Robby opened the door to his ground level apartment. A gust of cool air from his a/c graced Melek’s exposed skin, providing him respite from the day’s high humidity.

Upon entering, a tidal wave of colors washed over Melek, sending him to the brink of sensory overload. Pictures of album covers from various artists coated the walls, as well as several abstract paintings, both vibrant and exceedingly bizarre.

Each piece of furniture was a different uncomplimentary color. Such stylistic disharmony was an assault to Melek’s eyes. But what truly filled him with awe was Robby’s expansive CD collection, occupying seven humongous cabinets.

Robby hopped onto his maroon colored couch and snatched a remote from his coffee table. Country music began pouring out of his surround sound speakers, filling his apartment with fiddles and strumming guitars.

Robby rested his gambler hat on his chest. “Nothing beats country music. Every song has a story.”

Melek noticed a trend beginning to form. Robby would say something, and Melek would struggle to find an appropriate response. “Cool.”

“What do you like to listen to?”

That question stumped Melek. Not only was he unaccustomed to being asked anything regarding his personal preferences, he simply didn’t listen to much music. Thinking back, all he could recall were the songs playing in the mall. In a panic, he blurted out the first artist that came to mind. “Jason Derulo.”

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. It’s been a while since I was in a pop mood.” He moseyed to one of his cabinets, housing the most CDs Melek had ever seen in one place. Despite never having set foot in a music shop, gazing upon Robby’s collection piqued his curiosity. “My parents had tapes, and their parents had vinyls,” he said, thumbing through his array of vertically aligned jewel cases. “I, on the other hand, grew up with CDs. Ah, here it is.” He took the disc out of its sky blue case, placing it in the sleekly designed display unit resting below his enormous wall mounted TV.

Heavily edited female vocals entered Melek’s ears, drastically altering the apartment’s mood. Once the beat dropped, he was immediately transported to Octavio’s store.

Robby glided across the carpeted floor, ripping Melek away from his daydream. His feet seemed to have a mind of their own, their movements swift yet controlled. “Music and dance have an unbreakable bond,” he said, spinning in place. “How are you not dancing? You don’t feel that rhythm?”

Once he got over the shock of watching someone he once feared break out into dance, all Melek felt was annoyance. His aunt’s scowl flashed in his mind’s eye, giving him a rush of anxiety. It became clear to him that his time was being wasted. “I don’t dance. Didn’t you bring me here for a reason?”

Robby froze, his grin widening as he placed his hat back atop his head. “Did you know fashion and music are also linked? There was this nineties rap duo called Kriss Kross. They were so influential that they had kids wearing their clothes backwards. Crazy, right?”

In the span of only a few minutes, Robby had managed to strip away all of his mystique. Exasperated, Melek responded to his unsolicited history lesson with a blank stare.

“Right,” Robby said flatly. “Follow me.” He leapt over his couch and sped toward his hallway. “You coming?”

Melek, stunned by Robby’s decision to jump over his couch instead of simply walking around it, set his backpack down and tailed him.

They stood before the first door on the right. With Robby’s hand on the brass knob, he turned and said, “Describe how you feel while assembling outfits.”

“Robby, please. The longer I’m here, the more likely it is that my aunt is going to kill me.”

“You’re way too young to be this boring.”

“I’ve had to grow up pretty fast.”

Robby’s eyes hardened. “Fair enough. Just do me this one favor.”

“Fine.” Melek thought back to his most recent mall visit. His stomach contorting with excitement as he perused each store’s catalogue. He recalled the feeling of fabric brushing against his fingertips. The way leather and polyester had their own unique smell. And how elated he felt after finding the perfect complimentary article of clothing. Each store presented another opportunity to lose himself in the infinite number of potential outfits. “Nothing else matters but getting the right combination of clothes. It’s like, when I make outfits, I’m doing what I was put on this earth to do, I guess.”

“Well said.”

Robby opened the door, revealing a room with a twin sized bed surrounded by four large wardrobe cabinets. In contrast to his gaudy living room, the walls bore no decor, and the color scheme was composed of earth tones. “Everyone needs a passion. It’s an expression of one’s essence. I noticed the look you had in your eye when I asked you to describe how you feel while assembling outfits. It’s how I probably look while browsing my favorite music store’s CD collection.” He yanked open one of his beige wardrobe cabinets, exposing a row of hanged clothes.

