Warnings: Er, none this time around?
Notes: I hate writing "eighth." Do you? Should I be sado-masochistic and keep writing it over and over and over again? Eighth, eighth, eighth... Ahem. Yes. Oh, and thanks to everyone for the nice reviews... Good to see there are other Bowie fans out there =D
-Ish
---
If he spread his fingers wide apart and held them up beside him, he could almost see the rays of light shining through the gaps: it was that early in the morning. It had been a while since he'd taken an early-morning stroll, but recent events seemed to demand it. That was why, on June 18th, 1972, Louis was walking aimlessly down the picturesque Fifth avenue at seven in the morning.
The school year was finally over, he reminded himself as he watched the beams of light shining past his hand, looking so optimistic and misplaced in the shady, tired monotony that continued down the length of Fifth avenue. And Sixth avenue. And Seventh avenue - and suddenly it seemed like summer in its entirety was presenting itself before him in the same endless stretch that characterized his neighbourhood so well.
Although, Louis couldn't think why the idea of summer vacation weighed down upon him with such negative insistence this year as opposed to the many before. He'd always managed to find something to do, usually hanging out with his friend David. But in the last couple of weeks, David's boring factor had risen shockingly, almost to match his sister, Sarah's. Louis guessed it was a family trait.
Or maybe Louis was only seeing things differently. Ever since he'd seen the review, the positive review of that album that his father had condemned. The positive review of an album made by a "fag."
With that thought, Louis turned on his heel and headed towards Eighth avenue.
Eighth avenue was, according to David, "the home of the state of New York's biggest and most shameful blemish of a citizen. A man who openly exhibits his digusting mannerisms to our neighbourhood at the expense of our peace of mind." In other words, a homosexual lived there. David was a good talker, but he didn't know what he was talking about; that's how Louis interpreted it.
There was no open sign that Eighth was harbouring a "most shameful blemish of a citizen": it looked normal enough. There were the beautiful, old trees that made a kind of arch over the street and bathed it in shade with streams of light shining through - in fact, Eighth was the street most covered in shadow, and so the beams of light gave it an almost heavenly effect. Or at least Louis thought so: both David and Louis' father had agreed it looked eerie.
Louis recognized the house immediately, although he'd never seen it before: there was a large window in the front, beside the door, and the a good quarter of said window was covered not with glass, but with a crude mass of caramel-brown duct tape. Louis recalled David telling him arrogantly about an attack he and a couple of friends had staged on the house, having succeeded to smash one of the windows before the elusive homosexual had finally appeared to chase them away.
"Hello."
Louis was snapped out of his reverie and he looked quickly towards the door of the house. A young man, probably in his early or mid twenties was standing there, looking at Louis with natural friendliness and learned apprehension.
He looks so normal, thought Louis.
"Can I help you?" said the man a little loudly.
"Er," replied Louis. He took a deep breath and walked up the stairs to the door, so that he was only a foot away from the queer. From the person, he corrected himself. "I was wondering if you, um. Do you have... Do you know..." That was when his etiquette training kicked in, and he started afresh:
"Hi," he said. "I'm Louis." He stuck out his hand a bit stiffly and stared at the other man with a completely blank, yet slightly curious expression.
"Hi. I'm Jack," introduced Jack, lightly mocking Louis' awkwardness. "Will you come in?" He stepped aside and gestured into his house.
Louis looked petrified. "Um," he said.
For a moment, Jack looked very crestfallen at this unintentional slap to his dignity, but the expression was gone in a moment and he smiled again. "You'll sit out on the porch, then?" he offered, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.
"I don't want my-" Louis stopped abruptly and tried to act like he hadn't said anything.
"Friends to see you?" finished Jack, whose smile by this time was looking rather strained. "I didn't realize I'd become such a social taboo."
"It's not my friends," said Louis. "They're... they don't matter. It's my dad. He doesn't like people like, er, like you." He rushed on quickly, "I mean, I wouldn't mind, only I live with him, and."
Jack nodded. "Of course. The old homophobic dad," he said, and it was obvious from the way he said it that his own father had hardly been open- minded as far as Jack's sexuality went. "Is there a chance he'd be walking around here this early in the morning?"
Louis shook his head. "Did you run away?" he asked on a whim. "From your dad, I mean."
