by Diana Lopez
“It’s okay, Mamita,” Abuelita says to her mother as she pats the older woman’s arm. Then she turns to Miguel. “You apologize to your mamá Coco!”
Miguel sniffles, and then he goes to her. “Mamá Coco…” He’s about to apologize when the little scraggly cat jumps onto the windowsill. Miguel does a double take, for something in the way the cat lands reminds him of Pepita. Then he sees Héctor’s skull guitar.
“Well?” Abuelita demands, arms crossed. “Apologize!”
But Miguel has another idea. “Mamá Coco? Your papá—he wanted you to have this.” He picks up the guitar. Abuelita reaches for it, but Papá takes her arm. “Mamá,” he says, “wait.”
Then Miguel starts to sing “Remember Me”—not the flashy version made famous by Ernesto de la Cruz, but Héctor’s version, almost a lullaby and full of love. As he sings it, he pictures Papá Héctor, Mamá Imelda, and all of his relatives—in the Land of the Dead and the Land of the Living.
He almost doesn’t notice when his mother gasps.
“Look,” Mamá says, pointing to Mamá Coco. The vacant stare is gone. There’s a glimmer in the old woman’s eyes, and they grow brighter with every note. Her cheeks soften and get plump. Her lips arc into a smile. It’s as if she’s being fed by the memories of her father.
Encouraged, Miguel continues to sing. He pours all his love into the song, uttering notes as gentle as marigold petals against the cheek.
Mamá Coco’s brows lift, delighted, and the family can only gape, dumbfounded by this sign of awareness and life. Then, brimming with joy, Mamá Coco joins Miguel and sings along! Her voice, scratchy with age, and his, clear with youth, somehow come together in beautiful harmony. They sing about remembering a special someone—about remembering Héctor.
Tears stream down Abuelita’s face as she watches. The music—and its effect on Mamá Coco—has softened her heart, and all her anger has gone away. There is only love on her face. It’s as if she’s witnessed a miracle.
“Elena?” Mamá Coco says, noticing her daughter’s tears. “What’s wrong, m’ija?”
Abuelita wipes her eyes. “Nothing, Mamá. Nothing at all.”
Mamá Coco turns to Miguel. “My papá used to sing me that song.”
“He loved you,” Miguel says, finally fulfilling Héctor’s wish. “Your papá loved you so much.”
She smiles, and Miguel can tell she has waited a long time to hear those words. Then she turns to her nightstand and, with a shaky hand, opens a drawer and pulls out a notebook. Mamá Coco peels back the lining of the book to reveal a scrap of paper. She hands it to Miguel, and…
It’s the missing face from the photo—Héctor!
Miguel pieces the picture together, seeing Héctor as he was in life—a handsome young man with a happy smile. Thanks to Mamá Coco, Miguel will get to keep his entire promise, for the next time this photo goes on the ofrenda, it will have Héctor’s face!
“Thank you,” Mamá Coco tells Miguel, “for helping me remember.” Then she turns to the family. “Papá was a musician. When I was a little girl, he and Mamá would sing such beautiful songs.…”
She continues with her stories and the entire family gathers around to listen. Miguel can only guess what’s happening in the Land of the Dead, but he feels confident that Mamá Coco’s memories are giving Héctor strength, and instead of dusty and gray, his bones are gleaming white!
The following year, Santa Cecilia once again prepares for Día de los Muertos. Vendors in the market sell marigolds, pan dulce, alebrijes, and sugar skulls—everything except Ernesto de la Cruz souvenirs.
In Mariachi Plaza, ballet folklórico dancers warm up for a performance, this time with shoes made by the famous Rivera family, and musicians register for the annual talent show, noting a new performer on the list—a boy named Miguel.
Visitors to the cemetery dust and polish headstones and leave behind offerings as they share stories about their departed loved ones. Nearly every gravesite is attended, but one lies neglected—the tomb of Ernesto de la Cruz. Someone has hung a sign that says Forget you around his statue, and that’s exactly what’s happening.
Even the tour guide has forgotten him. This year, he rushes right past the once-famous statue in Mariachi Plaza, and instead, stops in front of the Rivera Shoes Workshop. “And right here,” he informs the tourists, “is one of Santa Cecilia’s greatest treasures…the home of the esteemed songwriter Héctor Rivera.” The crowd snaps pictures of the famous skull guitar and framed letters to Coco. “The letters Héctor wrote home for his daughter, Coco, contain the lyrics for all of your favorite songs, not just ‘Remember Me.’”
Sometimes the tour guide requests an appearance from one of the Riveras, but today they are too busy with their own preparations. Prima Rosa and Primo Abel decorate the hacienda with papel picado. Papá Franco sweeps the courtyard. The young twins, Manny and Benny, sprinkle petals to create a marigold path, while Papá and Mamá work on tamales.
