Mexcellente

Before a great collapse of ancient civilizations, the Aztec, Inca and Maya joined together to secure the future of their people. Nimble hands, with mystical incantations, wove the very first sombrero. It was stored away deep within the caves beneath Mexico. For hundreds of years, it waited. Until a man came mining for salt for his taqueria and placed it upon his head.

Luis sat beside his father, a proud chef running his own restaurant out of their home in the heart of Mexico City. Miguel taught him how to cook as he grew up, using the foods he would feed to him at each age as material. Luis had more of a musician’s soul, so he initially wasn’t convinced he would enjoy cooking, but as he grew, eating delicious food after each lesson, he became fascinated with the craft.

“Now, Luis, look here. See how this tortilla starts to get darker?”

“Yes, papa.”

“Tell me, does that mean it’s ready?”

“No, papa.” Luis paused. The tortilla began to puff. He pulled it off with his fingers, flicking them afterwards from the heat. “Now they are.”

“Very good, my son.” Miguel took his apron off and put it on his son. Then he sauntered out of the kitchen.

Perplexed, Luis shouted to his father. “Papa! What are you doing!?”

“You’re ready, mi hijo.”

Luis peered at his father through the cracked store-room doorway and watched him grab a sombrero he had never seen before. 

Then he was gone for the night. Customers came to the doorway and were pleasantly surprised to find Luis at the helm, after watching him learn through the years. When it got dark, he went through all the cleaning procedures his father taught him and brought in the sign out front.

As his dad still hadn’t come home, Luis thought it a good time to practice the guitar. It was given to him by his mother, who passed away when he was a baby. His father always cried when Luis played, so he didn’t while they were together. He felt tapping on the roof as his song rang out but thought nothing of it. When Luis finished playing, he placed the guitar down and looked behind him through the door. He caught a glimpse of the sombrero and knew his father had returned.

From his bedroom, Luis burst out to ask his father where he went. It was obvious, however, that Miguel was in pain. Wherever he’d been wasn’t important. Luis helped his father into bed to relax for the night. As Miguel laid down and quickly fell asleep, Luis wondered where his father put the sombrero. He checked all around the room and couldn’t locate it.

In the store-room where he first noticed it, he checked everywhere. It wasn’t on any shelves, or behind them. Before giving up, he leaned against the wall, which moved. He pushed it further to unveil a small alcove, where the sombrero sat upon a pedestal.

Luis held the sombrero in hand. It didn’t look any different, and it seemed to be made of the same material he’d seen before. But it felt different. Suddenly, myths of a mysterious Mexican hero rushed to his head and he found it undeniable.

“Papa!?”

“Yes, Luis.” Miguel was standing in the doorway, well aware of his son’s discovery. “Put it on. I already told you; you’re ready, mi hijo.” He stepped forward and hugged his son tight, exhausted from a life of heroics.

Luis confidently placed the sombrero on his head. His body instantly transformed into peak physical condition. He flew around the house a bit to get the hang of it, then returned to his father with a confused expression on his face.

“Tengo hambre, Papa.”

“Ah, yes! I forgot, you’ll need this.” Miguel handed Luis a lonche. He took out and ate forty different items over the next few minutes. It always had food inside.

Before Luis removed the sombrero, his father, with glistening eyes, handed him the guitar left by his mother. Having a larger body, Luis’ hands rested in a different position. For the first time, he noticed a faint etching on the back of the neck. It was notes to an unusual chord, one he’d never played before. He moved to strum the guitar. 

Fingers in position, the chord thrust from the belly of the guitar and a musical voice spoke aloud.

“HOLA!” chuckled the guitar in a powerful, melodic tone. “¿¿¿COMO ESTAS, MEXCELLENTE???”