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We danced to a lot of songs, each one filled with positivity, and when the last song came to a halt, when we hit the final note, I asked Connor to play the cassette over again.
Having Connor come back into my life felt like a blessing I didn’t deserve. At times, I wondered if he were even real, or if I’d somehow slipped into an unbelievable make-believe world where superheroes really existed and swooped in to save the day.
Talking with Connor was like talking to an old friend you hadn’t seen in years but truly cared for—effortless. All of the charm he’d had two years earlier was still there, tenfold. He didn’t know it, but I was in desperate need of his friendship.
Though, his life coach tasks were a bit overwhelming at times. He’d even given me a list of homework to tackle each morning.
Dance around my bedroom to a positive song.
Say no to someone you love.
Have a cheat meal.
I was still building up the courage to tackle number two and three on the list, but number one came pretty easy for me, seeing how Connor had left of list of positive songs for me to pick and choose from.
“Firework” by Katy Perry
“Best Life” by Cardi B (feat. Chance the Rapper)
“All I Do is Win” by DJ Khaled
“Can’t Stop the Feeling” by Justin Timberlake
“You Got It” by VEDO
His list was a great start. At first, I felt silly doing the act. I didn’t know how it was helping me learn to love myself, but if I could dance in the middle of Times Square as a plum, I could easily dance around my bedroom. I did it first thing in the morning, after taking a shower. I’d wrap my body in a towel and move my body as if there wasn’t a care in the world.
I added more songs to the playlist, too.
“This is Me” by Keala Settle & The Greatest Showman Ensemble
“I Am” by Yung Baby Tate (feat. Flo Milli)
“Brown Skin Girl” by Beyoncé
Even on the mornings when my self-doubt was louder than the music, I danced. On those days, I danced more. I’d began to dance in front of the mirror completely naked, looking at my body, all the flaws that all of my ex-boyfriends used to point out. My stretch marks. My too small chest. My fat ass. All if it stared back at me as I moved my hips.
I began singing along with the songs, allowing them to vibrate all across my skin.
“Oh, hell yeah! It sounds like a dance party in here!” Connor said one early Monday morning, walking into my bedroom waving his hands in the air.
“Oh my gosh!” I screamed, turning around to face him, completely naked. The only piece of fabric on my body was the towel wrapped around my hair.
“Boobs!” he shouted, hurriedly turning around and covering his eyes with his hands. “Oh shit! I’m sorry, Aaliyah! I just heard the soundtrack from The Greatest Showman and I always get excited about The Greatest Showman, and I’ll be honest I didn’t expect to walk in on the greatest show, man,” he rambled, making the redness deepen in my cheeks, but also making me snicker a bit from how embarrassed he’d been for walking in on me. I think his face reddened more than mine.
“Also, sorry for yelling boobs. What am I? A teenage kid who just saw his first set of tits? I mean, it wasn’t. I’ve seen boobs before. Many. Well, not many. But, not few. Definitely not few. I’d seen a completely normal, average amount of breasts throughout my adulthood. Not a weird low amount and not an absurdly high number either. But you know what I mean, yours boobs aren’t the first pair I’ve seen, which means I probably shouldn’t be shouting out boobs toward you like a freaking psychopath even though, I mean, what I’m trying to say is your boobs are worth shouting for. I mean, fuck, I’m going to go now,” he said, his nervous energy shooting throughout his system. He began hurrying away with his eyes covered.
“Connor, watch out for—”
Bam. He walked straight into the doorframe.
He held a hand up and waved. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Okay. Leaving. Bye.”
With that, he was gone, leaving me with no discomfort. Only laughs.
29
Connor
Boobs, boobs, boobs.
Fuck. Not just boobs. They were more than just boobs. They were breasts. Full grown, homemade, deliciously plump and perky breasts. Aaliyah Winters was a masterpiece. I didn’t need to see her naked to remind me of that fact, but holy shit, seeing her naked? Not a regret of mine.
Sure, I should’ve knocked on her door. That was roommate 101, but I wasn’t thinking at all. When I heard good ole Hugh Jackman and his gang singing, my body just responded to the sounds.
