Watch Me Shine
I desperately need a book of stamps. I’m going to walk to the FedEx store.
I’ve been working out religiously. The two areas I have focused on are my abs and my booty. I’ve slimmed that ass down considerably (without losing its ghetto roundness) and I am proud.
After the 150 crunches and 150 leg exercises it’s time to towel off, dress, and leave.
I slide open the closet and spot the jeans I must wear. They are an acid-washed charcoal grey and an extremely slim fit. In the past they have often been more work to put on than they’re worth. But I know today will be different.
And I’m right. The denim slides easily over my bountiful butt and lovingly hugs my curves. I twirl in front of the mirror, once my biggest foe, trying to catch my body from every angle. Topless, traces of muscle definition in my abs are visible above the low-rise fly. Perfection.
I’m not going to wear a bra. I don’t want to. They’re hot, uncomfortable, and I am feeling so proud of my natural corporal state that to alter it in any way seems sacrilegious. I pick out a snug black cotton spaghetti-strap top. The soft material feels powder-light and the warm weather will keep my nipples from showing through. Best of all, the snugness lets my hard-worked abs etch themselves in the weave, and every so often the hem rises up and reveals skin.
I shove my ATM card and ID into the tight back pocket, and my iPod mini into the front. I can’t find my earphones so I take the ones from my old Discman. Sure, they’re enormous and old-fashioned, but they’ll do.
I press play on my prepared song list and walk out the door.
I’m not your average type of girl…1
My flip-flops slap the pavement as I climb toward Hollywood Blvd.
I’m gonna show the world the strength in me…
My hips find the rhythm and with each step they snap one way and then the other in time. The music fills my head, the world. Suddenly, all I see has a soundtrack.
I’m about to switch my style and soon things may get wild…
I turn the corner onto the busy street. A wayward strand of chestnut-auburn hair falls in front of my blue-grey eyes. I don’t sweep it back. I love the way the wind makes it tango against my smooth cheek like a butterfly kiss. My thick waves are bundled up in a claw clip and the ends are spilling over in a flattering cacophony.
I will prove I can conquer anything…
My footsteps, in time with my hips, find the beat. Thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. My lips are mouthing the words. They dry out after each chorus and I lick them in preparation for the next verse.
Uneven concrete borders the endless traffic. I navigate the cracks and sidestep the dirt from a nearby construction site. The eyes are upon me. Eyes everywhere. Just below the beat and above the din of a jackhammer, I hear a worker whistle low and long.
Better watch out, going for the knockout…
But the sound cannot register in any meaningful way. I am lost in the pulse. The sidewalk fades and the emerald patches of lawn spin like a mossy disco ball. My breath comes in and out in time with my hips, my heart thumps in tune with my feet. Thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Every muscle twitch, every blink, every nod of my head, is trapped in the rhythm.
The tops of my buttocks peek out over the ridge of my jeans. The flesh fills in the dome-like structure separating it from my lower back. I can feel the wind upon it. And the eyes. The eyes. Always the eyes.
Someone pulls up next to me and honks their horn. It cannot reach me where I am. He honks again, and yells.
Not gonna give up until I get what’s mine…
The light up ahead at La Brea and Hollywood turns green. The cars ignite prematurely and the slacking left-turners punch their horns. I jump. The permanent crowd of people circles up on the other side, heads bent in reverence at the start of the Walk of Fame. Here are eyes focused elsewhere. A surprising jolt of indignation disrupts my relief.
My torso plays at small circles. I can feel my shirt ride up and I don’t care. My obliques tighten, forming a diagonal on each side heading toward the center. Every so often I shut my eyes. I have to. The music overwhelms me.
“Mmm. Tasty.”
The masculine disharmony comes from behind me. Am I an apple pie? I pretend I can’t hear him as I take more deliberate steps toward the corner. I tug my shirt down a little and pull my pants up a little higher. I don’t want to be dessert.
I’m hot now so you better step back…
I reach the crosswalk. I look left and right and see no hunger. I do a slithery dance while I wait for the light to turn green. My mouth forms soundless words. Thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Now another set of eyes on my left. I can feel them crawl over my breasts and rest on my twitching torso. As I step into the street, they dart for mounds that are glimpsing over the belt loops once again. They remain glued there until I reach the other side.
There’s nothing stopping me…
I click pause and the world goes quiet. I walk arrhythmically into the FedEx store. Everyone seems so nice. All three employees are engaged in helping meet my needs. I smile awkwardly, aware of the older man they have abandoned at the counter.
I’m taking full control…
I buy the booklet of stamps and slip the earphones on once again. I’m not ready to go home. The music is too entrancing and the day too alive. I keep moving, and as I lose myself in the music again, I know this time what I must do. Someone gives out a mating squawk from the bus stop. I laugh. He thinks he’s won. Then he sees I’m laughing at him.
Bet you don’t think I can take it…
And as my footfalls resume their thump tha-thump, tha-thump, and my hips sing back up with near-coital rotations, I start to raise my chin and staple a confident smile on my face.
My mind and body are strong….
The song changes and it throws my rhythm off. I stop walking for a moment to get my bearings. Dunna-dunna-dunnn….Aaaaahhhhh!! Oh yes, this song. I smile broadly.
You’re crazy bitch, but you fuck so good I’m on top of it.2
Is this sexist? I wonder. No. I am a crazy bitch. And I do fuck so good. The tempo is faster here. DunNa. DunNa. DunNa. My gait becomes more erratic, my hips popping, my torso twirling, my head tap, tap tapping, feet slap slap slapping. I purse my lips and kiss the eyes, cries, and subtle fears goodbye. I want to pull my shirt up over my head and run home topless. I worked hard for this body. Why does showing it off have to be shameful?
I want to stand and let the sun brown my crazy bitch breasts. Soft skin, muscles shifting beneath as the whole body sways and pops and thumps and rocks and thrusts and rolls to the beat beat beat of the music. Did these rockers know I could be beautiful? I am neither entrée nor dessert. I am neither pet nor plaything. I am my own.
Watch me shine.3
1 Lyrics from “Watch Me Shine” by Joanna Pacitti
2 Lyrics from “Crazy Bitch” by Buckcherry
3 Lyrics from “Watch Me Shine” by Joanna Pacitti