Black Dog, by Led Zeppelin

I have this fantastic memory of my mother.

It's three o'clock in the afternoon, my sister and I are willing to kill anyone that gets in our way. It's April or May and we've been trapped in the back seats of our VW Caribe for more than 45 minutes. Its' so damn hot I'm actually sweating underneath the stupid vest of my school's uniform. We're hungry, tired of streets, cars and teachers. We are too tired to talk.
My mom has her chubby little hands on the wheel. She looks at me from the rearview window and starts the radio on.

For a while, nothing but nasal voices and news.

All of a sudden the nasal voices stop.

Robert Plant's voice makes my mom react and she starts dancing to Page's guitar. She even lets go off the wheel (we're stuck in the middle of a traffic jam anyway) and raises her arms to the rythm as if she was go-go dancing. She moves her face up and down, up and down, (it's all pre-headbanging psychedelic stuff). The inside of the small Caribe goes nuts. I'm so happy my mom's happy that I start imitating her. We're both dancing to Led Zeppelin's Black Dog as if it was the most important thing we've ever done.

My mom, she even closes her eyes to feel the music.

Hey, hey, mama, said the way you move
Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove...

My sister's ashamed. She thinks all the other drivers will stare at us. She asks us to stop the riot. "¡Mamá, por dios! ¡Qué pena!"

But she doesn't and neither do I. Our burst was our connection. She's been gone for exactly 17 years today, and it still is.

I cannot think of anything else but my mom's dance when I hear this song.