David Bowie

Once I met David Bowie. Actually met him and talked to him. It wasn’t a fan experience, nothing I had to pay for. I met him at an airport, waiting for my flight.

No one really bothered us, it didn’t seem like people recognized him. I actually sat down next to him before I recognized the artist. I made some remark about how irritating layovers are, or something along those lines, and he laughed and agreed.

The voice. I slowly turn and look at his face. Definitely him. He was looking down at something, probably his phone. I clear my throat and ask as casually as I could if he happened to be David Bowie. I decided not to freak out. It was actually not as difficult as I would’ve guessed. This felt natural.

He smiled and looked up at me. ‘That’s me. You’ve heard my music?’ I nod. ‘I thought that Low was great. My favorite track was what in the world, it reminds me a lot of my little sister.’ I replied.

‘Really?’ He said, turning towards me. ‘That album was one of my favorites to record. Tony, Brian and I basically did nothing else for those months. It was a good time.’

I laugh nervously. There’s a pause- a little awkward but nothing completely unbearable. Random bits from different songs of his play in my head, and I’m about to ask him about space oddity when he speaks again.

‘Sorry- What was your name? You know mine so I think it’s only fair that I know yours.’

I smile, ‘Jane.’

‘Jane. Lovely name. Tell me about yourself. Anything at all.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I’m all ears, I have quite a bit of time.’

I realized that I was shaking a little bit, something my body does when it’s nervous. I consciously make myself stop and I open my mouth. Soon I’m not nervous at all.

I start off with the normal boring stuff. How many sisters I have, where my parents are from, how old I was. Bowie is a perfect listener, which was completely unexpected from a rockstar. He asks all the right questions and is quite when he’s supposed to be and laughs when I hope he would.

So I find myself going into deeper things, more abstract subjects. My perception of God, my experiences with helping my mother during her depressive bouts, why I’m nervous to be alone.

‘Honestly I don’t have a problem with self esteem, I think that I’m great. What really tears me down is that I am sure others don’t think much of me. Like, if I disappeared no one would miss me much.’ I say.

There’s another moment of silence. This time it’s not awkward at all. It feels more reflective. More appropriate after I share my life story.

‘Well Jane. You’re not completely alone in your thoughts and experiences. Not that I have too much concern on what others think of me. You just have to say fuck it and do what you know is best.’

David Bowie tells me a lot of things. Mostly advice on my life, which he now knows a significant amount more than most celebrities. He tells me that he’s written the best music when he didn’t think about his audience at all- when he was being completely selfish about it.

He tells me that I need to make the most out of my time. He tells me things that I’ve heard before and things I’ve never considered. I tried to put everything he said in a file in my brain that will never be forgotten.

‘Well Jane, it’s been a pleasure chatting with you. My flight is taking off so I better go.’ He stands up and I stand up as well. I dumbly stick out my hand and he brings me into a hug.

I watch as he walks away. I am completely taken away about what just happened. I spoke with the man who sold the world.