Speaking of Phonographs

I am suddenly reminded that when I was growing up in El Salvador we had a small record player. I do not remember it ever gleaming in the moonlight. It was not one of those old-fashioned Victrola things with a tin ear. No, it was just a small record player that could be closed like a suitcase and it was given away or sold along with a few records, mostly children's records. When we left, we sold a lot of our furniture and stuff to Barbara and her creepy lecherous husband Oscar, an engineer who had a crude way of looking me over when I answered the front door. I wonder why Barbara chose to marry such a creep but it is not really my place to tell her. He did not do anything to me so it was just a vague impression on my part of him being not someone I would want to trust with anything personal. Barbara was a friend of my mother's somehow, I don't remember what the connection was, and they had one daughter. Anyway, I do not remember whether they took the record player and the records or what happened to it, who we might have given it to. Maybe someone else remembers this but I don't.