I am going power-walking today with some old friends instead of David Bowie but please do not tell David because he thinks I’m rejoining Curves.
David Bowie and I were getting close. Too close if you ask me. He would come over every day. EVERY day! Gosh, at first you are honored and all because, Dang! It’s David Bowie! But still, those platforms, the makeup and the old wrinkly, scary skin (depending on which David happens to shows up that day) can be tiring. Small doses, man. Small doses!
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he weren’t such a slob. He would change shoes and leave these ripped up, nylon mansocks, lying on my bedroom floor. The smell they gave off reminded me of this one time when I dropped cottage cheese down between the crack between my refrigerator and my stove. I hunted for that rotten smell for days like a man on a mission whose mission it is to kill all disgustingly evil smells. I have not and will not tell David Bowie his nylon mansocks remind me of that smell because it would hurt his feelings. He’s sensitive like that and I am not cruel. We were friends after all.
I know I will miss our walks together. When David Bowie power walks, I must say, he does it with style and grace like I’ve never seen before. It’s hard to explain, but picture a swan with legs like a ballet dancer and the focus of a starving cheetah on the hunt and a just a sprinkling of coxcomb or fop. Put him next to me on a gravelly dirt racetrack down at the local high school, and it ceases to be exercise, it’s an event: a dance contest at Studio 54, a tree lighting ceremony at the civic center, a circus’ arrival down Main Street at noon. He glides, no bounce whatsoever, and he talks so much all I do is listen. I feel like a clumsy elephant, staggering graceless, a fool at his side made worse by all the onlookers who recognize his David Bowie/Ziggy Stardust-ness which lessens me to a level of almost complete invisibility.
Last night, after we got home and he was naked and ready for the shower, he called me over to the bed, which was nowhere near the norm.
“Susanna”, he said, “Come here. Take off your clothes. Lie down.”
He had such a sweet and gentle look on his face like crying so I did it without question.
”Close your eyes, ” he said with his breath heavy and light on my face. Not one to wait, he closed them with the backs of his thumbs.
Then he covered me in folds of Chinese silk and touched me through it until I fell asleep. I woke up by his side this morning feeling…I don’t know…tell me how to feel after a night of being stroked all over my body through yards of Chinese silk by a naked David Bowie. How should I feel about that?
I called him at lunch to tell him it was getting too…weird, that we needed to take a break. That I was going to go back to Curves or 24 Hour Fitness or something…just…we couldn’t do this power-walking thing for a while anymore.
He seemed to understand. Mumbled something about cheese fondue and we said we’d talk Saturday.
So, I’ll call him, but it’s just time, you know? Sometimes you can just get people so comfortable around you they think they can just, get you naked and touch you through waves of Chinese silk; that behavior kind of steps over that little line that separates friendship and fucking if you ask me. I wasn’t about to go there with him. I don’t care that he wrote Young Americans, I’m just not into him that way, you know?
xTx is the author of a brand spanking new collection of stories called Normally Special. It exists because of xTx and the excellently cool Tiny Hardcore Press. The book is wonderful and is available to order now.