"Hah. No, I didn't tell him until I was out of university. I needed him to pay me through, don't you know. Once I'd gotten my bachelor's degree, I came out to him, he exploded and attempted to wring my throat, and then I left." He winced, and then laughed a little. "I'm so sorry, you wanted to ask me about something?"
"Oh," said Louis, having momentarily forgotten about it. "Er, yes. I was wondering if you knew about Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars, by David Bowie. It came out a few weeks ago, and it got really good reviews in the Sun, and the article called him a gender-bender and, um, I was wondering..."
He was broken off by loud laughter. "Oh, jeez," said Jack. "If my droogs could hear that. I'm thinking you're rebelling against the constraints of this awful society and having no idea how to do it. correct? Don't worry, everyone like me has that Ziggy Stardust album. We're slaves to it. You wait here, I'll get it."
Louis was left outside wondering what a "droog" was as Jack hurried back into the house and closed the door behind him.
Jack emerged momentarily holding the album in his hand, and Louis felt his heart speed up with excitement and nervousness as he spotted the young man wearing the god awfully turquoise outfit, poised in what could not possibly be described as a masculine way.
"This is it," said Jack, holding the album out to Louis. "It's damned awesome, you'll see. I want it back in a week, though. I even don't know if I can separate myself from it for that long."
"Are you - are you all like this?" inquired Louis, fascinated by how highly Jack regarded Ziggy.
Jack laughed boisterously again. "Hah, I don't know. There are quite a few of us. Of course, I have a friend who can't stand half the songs, but he's still thrilled by the statement Bowie's making. This is such a groundbreaking thing, you know? And he's not bad looking, either."
"Yeah," said Louis with a huge grin on his face, turning to head home. "Yeah, I can tell."
---
He was reluctant to look at the cover of the album after that. There was something in the pit of his stomach that twisted every time he thought of David Bowie, or Ziggy Stardust, posed beside a building, looking out at him. He was terrified that he would agree with Jack and find Bowie attractive. There wasn't much chance to look at the case, though: he kept it hidden almost all the time, wisely, only taking it out when his parents went out.
When Louis did listen to it, he loved it.
Notes: I hate writing "eighth." Do you? Should I be sado-masochistic and keep writing it over and over and over again? Eighth, eighth, eighth... Ahem. Yes. Oh, and thanks to everyone for the nice reviews... Good to see there are other Bowie fans out there =D
-Ish
---
If he spread his fingers wide apart and held them up beside him, he could almost see the rays of light shining through the gaps: it was that early in the morning. It had been a while since he'd taken an early-morning stroll, but recent events seemed to demand it. That was why, on June 18th, 1972, Louis was walking aimlessly down the picturesque Fifth avenue at seven in the morning.
The school year was finally over, he reminded himself as he watched the beams of light shining past his hand, looking so optimistic and misplaced in the shady, tired monotony that continued down the length of Fifth avenue. And Sixth avenue. And Seventh avenue - and suddenly it seemed like summer in its entirety was presenting itself before him in the same endless stretch that characterized his neighbourhood so well.
Although, Louis couldn't think why the idea of summer vacation weighed down upon him with such negative insistence this year as opposed to the many before. He'd always managed to find something to do, usually hanging out with his friend David. But in the last couple of weeks, David's boring factor had risen shockingly, almost to match his sister, Sarah's. Louis guessed it was a family trait.
Or maybe Louis was only seeing things differently. Ever since he'd seen the review, the positive review of that album that his father had condemned. The positive review of an album made by a "fag."
With that thought, Louis turned on his heel and headed towards Eighth avenue.
Eighth avenue was, according to David, "the home of the state of New York's biggest and most shameful blemish of a citizen. A man who openly exhibits his digusting mannerisms to our neighbourhood at the expense of our peace of mind." In other words, a homosexual lived there. David was a good talker, but he didn't know what he was talking about; that's how Louis interpreted it.
There was no open sign that Eighth was harbouring a "most shameful blemish of a citizen": it looked normal enough. There were the beautiful, old trees that made a kind of arch over the street and bathed it in shade with streams of light shining through - in fact, Eighth was the street most covered in shadow, and so the beams of light gave it an almost heavenly effect. Or at least Louis thought so: both David and Louis' father had agreed it looked eerie.
