SPACE ODDITIES

BOWIE

Zila didn't answer his question. She preferred having an internal conversation.

He seems glad about it. What's up with him? Can God manipulate someone up to this point?

"You like rock music," Bowie repeated and pointed at her pencil case, and the book covers full tags with lyrics and logos of different groups.

"Yes," Zila replied, not wanting to feed long sentences that Bowie would turn into a conversation.

"My parents love rock music too," Bowie quickly added.

Continue Bowie, continue, say anything as long as the conversation keeps going, he repeated to himself.

Speaking to Zila was an endeavor for him, used to having girls initiate things Bowie did not know how to continue. Still, he insisted in a way that made it complicated for Zila to ignore him any longer.

"I guess that's why they named you Bowie," Zila said while she drew on her notebook.

It was the first complete sentence she made.

Bowie felt the emotion build up as if he had heard his baby's first words.

"Yeah, they love all that era," he replied with the smile of a door-to-door salesperson.

"My fathー," Zila stopped.

Bowie picked up the conversation, "there are many cool groups like Pink Floyd."

"Pink Floyd, do you like them? What's your favorite album? Most people say their music is a little weird; they're avant-garde."

Shit, he got me, Zila thought.

Zila's eyes sparkled; this, too, was a first. The young woman was different; the girl twinkled when she talked about the music she appreciated. Zila forgot her troubles and to whom she spoke at that instant.

"I know little about them compared to other groups, but I'd love to learn more," Bowie hoped she would take him under her wing.

They talked about music while working, and time flew by.

Even the heatwave of the burning aura of jealousy certain girls and a few boys sent in her direction did not burst the bubble. The lesson was over. Done with the moment, Zila packed her belongings and left. Bowie followed her out of the class.

"Zila, Zila, wait up," Bowie yelled and hurried to catch up.

It was weird to hear her name called by someone other than a teacher.

Bowie stood in front of her to block her path and took out his phone,

"I was thinking since we'll be working together, we should exchange numbers."

"I don't have a phone."

"You don't have a phone?"

"No, I don't," Zila repeated with a blunt stare.

Bowie glared back at her; she didn't back down an inch. Another girl would immediately exchange numbers. Another girl would probably note down his number on every textbook, just if something happened to her phone.

"You don't have a phone," Bowie repeated with a bit of insistence, but Zila's stare remained blank.

She's good; her poker face is perfect; anyone would believe her.

"Okay fine," Bowie said in a surrendering tone of voice.

Zila turned to leave.

"Where are you going? English is this way," Bowie pointed behind himself.