by Diana Lopez
He dances Imelda around the stage, all the while trying to get Héctor’s photo. When she tries to resist, he tightens his grip. When she tries to go offstage, he pivots and pulls her back to the spotlight. When she twirls away from his grasp, he catches her and she falls into a dip. The push and pull of their moves is like a tango. “Let go of me!” she says during a musical interlude, but she can see that de la Cruz is as determined to get the photo as she is to keep it.
The music crescendos. The tempo picks up. It’s the finale of the song, and to keep up appearances, de la Cruz guides her into some quick polka steps. That’s when Imelda spots an opportunity. At the moment of their highest note, she stomps her heel into his foot, and when he lets go, she runs offstage, photo in hand.
“Ay, ay, ay, ay!” de la Cruz cries—a true grito, born of pain!
The crowd loves it. They cheer, clap, and throw out their own celebratory gritos. But Imelda has no time to bask in the praise. She reaches the wings of the stage and, feeling that adrenaline high, hugs Héctor as soon as she sees him. “I forgot what that felt like,” she says.
“You…you still got it,” Héctor says, full of admiration.
Then Imelda jumps back to reality and awkwardly pulls away. She’s not ready to completely forgive him, but she’s not feeling as angry, either. This time, when he smiles at her, she smiles back.
“Ahem!” comes a voice. It’s Miguel.
“Oh!” Imelda says, for they are not there to reminisce about the past. The night is almost over, the sun is rising, and it’s time to send the boy home.
She hands him the photo and pulls out her petal. “Miguel,” she says, “I give you my blessing.” As before, the petal glows. “To go home…to put up our photos…” She pauses, considering her next words. “And to never—”
“Never play music again,” Miguel says with a saddened voice.
Imelda smiles and lifts his chin. She has something else in mind. “To never forget how much your family loves you.”
The petal surges, and Miguel’s saddened face brightens. She can tell he appreciates these words.
“You’re going home,” Héctor says.
But before Miguel can take the petal and whoosh back to the Land of the Living, de la Cruz barges in. “You’re not going anywhere!”
De la Cruz grabs Miguel by the scruff of his hoodie and yanks him away from his great-great-grandparents. Miguel panics. The man who’s always believed in seizing your moment has now literally seized me! He tries to scramble away, but now that his transformation into a skeleton is nearly complete, he’s not as gordo as he used to be. That’s why de la Cruz has no trouble dragging him.
Mamá Imelda lunges at de la Cruz, but he pushes her off. Papá Julio and the twin uncles arrive from under the stage, ready for a fight, but de la Cruz warns them away. “Stay back! Stay back!” he says. “All of you!”
That’s the last thing Miguel wants, so he pleads with his eyes. His family gets the message. They start closing in on de la Cruz. They will not abandon their child.
“Stay back!” de la Cruz says again. “Not one more step.”
The determined family keeps approaching, and with every step they take forward, de la Cruz drags Miguel one step back. Soon they’re at a ledge on the very top of the coliseum, near the highest point of the tallest skyscraper in the Land of the Dead. Miguel glances down. It must be a thousand-foot drop to the bottom! Once again, he scrambles with all his might, but de la Cruz is too strong.
“Ernesto, stop!” Héctor says, weak and out of breath. “Leave the boy alone.”
He stumbles, shimmering like before as he falls. Miguel’s heart breaks. This can’t be the end! He just met Héctor, and after all these years, Héctor and Mamá Imelda are finally talking!
“I’ve worked too hard, Héctor,” de la Cruz says. “Too hard to let him destroy everything.”
With each word, he seems to tighten his grip. The hoodie is pressed hard against Miguel’s throat. He reaches for his collar, relieving some of the tension, but not enough to slip free.
Héctor pleads. “He’s a living child, Ernesto!”
“He’s a threat! You think I’d let him go back to the Land of the Living with your photo? To keep your memory alive?” De la Cruz takes a breath and then answers his own question. “No. Once you’re forgotten, no one can discover what I did to you.”
“You’re a coward!” shouts Miguel. He wants the world to know just how cruel and selfish de la Cruz can be.
“I am Ernesto de la Cruz. The greatest musician of all time!”
