Heaven or Las Vegas

On an autumn afternoon in 1991 I received a bubble envelope. It was about 3pm and I had just come home from school. In post-communist Bulgaria bubble envelopes meant a package from Western Europe. And packages from Western Europe meant a glimpse into unattainable magic.
I grabbed the envelope and started feeling it with both hands, trying to guess what's inside. In a rush of excitement I was popping the bubbles one by one and my heart was racing in anticipation. There had to be a tape inside. And indeed, there was one. A boxless black audio cassette with a recording of Heaven or Las Vegas by The Cocteau Twins.

I stood outside for a while. The front door was wide open and so was the mailbox. For a short eternity, I was a happy and content 15-year-old, who had just been initiated into a secret realm, invisible to the rest of the world. It was as if I was surrounded by a bubble (one I had left unpopped) and through it I was contemplating the special moment in time. A moment I can never forget. My 15 minutes of heaven in the yard of my grandparents' house, holding my Cocteau Twins tape and the bubble envelope from Western Europe.
The air was rich with the aroma of autumn leaves crushed underfoot and the smoke of outdoor cooking. The late-afternoon October sun was stroking my cheeks. Looking up, I could see the tree branches dancing, entwining, forming beautiful patterns.
The music which I was about to discover was already sounding in my ears and it was soaked with the same thick magic that was holding the bubble around me. Every note was profuse with otherworldly colours and undercurrents promising to take me far, far away into a land of unattainable magic. My dreamland.

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