Dedicated to David Bowie, the Starman

"What do you think is out there?"

I gazed up at the stars while I waited for my friend's response. The summer air was calm and cool and the night seemed to feel alive. I turned my attention to the outline of the pine trees reaching the sky and their contrast with the sparkling ensemble above.

It was well past ten o'clock, as we sat in the bed of my friend's 1965 Ford pickup--recently handed down from her father--and listened to the radio. It had become our ritual to escape our lives and hang out in the woods ever since I discovered it a few months back. Now that it was well into summer vacation, weekend and occasionally weekday nights were spent in the forest. We wanted to take advantage of our time before entering our final year of high school.

"I don't know," she replied, peering up at the black sky. "I just imagine a lot of time and space." She expanded her arms in emphasis.

"Well, obviously. But there's got to be more than just us--like aliens or something."

She laughed briefly and though I joined in, I imagined her thinking about the absurdity of the idea. To her, it was simply a figment of my imagination, but I recalled the conspiracies we had heard many times. Considering the world was fascinated with aliens and space--especially after the recent moon landings--it was no surprise we talked about it often.

"But seriously," I continued. "Don't you ever wonder about that?"

"I think you've watched too much Star Trek, Jamie," she joked.

"And I think you're too much of a skeptic, Nancy," I said. She brushed off my mockery with a laugh and pushed my shoulder. We were the Mulder and Scully of teenage best friends--that is, if the X-Files had existed in 1973. "Don't you ever wish that there was life out there--something bigger than us? Well, I guess I do--that there was something more exciting to our reality. Sometimes I wish I could escape and live on Mars."

Nancy sighed. "Well, you got me there," she said.

"That's why I like to come out here and look at the stars. It's special to me. It's like the next best thing, you know?"

"Yeah, I can dig that. Speaking of, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind an intrusion on your 'special' hangout spot." Nancy raised her fingers as air quotes and grinned at me.

It was my turn to be skeptical. "What are you getting at?" I said, squinting at her.

"You know what I'm getting at. The gang would love it out here and you know how I've been after Kyle."

A disgusted groan escaped my lips. "If you bring them out here, I'd have to find another hangout."

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a drag! It'll be fun and I know how you like Josh. He'd come out here, too."

"Don't use that against me," I replied, but I couldn't help but smile at her craftiness. "Seriously, though, this is our hangout. Why should we ruin it?"

"It wouldn't ruin it."

"How do you know? They'll probably claim this place as their own."

"But we've hung around them before. Why would this be any different?"

"Because...it's secluded. Don't they smoke joints all the time? No, thanks." I climbed over the side of the truck and landed on the ground. I reached inside the passenger window to tune the radio channel when I noticed the clock staring at me. "Wow, it's getting pretty late," I said, as I pulled my head out of the truck.

Nancy didn't move an inch. "What time is it?"

"It's almost 12:30."

"Oh my God," she exclaimed, before hopping over the side of the truck and opening the driver's door. "My dad will kill me."

"Well, at least you've got one to kill you." I climbed into the truck as well and continued searching for a radio station that suited our tastes.

"Jamie, just because your parents are always working doesn't mean they don't care about you. It's just the opposite, actually."

I sighed. "Well, it's hard to see it like that sometimes," I mumbled, thinking about the long nights my mother had to endure as a diner waitress. I recalled the evening she told me she was taking the job. It was only a few months before but the meltdown was still clear in my mind. Dad is gone all the time, I had shouted. I don't need you to be gone, too! Doesn't he make enough money for us? But my complaints were useless, as she used the stock market crash as her defense. She would tell me I should be happy she could even find a job. Times were tough and the recession only minimized her chances of employment. Plus, with the impending oil rationing, which we had already seen beginning with the lines of cars at gas stations, my father--a truck driver--could be facing a decreasing wage. The fact I couldn't deny that truth only frustrated me further. "Plus," I added, "they want me to start working, so I've been babysitting for our neighbor lately."

"Oh right, how's that going so far?"

I shrugged. "The kids are maniacs but other than that, it's been okay." I laughed before continuing, "But my mom doesn't realize that with me gone during the day and her working nights, I hardly get to see her. I'm having dinner alone most nights. I just wish things were back to the way they were."

"I'm sure she realizes all that, Jamie. Look at my dad, though--ever since Mom died, he's never been the same. I know he's trying to continue for me, but I can tell he struggles with it. He has no desire to enjoy life, and when he's feeling down, it feels like he doesn't even care about me. When she was going through her chemotherapy, I always thought I would take it the hardest if she died. I guess I was wrong." Nancy dropped her chin on her chest, tears welling up in her eyes.

I remained silent for a few seconds, my guilt setting in. "I'm sorry for complaining," I said, switching off the radio and the lively guitar riff streaming from it.

"No, keep it on," she said. "It helps me."

