Dear D. B.,
I was there, sitting on the floor in front of the television, watching The Midnight Special, and there you were. I was stuck on you from that first time I saw you.
You were special. I had never seen anything like you before, standing there, commanding that stage with your bright red punked out mullet, pale make up and glitter eyes. You sang like a bird, words that suddenly made sense to me. From that moment on, I was changed. So much so that the nuns at St. George Catholic School had no idea what to think of me when I walked into school with my usually shoulder length hair cropped into that shade and dyed red.
My mother would kindly tolerate my playing and replaying of that album. She never knew how much I loved you from afar. She never knew that, in those dark nights, long after she went to sleep, I would play that album and I would wish so hard I would actually become you. I was Ziggy, dancing on the imaginary stage, taking over the world, just like you.
Even now, I can honestly say, I stop in my tracks when I hear your voice. You've aged well. And the constant chameleon you are has made it possible for us to grow old together. Sure, you had some musical moments that I did not understand but, underneath it all, I knew that Ziggy would prevail and, usually, your next step in the dance would be better than the last.
So, there is it, for all the world or the two readers I have to see! You are and have always been my crush since that night in 1974 when I saw you on the Midnight Special. Long live the thin white duke!
Mary
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