“Music is supposed to bring people together,” Miguel says. He has never believed it more than now. “You tore my family apart! Héctor’s the real musician. You’re just the guy who murdered him and stole his songs!”
De la Cruz ignores him. He’s too focused on getting the photo so he can erase what he did—so he can erase Héctor, too!
“I am the one who is willing to do what it takes to seize my moment,” de la Cruz says. Then his voice goes cold and his bony clutch tightens. “Whatever it takes.”
He swings Miguel over the ledge, letting the boy hang there.
“Ernesto! No!” Héctor begs.
“Apologies, old friend, but the show must go on.” He smiles villainously, and then he lets go.
“Ahhh!” Miguel screams, plummeting toward the ground.
“No!” Mamá Imelda’s cry rings out from above.
Miguel is in a free fall. The photo flutters in his hand, but he manages to hold on. His legs scramble as if they could climb their way back up, but it’s hopeless. They catch nothing but air. The wind whips against his face. “Ahhh!” he screams again. He’s terrified. As he falls, the apartments, shops, and escalators of the giant skyscraper are a blur. He’ll hit the bottom soon, and there’s nothing he can do to stop!
Then he hears faint howling. He tries to locate the sound, and sure enough, there’s Dante, diving toward him with the speed of a lightning bolt!
Dante slices through the sky, grabs Miguel’s hoodie, and opens his wings. When they catch the air, Dante and Miguel jerk upward, the sudden movement making Miguel lose his grip on the photo.
“Ahh—no!” Miguel cries as it disappears.
Miguel knows that he will disappear, too, if he and Dante can’t escape. They’re twisting in the air, struggling to rise. His brave dog has bought him some time, but they are still falling. They are simply too heavy for the small, inexperienced wings. Every time Dante gains a few feet, they lose a few feet more, and the erratic up and down of their flight is loosening Miguel from his hoodie. Before he can adjust, he slides out and once again free-falls!
Panicked, Dante tries to reach him, but he’s too slow. Meanwhile, the ground is getting closer and closer. They are nearly beside the pyramids at the base of the skyscraper. Miguel can’t believe it’s going to end this way after everything he’s been through! He closes his eyes and braces for the impact. One thousand one, one thousand two, he counts off the seconds. And then…swoosh!
Instead of hitting the ground, Miguel finds himself on the strong back of a majestic alebrije. It’s Pepita! She has swooped in and scooped him up at the last second. And there’s Dante, following close behind, wagging his tail and smiling goofily.
Meanwhile, behind the stage curtain, de la Cruz straightens his clothes. They’re a bit rumpled from his incident with that meddlesome boy. How could he have ever believed they were related? Then he slicks back his hair and does a few neck rolls to loosen up. At last…showtime!
He steps through the curtain. “Ha-ha!” he says as the spotlight beams upon him. Never has he felt more ready to please a crowd.
But they aren’t pleased at all. Instead of clapping, they jeer. “Boo! Murderer!”
De la Cruz raises his eyebrows in surprise at their reaction. He tries to play it off. “Please, please, mi familia…”
But the audience will not calm down. “Get off the stage!” they shout.
De la Cruz is full of
disbelief. Surely they have him confused with someone else. He tries to kick up the orchestra. A little music will clear things up. “Orchestra! The music. A-one, a-two, a-one…”
The conductor snaps his baton, and the crowd boos even louder.
Now de la Cruz looks outright mad, like a toro about to charge a matador.
Ignoring the crowd, he grabs the mic. He will seduce them with his most famous song, “Remember Me.” A tomato pelts him. “Hey!” The next thing he knows, a few spit wads ping his face, and then a smorgasbord of kiwis, coconuts, bananas, corncobs, melons, and blueberries splatters and leaves a wet gooey mess on his designer clothes.
“Look!” someone shouts.
All eyes gaze at the space behind him. He turns, and on the stadium screens he sees a giant jaguar alebrije rising above the upper ledge of the coliseum with…no, it can’t be…with Miguel on her back! She lands backstage. The boy slides off and runs into the waiting arms of his family.
“He’s all right!” someone from the crowd exclaims.
“He didn’t fall to the ground!”
“He narrowly escaped death at the hands of that imposter!”