And this time, instead of sneaking away, Miguel joins Abuelita in the ofrenda room.
“And that man is your papá Julio,” Miguel tells his baby sister, Socorro. She’s named after her great-grandmother, who went by the nickname Coco. Abuelita arranges the photos as Miguel holds his sister and points out their relatives. “And there’s Tía Rosita, and Tía Victoria, and those two are Oscar and Felipe.” He shares a few stories from his adventures in the Land of the Dead, laughing at some of their antics. “These aren’t just old pictures,” he says. “They’re our family, and they’re counting on us to remember them.”
Abuelita smiles to see her grandson passing on the tradition. Then she places a new picture on the ofrenda, a photo of Mamá Coco. She passed away a few months ago, but not before sharing her memories of Héctor and of how she once secretly danced. After learning this, Miguel realized that the discarded shoes in the hideout belonged to her. He spent several weeks repairing and cleaning them so they looked brand-new. He still prefers music, but fixing Mamá Coco’s shoes has given him a new appreciation for the family trade. He felt proud as he left them at her grave, and he smiles now as he imagines Mamá Coco seeing the offering and wearing her dance shoes once again.
When he spots a tear on Abuelita’s cheek, he puts an arm around her.
“I miss her,” she says.
“Me too.”
After a few moments, Abuelita recovers and makes a few more adjustments. “How’s that?” she asks.
“Perfect,” Miguel answers, and it is perfect, because right next to Mamá Coco’s picture is the photo of Mamá Imelda, baby Coco, and Papá Héctor, his face taped in place, the family finally restored.
Meanwhile, at Marigold Grand Central Station, Héctor anxiously waits in line. He isn’t hiding in a raspa cart. He isn’t dressed as Frida Kahlo. He hasn’t painted alebrije patterns on his bones. He is simply himself, only this time, he has new clothes and a new pair of boots made by the loving hands of his wife, Imelda. They fit perfectly and, Héctor marvels, “They don’t give me blisters.”
“Enjoy your visit,” the departures agent says to the couple in front of Héctor. And then, “Next!”
Héctor takes a deep breath and steps up. When the agent recognizes him, Héctor shrugs and chuckles nervously. Then the monitor scans him, and instead of buzzing, it dings! For the first time in his afterlife, he has been approved!
The agent smiles. “Enjoy your visit, Héctor!”
Héctor tips his hat, and his chest swells as he approaches the Marigold Bridge. He can’t help glancing back and feeling pleasantly surprised to find no one chasing him.
Mamá Imelda waits at the foot of the bridge, and she kisses him when he joins her. Then he hears, “Papá!” It’s Coco, running toward them. Héctor gives her a giant hug, because each moment with Coco is a miracle.
As the family steps onto the bridge, the petals glow. Héctor can’t help singing, Coco can’t help dancing, and Mamá Imelda can’t help adding a few cumbia steps and her own voice to the song.
The sun has finally set in Santa Cecilia. Once again, fireworks light the sky, and their colorful glow reveals a shadow on the courtyard wall—a little alebrije with small wings and a flapping tongue. When it turns a corner, it’s just a normal Xolo dog, Dante. Then another shadow looms large—a jaguar with giant wings—Pepita! But when she turns the corner, the shadow shrinks to fit the scraggly alley cat that has watched over the family all these years.
“Roo! Roo!” Dante calls as he joins the family in the courtyard. Pepita follows, weaving among the family’s legs.
Instead of shooing them away, Abuelita tosses the animals tamales. Then she offers servings to the rest of the family, kissing Papá Franco on the cheek when he grabs his share.
In the center of the courtyard, Miguel plays a guitar and sings, but he is not alone—for Mamá Coco has made her way there, too, beaming with pride that Miguel has returned music to the family. Primo Abel shakes a tambourine and Prima Rosa blows into a harmonica. The rest of the Riveras—both the living and the dead—join the chorus. Tías Rosita and Victoria sway their hips. Tíos Oscar and Felipe copy each of Benny and Manny’s moves. Mamá Imelda admires the new baby in Mamá’s arms. Mamá Coco and Papá Julio place their hands on Abuelita’s shoulder. And Héctor shows off his dance moves, using his skull as a drum, twirling his tibia, and strumming his ribcage.
Aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, children—living and dead—all wearing comfortable shoes and all celebrating. Music has not torn them apart after all. Instead, it’s the very thing that has brought them together.
Diana López is the author of award-winning middle grade novels, Confetti Girl, Ask My Mood Ring How I Feel, and Nothing Up My Sleeve. Her latest book is Lucky Luna. Visit her at www.dianalopezbooks.com.