“I have this quirk,” Robby said. “I hyper focus on one genre of music for a period of time. It may be for days, weeks, or even months.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Melek, as tradition at this point, didn’t really know how to respond to that. “Cool.”

“Remember when I said fashion and music are linked? I adopt the style of whatever genre I’m fixated on at the time. As you can see, I’m currently on a country music bender.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“I’m getting to that. Summer break is about to start, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I need your help. I’ve purchased more clothes than I can count. This is a three-bedroom apartment. The other two rooms are pretty much identical to this one.”

Three rooms full of clothes that varied in color, texture, and style. Melek didn’t think much of life after death, but that sounded like the closest thing to heaven. “No way. And every wardrobe is filled up like this one?”

Robby nodded. “I’m not delusional. I know I don’t have an eye for fashion. I just so happen to have enough money to indulge in my passions.”

Despite being aesthetically unappealing, his apartment screamed excess. How on earth was he able to afford all of this?

“Once Summer break starts,” Robby continued, “I would like you to become my personal stylist. I can pay you whatever you want.”

He desperately wanted to jump at the opportunity, but one question gnawed at him: “Why are you being so nice to me? I don’t get it.”

It was a valid question, yet Melek immediately sensed Robby’s discomfort, betraying the permanent smile plastered on his face. Robby eventually shrugged. “The kindness of strangers has saved me more times than I can count. I guess I thought I’d return the favor.”

One of the few perks of living with an addict was learning how to pick up on the subtle tells people give when they’re lying—a combination of body language and vocal cues. Robby exhibited them in spades.

Then again, getting paid for something he would have easily done for free was the opportunity of a lifetime. Besides, maybe Melek’s instincts were wrong.

“Yo,” Robby said. “You down or what?”

“Can I start tomorrow?”

***

Melek sprinted home with feet as light as silk. He floated through his apartment door, meeting his aunt’s rage head on. Despite getting a bad roll, he beamed in her presence, adding fuel to her wrath.

“Since you think this is funny,” his aunt said. “I’ll give you something to smile about. No TV for a week.”

Melek held in a roaring laugh. She assumed that he shared in her TV addiction.

“You know, I’m not always going to be here—”

“I’m sorry.” Melek had to cut off her typical woe is me act. “A few bullies followed me home. I had to defend myself.”

“Did you win?”

“It was three versus one, but I put up a good fight.”

His aunt smirked. “I guess you are your father’s son. Okay, no TV for three days. Now get changed. We’re getting Chinese for dinner.”

The subsequent weeks moved at a crawl. But the prospect of being someone’s stylist kept him sane throughout the tedious lectures and his classmate’s inane conversations.

Once the last bell of the school year rang, Melek raced home and checked in with his aunt before bolting toward Robby’s place.

Toby Keith’s baritone voice greeted him as he entered the apartment. Robby started dancing, his feet moving at an incomprehensible speed. Melek was in such high spirits that he couldn’t be bothered to cringe.

“Know much about country fashion?” Robby asked.

“Of course.” He had spent weeks studying a plethora of country artists spanning across several decades, comprising a mental database of potential outfits.

And thus, Melek’s position as Robby’s personal stylist began. Melek turned down the cash payments, choosing instead to use clothing as his reward. It was an equivalent exchange. Each outfit Melek composed prompted Robby to purchase one as well.

To ensure his aunt’s ignorance, he hid his new wardrobe in Robby’s apartment, changing clothes as soon as he got there.

Two weeks after the start of their arrangement, Melek entered Robby’s apartment to the sound of Mario’s “Let Me Love You” permeating the living room. This led to Robby going into a passionate case for why early 2000s r&b was the peak of American music.

Bolo ties and cowboy hats shifted to bandana headbands and Timberland boots.

One day, Robby caught Melek bobbing his head to the music. Melek found r&b significantly more digestible, and Robby used that as an opening.

Robby signaled Melek over to him. “If you can successfully perform this dance, I’ll buy you an extra outfit. What do you say?”

Melek embraced this challenge with open arms. What did he have to lose? Besides, there wasn’t an agreed upon timetable, so he could learn it at his own pace.

Robby smoothly transitioned into an amazing display of footwork and body control. It immediately became apparent to Melek that he was not going to learn this dance anytime soon.

