When I was sixteen, I went to Tower Records and asked if I could have this giant promo poster for the new Smiths album once the store took it down to make way for the next new releases.

That was a thing back then. They gave them away on a first-ask basis. Anyway, I got the poster and taped it to the wall in my room. It went to college with me, and somewhere around my first or second apartment, I left it behind. I can not remember why, but like a lunchbox in grade school, one day, I’d moved on.

Years later, my son was looking at old pictures and spotted the poster. I told him the story, and he must have carried that memory because he gave me this one for Christmas. It’s not from Tower Records. It’s from the UK, which is even cooler. I’m told there are only a few remaining.

I’m normally fine shedding things, letting them go, and making way for change, but sometimes, there’s a pang of regret at something so easily released.

I’d forgotten how I adored this poster. How I’d run home, dropped everything, and found the perfect spot on my bubble-gum pink wall. I’d forgotten the girl who spent hours in record stores hunting for new and better than what was on the radio. I’d forgotten how important something so simple, something free, could be.

Cotter reminded me a bit of who I was with this gift, and I am forever grateful.

Second chances are rare, so I’ve framed this beauty in anti-fade plexiglass for safekeeping. It hangs in a place of honor across from my desk, a repurposed memory in the middle of my todays.

My thoughts from the laundry room. Sing Me To Sleep.

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