Louis recognized the house immediately, although he'd never seen it before: there was a large window in the front, beside the door, and the a good quarter of said window was covered not with glass, but with a crude mass of caramel-brown duct tape. Louis recalled David telling him arrogantly about an attack he and a couple of friends had staged on the house, having succeeded to smash one of the windows before the elusive homosexual had finally appeared to chase them away.
"Hello."
Louis was snapped out of his reverie and he looked quickly towards the door of the house. A young man, probably in his early or mid twenties was standing there, looking at Louis with natural friendliness and learned apprehension.
He looks so normal, thought Louis.
"Can I help you?" said the man a little loudly.
"Er," replied Louis. He took a deep breath and walked up the stairs to the door, so that he was only a foot away from the queer. From the person, he corrected himself. "I was wondering if you, um. Do you have... Do you know..." That was when his etiquette training kicked in, and he started afresh:
"Hi," he said. "I'm Louis." He stuck out his hand a bit stiffly and stared at the other man with a completely blank, yet slightly curious expression.
"Hi. I'm Jack," introduced Jack, lightly mocking Louis' awkwardness. "Will you come in?" He stepped aside and gestured into his house.
Louis looked petrified. "Um," he said.
For a moment, Jack looked very crestfallen at this unintentional slap to his dignity, but the expression was gone in a moment and he smiled again. "You'll sit out on the porch, then?" he offered, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.
"I don't want my-" Louis stopped abruptly and tried to act like he hadn't said anything.
"Friends to see you?" finished Jack, whose smile by this time was looking rather strained. "I didn't realize I'd become such a social taboo."
"It's not my friends," said Louis. "They're... they don't matter. It's my dad. He doesn't like people like, er, like you." He rushed on quickly, "I mean, I wouldn't mind, only I live with him, and."
Jack nodded. "Of course. The old homophobic dad," he said, and it was obvious from the way he said it that his own father had hardly been open- minded as far as Jack's sexuality went. "Is there a chance he'd be walking around here this early in the morning?"
Louis shook his head. "Did you run away?" he asked on a whim. "From your dad, I mean."
"Hah. No, I didn't tell him until I was out of university. I needed him to pay me through, don't you know. Once I'd gotten my bachelor's degree, I came out to him, he exploded and attempted to wring my throat, and then I left." He winced, and then laughed a little. "I'm so sorry, you wanted to ask me about something?"
"Oh," said Louis, having momentarily forgotten about it. "Er, yes. I was wondering if you knew about Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars, by David Bowie. It came out a few weeks ago, and it got really good reviews in the Sun, and the article called him a gender-bender and, um, I was wondering..."
He was broken off by loud laughter. "Oh, jeez," said Jack. "If my droogs could hear that. I'm thinking you're rebelling against the constraints of this awful society and having no idea how to do it. correct? Don't worry, everyone like me has that Ziggy Stardust album. We're slaves to it. You wait here, I'll get it."
Louis was left outside wondering what a "droog" was as Jack hurried back into the house and closed the door behind him.
Jack emerged momentarily holding the album in his hand, and Louis felt his heart speed up with excitement and nervousness as he spotted the young man wearing the god awfully turquoise outfit, poised in what could not possibly be described as a masculine way.
"This is it," said Jack, holding the album out to Louis. "It's damned awesome, you'll see. I want it back in a week, though. I even don't know if I can separate myself from it for that long."
"Are you - are you all like this?" inquired Louis, fascinated by how highly Jack regarded Ziggy.
Jack laughed boisterously again. "Hah, I don't know. There are quite a few of us. Of course, I have a friend who can't stand half the songs, but he's still thrilled by the statement Bowie's making. This is such a groundbreaking thing, you know? And he's not bad looking, either."
"Yeah," said Louis with a huge grin on his face, turning to head home. "Yeah, I can tell."
---
He was reluctant to look at the cover of the album after that. There was something in the pit of his stomach that twisted every time he thought of David Bowie, or Ziggy Stardust, posed beside a building, looking out at him. He was terrified that he would agree with Jack and find Bowie attractive. There wasn't much chance to look at the case, though: he kept it hidden almost all the time, wisely, only taking it out when his parents went out.
When Louis did listen to it, he loved it.