agustin had picked a book called 'the gift of family'wich had mirabel and an unfamiliar boy with a guitar on it. "let's just hope this one doesn't fall off a water fall" camilo joke but mirabel was genuianly hurt, she had loved that boy from his description and personality alone.
""What is all this!? You keep secrets from your own family!?"
Miguel looks down in shame. Embarrassment and insecurity upset his stomach as his family crowded around him. He glances at the collection of music and memorabilia of Ernesto de la Cruz scattered among the dirt as he absently hears his tio and tia chide in him.
"It's all the time in the plaza, filling his head with crazy fantasies!"
"It's not a fantasy!" Miguel replied defensively.
How can his family call something he loves crazy? It doesn't hurt anyone, and it brings him happiness. Not at all when compared to making shoes.
When Miguel found out that Ernesto De la Cruz might be his great-great-grandfather from the torn-up picture that fell from the ofrenda, it fueled him with confidence that it was destiny that he had a passion for music. This afternoon, he was unsure and anxious about performing in front of people, but this could be his chance to share a part of himself.
If only he hadn't felt small under his family's disapproving glares.
"This is no future for my son," Papa said sternly.
"But Papa, you said my family would guide me! Well, de la Cruz IS my family! I'm supposed to play music!"
"Never! That man's music was a curse! I will not allow it!" Abuelita exclaimed.
Miguel feels desperate. If his family was all about honoring his ancestors and remembering them, how come they're so secretive and forbidding about de la Cruz? It felt selective and unfair.
"If you would just let me-"
"Miguel, you will listen to your family. No music." Papa started.
Despair pooled in Miguel's stomach. He picked up the old guitar as a lifeline, hoping to show his family his reasoning for living. To hear him play. To listen to his voice.
"Just hear me play!"
"End of argument!"
A moment of hesitation, and Miguel strung the guitar tentatively, playing a few notes.
Suddenly, the guitar was snatched out of his hands.
"You want to end up like that, man!? Forgotten!?" Abuelita cried out, holding the guitar as if it was an omen and pointing to the picture. "Left off your family's ofrenda?!"
Miguel's brows furrowed in frustration. Adhering to de La Cruz's words, he felt assertive to stand for what he does and not let himself fall under the paranoia of his family. He was tired of hiding his true self.
"I don't care if I'm on some stupid, ofrenda!"
His family erupted in gasps. Abuelita was standing there mortified by his grandson's words. She looked down at the guitar. Determined anger flooded across her face as she raised the instrument in the air.
Miguel's eyes widened in panic, realizing what Abuelita was about to do. "No!"
The guitar was bashed repeatedly into the dirt. Every bang was a rip in Miguel's heart. The wood was demolished until nothing but the neck attached to the upper bout was left.
Miguel stared at the remains of the guitar. The guitar that had let him play out his emotions, ideas, and spirit. The instrument he put all his hard work remodeling and fixing to lend him a voice was gone.
