Coco

At The Plaza

Y/N was sitting next to Miguel as he wrote in his journal. When Y/N managed to return to Santa Cecilia, Imelda didn't see her, nor did Coco. She watched the family grow, and Miguel Rivera, the fifth generation in the family, was the only one who could see her.

Invisible to them but not to her nephew.

"Sometimes I think I'm cursed... 'cause of something that happened before I was even born. See, a long time ago there was this family. The papá, he was a musician." Miguel spoke, writing at the same time.

Y/N felt her non-beating heart clench. Hector...

"He and his family would sing, and dance, and count their blessings... But he also had a dream... to play for the world. And one day, he left with his guitar... and never returned. And the mamá...? She didn't have time to cry over that walkaway musician! After banishing all music from her life. She found a way to provide for her daughter... She rolled up her sleeves, and she learned to make shoes. She could have made candy! Or fireworks! Or sparkly underwear for wrestlers!" Miguel wrote down.

"But no... she chose shoes..."

Y/N sighed and leaned against Miguel's bed as he sat in his chair. Imelda... If only you knew the truth.

"Then she taught her daughter to make shoes. And later, she taught her son-in-law. Then her grandkids got roped in. As her family grew, so did the business. Music had torn her family apart, but shoes held them all together. You see, that woman was my great-great-grandmother, Mamá Imelda. She died WAY before I was born. But my family still tells her story every year on Día de los Muertos -- the Day of the Dead... And her little girl? She's my great grandmother, Mamá Coco."

Miguel glances at Y/N, "I think we're the only family in México who hates music..." Y/N snorts, "Yeah, except you and me." The boy stands up, "Better get to the plaza, amigo! Ready?" Y/n stands up and pops her back, "Yeah, I'm ready."

The Rivera family is tinkering in the shoe shop with no music to be heard. Miguel jogs past them. He grabs his shine box and heads out of the shoe shop. "Be back by lunch, mijo!" His mother calls out.

"Love you, Mamá!"

Once outside, Miguel makes his way through the small town of Santa Cecilia. He passes a woman sweeping a stoop. "Hola, Miguel!"

"Hola!" He passes a band of musicians playing a tune. Miguel joins with some air guitar, and the further down the street he goes, the more instruments and sounds layer in. The bells of the church chime in harmony, and a radio blares a cumbia rhythm. Y/N ran beside him, fazing through people who did not see her.

Does it bother her? Sometimes. Other times, it's good that they don't.

As Miguel passes all these scenes, the music synthesizes and he can't help but tap out rhythms along a table of alebrijes. The fantastical wooden animal sculptures each play a different tone, like a marimba. Miguel finishes with a smack on a trash can, out of which pops up a scrappy hairless Xolo dog.

The dog, Dante, barks and jumps up to lick Miguel, who laughs. "Hey, hey! Dante!" Miguel holds the pan dulce over Dante's head. "Sit. Down. Roll over. Shake. Fist bump." Dante obeys to the best of his ability.

"Good boy, Dante!" Miguel tosses the pan dulce to his furless friend, who topples back into the trash can. Miguel rounds the corner toward the town square. Vendors sell sugar skulls and marigolds, and musicians fill the square with music. Miguel approaches a statue of a handsome mariachi at the heart of the plaza.

Y/N stops as the boy marvels at it. Only she stared in disgust. But the only thing she does enjoy about De La Cruz is that he died from a falling bell during one of his performances. Served him right.