But every great journey started with one step forward.

He fumbled his way through his first lesson. Discovering the extent of his lack of rhythm was an embarrassing revelation. Melek sensed Robby’s surprise at how horrible he was at mimicking even the simplest dance move.

Even so, Melek experienced something he previously only got from picking out clothes.

He was having fun.

Losing himself in the music, he’d occasionally go off script and improvise a series of dance moves. Robby refrained from critiquing his ‘free-form’ displays. In fact, he seemed to find joy in Melek expressing himself, regardless of whether he was on beat.

Two months sped by, dwindling his vacation to only a few weeks. Robby had entered his rap phase, but he made sure to add the caveat that he only liked the lyrical stuff. “Screw that poppy nonsense.”

Of all the genres Robby had chosen, ‘lyrical’ rap was easily Melek’s least favorite. The artists were speaking so fast that he couldn’t even parse the lyrics, and the production was nothing more than background noise.

“Ghostface is the greatest rapper of all time!” Robby screamed, violently bobbing his head to a looping beat. “I dare you to name someone with better wordplay.”

“How can anyone dance to this?”

Robby’s face lit up. “Oh, you’re a dancer now? Hold on then. I got something for you.”

Blaring trumpets spread like a wave throughout Robby’s apartment the moment he pressed play. Melek perked up at the funky guitar riff. But once the hypnotic baseline entered the stage, he felt a rush of euphoria.

“‘Blood in the Streets’,” Robby said. “It’s from his most recent album. Nice, right?”

Ghostface Killah’s menacing lyrics blended seamlessly with the production. Melek was so engrossed that he couldn’t utter a response.

“He’s snapping!” Robby yelled.

Melek didn’t know what that meant, but Robby’s tone suggested that it was positive, so he nodded his head in agreement.

“New rappers can’t touch these nineties guys. They aren’t even in the same dimension! And we haven’t even gotten to AZ’ verse yet.”

“I actually really like this.”

“Meaning you didn’t care much for the previous songs?”

“No, I didn’t—”

Robby’s jovial smile morphed into a devious one. “Boring and gullible? That’s a pretty lame combination.”

“Shut up,” Melek jabbed, holding back laughter.

If only he could have foreseen the ramifications of revealing how much he liked that song. It prompted Robby to play it every time Melek visited his apartment. And in typical Robby fashion, he’d go into drawn-out monologues extolling the virtues of nineties rappers.

Robby’s joyful personality went from annoying to contagious. Melek found himself practicing dance moves in his room, annoying his aunt to no end. Despite being devoid of rhythm, Robby never made him feel as silly as he knew he looked.

He even had a positive outlook regarding his crooked teeth. “God had to nerf me somehow!”

With his head held high and his back straight, he walked to Robby’s place every day, providing his aunt with whatever excuse he could muster at the time. Fortunately for him, she grew up in an era where kids staying home all day was a punishable offense.

In a matter of months, Melek developed a bond with Robby, exceeding even the feelings he had for his actual family. Once he entered those four horribly decorated walls, his true self came to light. The mild-mannered teenager he once knew melted away.

They sat in the living room, recovering after an intense dance battle. “Hey,” Robby said while tossing Melek an ice-cold can of soda. “Remember when we first met and you asked me about my past?”

Melek cracked the can open after almost fumbling the catch. “I don’t care about any of that stuff anymore. What you did before doesn’t matter.”

Robby dropped his head. “That means a lot. Thank you.” Melek sensed his genuine vulnerability. But Robby raised his head a second later, reigniting his prideful demeanor. “You know, life isn’t like a movie. Sometimes change isn’t caused by some melodramatic, life-altering event. It can be something as simple as a moment of clarity.”

Here we go again, Melek thought. “Moment of clarity?” Melek didn’t know where this was going, but he had grown accustomed to Robby’s unsought advice.

“Yep. One day, I came to the realization that I was surrounded by people who only liked me for what I could offer them. I had no real friends, and it was all my fault. If life is a series of paths, I made a wrong turn at some point, and I’m just now finding my way back. Sorry, I know this sounds dumb.”

Melek took a sip of his beverage. Robby’s words resonated so thoroughly that he got chills. “You know what? That doesn’t sound dumb at all.”