De la Cruz suddenly understands the jeers of the crowd. All his backstage treachery was projected to the Land of the Dead. Someone had turned on the cameras and microphones! Someone had broadcast the image of him holding Miguel hostage and letting him go where he was sure to die! Someone had let the whole world hear de la Cruz admit that he would do anything—even murder!—to get what he wants.
“What? How?!” he mutters as he tries to figure out who the traitor was, for surely it was someone in the stage crew.
How will he ever spin this? It’s a PR nightmare!
He glances back at the screens, and to his horror, the image of Pepita grows larger and larger. She is prowling past the camera and then…
She pokes her head through the curtain and locks eyes on him! He stumbles back a few steps. Her penetrating gaze makes him feel like a helpless lizard about to be caught beneath powerful feline claws.
“Nice kitty!” he tries.
Pepita roars. Then she lifts into the sky, grabbing de la Cruz with her talons and flinging him through the air like a kitten playing with a ball of yarn.
“Ahhh!” he cries. “Put me down! No, please! I beg of you, stop! Stop! No!”
His screaming only encourages her. She tosses him, catches him, and tosses him again, each throw making him yelp with fear. Then she swings him around and around, and when she has enough momentum, she hurls him out of the coliseum.
“No! Aaahhh!” he cries.
As he flies past, the crowd points and shouts, “Murderer! Murderer!” And when he slams into a giant church bell, they erupt into applause!
Miguel has never been so happy to see his family. He can’t thank them enough for defending him. Papá Julio, the uncles, Héctor, Mamá Imelda—they did their best against the guards.
Tía Rosita and Tía Victoria come running from a back corridor. “Did you see what we did?” Before the family can answer, Tía Rosita explains. “We filmed the whole thing and broadcast it live.”
“No one will ever trust or praise de la Cruz again,” Tía Victoria says.
“But how?” Mamá Imelda asks. “Since when do you know how to work stage equipment?”
They chuckle. “We had a little practice,” Tía Rosita says, “when we were searching for Miguel earlier.”
“So the whole world knows the truth?” Miguel asks. When his aunts nod, he turns to share the good news with Héctor, who’s sitting against the wall, exhausted. “Did you hear tha—”
He stops mid-sentence. Héctor is struggling to stand, so Miguel runs to support him. “Héctor!” he says, the events of his free fall flooding back. “The photo, I lost it.”
“It’s okay, m’ijo. It’s—” Suddenly, Héctor suffers his most violent flickering yet, and once again, he collapses.
Miguel kneels beside him. “Héctor! Héctor!”
The frail man can barely move his limbs. “My Coco…” Héctor says, his voice fading.
“No!” Miguel cries. “We can still find the photo.”
At that moment, a beam of sunlight peeks over the horizon. Miguel feels its warmth on his cheek. He knows what this means. He has to make a choice—save Héctor or save himself.
“Miguel,” Mamá Imelda says, “it’s almost sunrise.”
“No, no, no, I can’t leave you!” He turns to Héctor. “I promised I’d put your photo up. I promised you’d see Coco!”
Héctor looks at Miguel, and in the glassy reflection of his great-great-grandfather’s eyes, Miguel can see the skeletal transformation creeping onto the edges of his face.
The shimmering of Héctor’s bones advances. “We’re both out of time, m’ijo.”
“No, no! She can’t forget you!” Miguel feels overwhelmed with guilt. If only he’d held on tighter to the photo, to his whole family! He glances at the circle of loved ones. There are tears in their eyes, but he can see that they all agree—Miguel must go home.
“I just wanted her to know that I loved her,” Héctor says.
He musters all his strength to grab a marigold petal.
“Héctor.” Miguel’s sobbing now. He doesn’t want to become a skeleton, but he doesn’t want to leave, either. He just met his ancestors. Why can’t they have more time?
“You have our blessing,” Héctor says.
“No conditions,” adds Mamá Imelda.
The petal glows. Héctor struggles to lift the petal to Miguel. He’s too weak, so Mamá Imelda takes his hand in hers.
“No, Papá Héctor. Please!”
