Interview: José H. Bográn
In “Missing Celia,” José H. Bográn crafts a heartfelt tribute to family, music, and the small treasures that hold deep emotional weight. Blending humor, nostalgia, and a touch of magical realism, the story follows the spirited Tía Mima on her frantic quest to find her most prized possession—an autographed Celia Cruz CD. What begins as a simple mystery becomes a celebration of love, memory, and the enduring rhythms that connect us to those we’ve lost. In this interview, Bográn shares the personal inspiration behind the story, reflecting on his own Tía Mima, her infectious love of dance, and the uncanny moment when Celia Cruz seemed to say her final goodbye. “Missing Celia” is more than a playful family tale; it’s a tribute to the people and music that live on in our hearts long after they’re gone.
What inspired you to write “Missing Celia”?
At its core, the story is a mystery without a murder, with a debatable crime. It bears a resemblance to a sitcom’s plot, where a misunderstanding starts a snowball effect that spirals out of control. Missing Celia is the amalgamation of two original ideas. Every family in Latin America has a bailadora, a relative that loves dancing above else. In my family, Tía Mima was the undisputed dancing queen. She was a lovely woman who would make anybody dance with her infectious cheerfulness at parties.
She was one of those timeless souls that looked the same age for years and years, and would confess her real age to no one. When I asked her to be a witness for my wedding, she had to give me a copy of her ID. She handed me a copy with a warning that could rival Hanibal Lecter’s chilling tone. I’ve never seen her so serious before, or after.
We lost Tía Mima to emphysema a few years ago, and this short story is my way to honor her. The part about having Celia Cruz coming to say good bye actually happened to me. Well, at least in the same fashion as described in the story. I heard the sad news on TV during the evening, and the next day, the first song that played out of my car audio system was indeed Sobreviviré. It freaked me out, and have been saying Celia came to say farewell to me ever since. And thus, if you put the two ideas together, you can see where “Missing Celia” got its beat.
In your work, an everyday object (Celia Cruz’s CD) takes an almost sacred quality. How did you negotiate taking something that belongs to the world and making it Tía Mima’s?
Turning the everyday object into a sacred one may have been the easy part. I believe any parent who has their children’s drawings hanging from magnets on the fridge can relate to considering any such object a sacred—or rather, cherished—possession. That said, while we know that Celia’s music belongs to the world, a CD containing her music may belong to Tía Mima. Call it a subtle distinction, if you must, but it is one that holds the key of plausibility for this short story in particular.
Your story shows how Celia Cruz’s music and memories create deep connections across generations. How important do you think it is for literature to capture these moments that unite families and preserve their history?
Every generation has its signature music. In the US you may have a grandparent fainting for Elvis, a parent opening their heart for Madonna, and a kid shaking it off to a Taylor Swift’s tune. Using Latino examples, let’s say grandparents wishing to be Pedro Infante’s Amorcito Corazón, parents still dispute who’s the best between Chayanne and Luis Miguel, while nowadays kids listen to Maluma claiming about four-way happiness. And in every generation, a child’s memory is filled with their parent’s music that they had to listen to before they could play their own. In this short story, I focused on the entertaining factor, with both snappy dialogues, and the respect of your elders, which is an important element of the Latino culture. We just don’t talk back to our parents, or grandparents, or uncles or aunts. The interactions within this story reflect that. I believe that literature is the vehicle we can use to send a message to the future generations, a sort of time capsule, that can let them know how we did things way back when. Above all, “Missing Celia” is an exploration of my own mortality through the eyes of a dear relative who left such an indelible mark on my life.
