Home Sweet Home

Every Saturday during my last year of high school, I'd run around to record stores looking for music by Mötley Crüe.  In a store in Galerías I found their latest album, Dr. Feelgood, on vinyl.  I walked the downtown streets, from nineteenth to twenty-fourth, and also got Girls, Girls, Girls also on vinyl, Too Fast for Love and Shout at the Devil on CD, and specially ordered, after two months of waiting for it in customs, Theater of Pain on cassette tape.  As soon as I got it in my hands I put it in my Walkman.  The fifth song on side A was my favorite: “Home Sweet Home.”  Seeing how happy I was, the salesman gave me two band posters.  My dad saw them stuck to the wall of my room.  Saw the vinyl records.  The CDs.  He didn’t understand their glam makeup.  Didn’t like the whole spending my snack money on music, as if the absence of music wouldn’t leave behind more emptiness than hunger.  He tore it all up, even the business card from the store in Galerías.  I spent the rest of my Saturdays in high school washing the walls of HIS apartment, listening to the only surviving cassette and learning that “Home Sweet Home,” is a goodbye song.

 

 

Translation of Olivia Lott


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