Imelda and Héctor move their joined hands toward Miguel’s chest. Héctor fades even more, his eyelids begin to close, and he utters one last wish. “Go home…”
“I promise!” Miguel cries out with determination. “I won’t let Coco forget—”
Whoosh! Once again, a whirlwind of marigold petals carries Miguel away, and everything goes white.
A few seconds later, Miguel finds himself back in de la Cruz’s tomb. The first thing he does is glance at his hands. They’re no longer skeletal! They’ve got skin and muscle and everything. He pokes his face. It’s squishy with flesh again! Sunlight filters through the window. It’s morning now.
He spots the skull guitar on the floor, the guitar that made Ernesto de la Cruz famous—Papá Héctor’s guitar! For a moment Miguel is outraged, but then he remembers that Héctor didn’t care about fame. He cared only about family. “Maybe it’s not too late,” he mutters to himself as he picks up the guitar. “Maybe it’s not too late!” he shouts, his voice echoing in the tomb.
He sprints out of the cemetery, guitar in hand. He races through the plaza, past the statue of de la Cruz. He runs through the streets of Santa Cecilia, kicking up dirt as he speeds by.
When he gets to the hacienda, Tío Berto and Primo Abel are sleeping on a bench. Miguel blows right past them, and they jolt awake. Abel falls off. Tío Berto calls out, “There he is!”
Papá spots him. “Miguel?! Stop!” But Miguel’s in a hurry. No time to explain.
He rounds the corner and follows the trail of marigold petals through the front gate. He runs for the back bedroom, but just as he gets to the doorway, Abuelita steps up and blocks him. He skids to a stop, nearly crashing into her. “Ah!”
“Where have you been?!”
“I need to see Mamá Coco,” he says, and then, respectfully, “Please.”
But all Abuelita can see is the guitar. “What are you doing with that?! Give it to me!”
Miguel hates to defy her, but he has urgent business. Besides, he has Mamá Imelda’s blessing, and if she can learn to love music again, then maybe…maybe…
Without another moment of hesitation, he pushes past Abuelita and slams the door shut behind him.
“Miguel! Stop! Miguel! Miguel! Miguel!”
He locks the door and takes a deep breath. He’ll have to explain later, but not right now. H
e’s running out of time. Héctor’s running out of time, and Miguel has to keep his promise.
He faces the room, the morning sun brightening the space. Mamá Coco’s in her wicker wheelchair, but even with all the commotion, she doesn’t seem to notice that he’s there. Miguel hopes he’s not too late.
“Mamá Coco? Can you hear me? It’s Miguel.” He looks into her eyes, but all he gets back is a vacant stare. “I saw your papá,” he says. “Remember? Papá? Please—if you forget him, he’ll be gone…forever!”
She doesn’t respond, not even when Miguel’s father starts banging on the door.
“Miguel, open this door!” he orders.
But Miguel’s too focused on his promise. He shows Mamá Coco the guitar. “Here,” he says. “This was his guitar, right? He used to play it to you? See, there he is.” He shows her the picture with the faceless musician.
Nothing. Her eyes are glass.
Miguel tries again. “Papá, remember? Papá?”
Mamá Coco continues to stare blankly, as if he isn’t there.
“Miguel!” his father calls angrily.
“Mamá Coco, please. Please don’t forget him.”
Suddenly, he hears keys rattling at the door. He tugs at Mamá Coco’s shawl, begging her to remember. Then the door flies open and the entire family pours in.
“What are you doing to that poor woman?” Abuelita asks as she brushes him aside to comfort Mamá Coco. “It’s okay, Mamita. It’s okay.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Papá scolds.
Miguel sinks from the weight of his failure. He looks down, defeated, and tears drip off his nose. Back in the Land of the Dead, Héctor came through for him, but Miguel has let his great-great-grandfather down. All he wanted was to give Héctor the thing he wanted most—to let Mamá Coco know he loved her.
He’s beside himself with grief when he feels a warm hand on his shoulder. It’s Papá, pulling Miguel into an embrace. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m sorry, Papá,” Miguel sobs.
Then Mamá steps forward. “We’re all together now. That’s what matters.” She puts her arms around him, too. Miguel is happy to be reunited with his parents, but he can’t help thinking that his family is still not whole.
