September 3, 1987. I was almost 17, which would have made
Jared almost 15. Jared had presented and won an excellent case for missing
school that day, something that never happened in our home. My foot never left
the pedal and the pedal never left the floor after we hit the interstate, and
so the 100-mile drive from our home in Madison, Connecticut up to Foxborough,
Massachusetts took just over an hour in the big blue family Ford Club Wagon
Chateau van. Jared sat in the passenger seat, grinning like a cat with all the
milk and fidgeting like a man that had just landed in a bed of poison ivy.
“Is this really happening?” My little brother laughed.
“It is,” I replied over the whine of the redlined engine.
I parked the van in the parking lot with a million other
vehicles, and together we walked towards the thickening crowd.
“This sucks,” Jared worried at the sight of the long
people-snake that coiled around the stadium.
“Don’t worry, it’s general admission; we’ll get close.” I
promised.
Jared followed me as I wandered around the stadium, looking
for the right spot and the right moment.
“Let’s do it,” I shouted, grabbing his hand and running for
the head of the snake.
Moments later we were well positioned near the front of the
line, sure to be on the field within seconds of the gate’s opening.
“Have you done that before?” Jared asked.
“Nope; that was just for you,” I assured him.
Less than an hour later we were standing in front and center
of the stage, just far enough back to see rear of the stage, but close enough
to it to see the color in the roadie’s eyes as they rushed about, prepping
every needful thing.
It was hot and humid, and after a few hours of standing in
the center of an anxious, sweating, and much older crowd, I was feeling
nauseous and tired. Jared on the other hand, wouldn’t have noticed if someone
had started to peel his fingernails off with needle nose pliers. He stared at
that stage, waiting.
The sun set at last, affording us some relief. Something about
the dark makes people lose their inhibitions, which for me makes them fun to
watch, and so I spent the next hour pointing out the more bizarre members of
the crowd to Jared. He would turn and look for a moment, nod in agreement with
a laugh, and then return his attention to the stage. He was not going to miss
that moment.
He didn’t. And what a moment it was.
The man didn’t even come out on stage for the first song,
not that we could see anyway. He was somewhere out there in the darkness, singing
as dancers in strange costumes beating drums dropped from the rafters, sliding
down ropes amid flashes of colorful light.
A sudden silence and darkness fell, followed by a burst
of light as the massive form of a spider lit up the night sky over our heads.
And then that voice.
“Up until one hundred years ago…”
The story of the Glass Spider continued as a figure, seated
on a chair, holding a telephone in one hand and the crowd’s adoration in the
other dropped from the belly of the spider.
Bowie.
I looked over at Jared just to make sure he was still
standing, his feet still on the ground. He was, with his eyes fixed on that
colorful, wonderful, masterful figure on stage.
I don’t remember much after that other than absolute
amazement. Ziggy played guitar that night, and I was there to witness the
magic.
With Jared.
Jared was the true Bowie fan; I had just offered to drive. Not
that I hadn’t appreciated the hours and hours of Bowie records Jared had made
us listen to in the attic bedroom we four brothers shared. I didn’t know just
how important that trip together would come to mean to me in the years that
followed.
This morning, almost thirty years later, I saw the news of
Bowie’s passing, and then heard the sound of Ziggy’s guitar (on vinyl) coming
from my daughter’s bedroom. A wet smile warmed my cheeks.
I don’t typically mourn for celebrities; they are people
that have to eventually die, just like anyone else.
And I don’t mourn Bowie’s passing.
What I do mourn is not being there to see Jared light up in
that moment.
That moment when the Starman came and met him, and blew his
mind.