At her bidding, I switched it back on but kept the volume low. "I can't believe it's been two years already," I said, leaning my head back on the headrest.

"Me neither." Nancy wiped her tears away and took in a breath. Sitting up, she added, "Just don't feel bad about your mom and dad always working. I know he's gone for weeks at a time, but at least he will come back. Plus, you have your mom. I'm sure she misses him as much as you do."

"You're right."

"Oh," she continued, "and don't worry about me, okay?"

"10-4," I said, smiling as I used trucker slang in agreement.

Cranking up the radio, her demeanor changed completely. "I love this song," she said. "I'm kind of obsessed with it right now."

I laughed, as Paul McCartney's "Another Day" began to resonate through the cab. She started up the truck's roaring engine and sang along with the song as she backed up. I marveled at her ability to change the spectrum of her emotions so quickly. In the recent years, she had learned to stay strong and hide her self-pity. I only wished I had learned that myself--to look on the bright side, even if it was difficult to find.

We drove away from the woods and towards the outskirts of the city, where pine trees became fewer and homes took their place. Even though the forest had become my sanctuary, I could always rely on my best friend as we entered our realities again. Every night, we came back light-hearted and clear-minded.

Fifteen minutes passed before Nancy broke our silence. "Here you are," she said, as the brakes squeaked in front of my house.

"Aw, just when they play the best song," I whined.

"Yeah, well Bowie or no Bowie, I need to get home."

"Okay, okay," I laughed, putting my hands up in surrender and jumping out in front of the picket fence. "I'll see you later."

"Catch you on the flip side!" she shouted with a wave, taking off before I had stepped away.

As the music faded, I jogged up the porch steps and approached the front door. We lived in a plain white house with a tiny yard, but it was just the right size for our family. I had lived in it as long as I could remember and grew to love it despite all its imperfections.

Just inside the door, I could hear collar tags jingling, as I peered at my key through the darkness. When I unlocked the door, I was greeted by a mass of dog fur. I flipped on the light switch, illuminating the kitchen, and bent on my knees to pet our St. Bernard.

"Alright, Sheba," I said, as she began to topple me over. "Calm down."

I stood up and walked through the kitchen, her toenails clicking on the floor behind me. They stopped when I paused to read a note on the counter. It read-

Leftovers in the fridge. See you in the morning.

- Mom

I cringed at the thought of eating after the evening Nancy and I had spent stuffing ourselves with burgers, fries, and chocolate shakes. I left the note and continued on to my room, dropping my bag on the floor and jumping on the end of my bed to reach for the radio.

Even though I wished my mom didn't have to work so late, I did enjoy one thing: my freedom to play the radio as loudly as I wanted--that is, if the neighbors didn't hear and complain. However, the nights she didn't work, I had to keep the radio so low that I couldn't hear it. What was the point in that?

After tuning to the station that still played the Bowie single, I pulled open my drawer and rummaged through my pajamas. I sang and danced along with the song as I attempted to change, while Sheba curled up on her bed and watched.

And these children that you spit on

As they try to change their worlds

Are immune to your consultations

They're quite aware of what they're going through

Turn and face the strange

Ch-ch-changes

Don't tell them to grow up and out of it

I threw my clothes carelessly in a pile and leaned back on my bed, still singing along. However, the upbeat song was soon replaced by a ballad, and I was drifting off to sleep before I even knew it--but it didn't last for long.

My eyes fluttered open, as my ears were awakened by a disturbing noise. I lifted my head off my pillow and realized it was the radio--any sign of music was completely gone and static had taken its place. My lamp was still lit, so I glanced at my clock, which read ten after one. I sat up, groaning from the irritating din.

"What's going on?" I said, glancing at Sheba, who didn't seem to care. "The station should still be playing."

I reached over and attempted to tune it to a different station, but only static was returned. Leaning my ear closer to the speaker, I vaguely heard a song on the other side. But no matter how carefully I turned the dial, it wouldn't come through any clearer.

"What's wrong with you?" I said, staring at my radio. I sighed, as I heard our station wagon pull into the driveway. Abruptly, I switched off the radio. "Forget it. I need to go to bed anyway."

Before my mom realized I was still awake, I crawled back into bed and turned out my light--the obnoxious static still lingering in my head.

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2/8/18: In honor and celebration of SpaceX's successful launch of the Falcon Heavy on Tuesday, as well as their paying homage to David Bowie, I present my first chapter of COSMIC.

I'm really excited to share this with you all. How did you like it? Please vote and comment your thoughts!

Fun fact: I based Jamie's St. Bernard on my mom's when she was growing up. It was also named Sheba.

7/13/18 Update: If you read my sneak peek of this chapter, you may have noticed some changes (no pun intended) to the two songs featured. I decided on a couple that fit better in those scenes.

Speaking of, what other Bowie song is referenced? Hint: the answer is in the title and media.