his moment—even if it means running away from his entire family.
Coco, a young woman now, stood before her closet, deciding what to wear. She had many shoes—pumps, sandals, boots, and heels. Most were quite beautiful and very comfortable, but some were totally useless or odd because her uncles often tinkered with new designs. They once made cleaning shoes with thick bristles on the soles for scrubbing the floor while walking, but the bristles went flat as soon as the customers took their first steps. Another time they made boots with pockets for storing keys and money, but no one wanted to reach down to their shoes when reaching into their coats or purses was easier.
“You are not inventors. You are shoemakers,” Mamá Imelda told them, throwing away the bad designs. But Coco loved the shoes and the playful imagination they represented, so she rescued them for her collection. She smiled every time she saw her uncles’ failed experiments, though she never wore them. She preferred to wear strappy heels because they showed off her painted toenails.