Lesbians, Goblins, Mexican Police


This house is two houses up the street from my parents’ house where I grew up and lived from age two to age twenty-three, more or less. Once, when I was maybe eight or nine, I carved my name into the front screen door of this house with a rock. I had to work out back in their garden for like two weeks every day after school as my punishment.

When I was in middle school I used to visit my friend Zach at this house and play a board game that had goblins, orcs, elves, dwarves, etc. I would leave the house at night in the dark and run the twenty seconds home imaging goblins and orcs chasing me. I felt genuinely scared.

Much later, after high school was over, Zach’s parents got divorced after twenty years together because Zach’s mom realized she was a lesbian. At least, that was the rumor– I don’t know if it was ever verified.

Sometime after that Zach got arrested and abused by police while traveling in Mexico. I think he might have been sexually assaulted by the Mexican police because they were trying to get him to admit to having done something. I think he was fine eventually.

Zach’s father stayed in the house for a few more years, becoming good friends with my parents and taking turns caring for each other’s dogs when needed. Eventually he sold the house and moved away. The people who bought the house fixed it up to the way that it looks now in this picture. They are verified lesbian lover life partners, who, as far as I know, have no connection with the former owners of the house.

-By Matthew Savoca of We Will Always Live in These Houses, a blog about houses in his (presumably) hometown and the stories about those spaces.  Very cool; check it out! Kendra Grant Malone also writes for this blog.

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2 responses to “Lesbians, Goblins, Mexican Police

  1. Great post. You’ve got me thinking about my old home and all the history associated with it. They torn it down a decade ago, and yet I can still see it as plain as day in my mind’s eye. It’s amazing how brick and mortar can feel so alive. Thanks for the memories.

  2. The first house I actually remember living in was converted from slave quarters on my grandparents’ farm by my father. It was torn down MANY years ago. The second house has also been torn down. I still have nightmares about the first two houses.

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