All the Right Notes

by Dominic Lim

When my dad wants something, he’ll keep asking for it, no matter what anyone tells him. He uses the slow trickle of guilt to work its way through the person, waiting for them to eventually yield.

“Francisco’s my real first name. Quito’s just the short version.”

Paquito is short for Francisco,

Then the room explodes. It isn’t the pipes that have erupted. It’s high-pitched squeals and shrieks, which peal out from men and women both.

Emmett Aoki is in Broadway Baby.

In a few weeks, we’d graduate. After the all-too-brief summer break, we’d be going our separate ways. We didn’t have all the time in the world.

“The songs that run through my head, you’re always the one singing them. I can’t hear anyone else. I write for you because that’s all that will come out.

I was there with Emmett. Next to Emmett. I wanted…I wanted to be with Emmett. I was trying to figure out a way to let him know how I felt about him.

My arm against his chest. Rubbing. Moving downward.

Wetness in my hand. Between my legs. Someone rolled over. Me or him?

Or did we not talk because we were ashamed of what was happening?

If we weren’t talking, then I wasn’t checking in. Which means I didn’t ask his permission.

And yet one of the scenarios had emblazoned itself onto my brain. The one about date rape. Mainly because it had involved two cute upperclassmen. The message came across loud and clear. No meant no. And we couldn’t automatically assume that silence meant everything was okay. We were supposed to be on the same page at every point during the encounter. But I’d never asked him if he was okay with what I was doing.

Only Emmett’s singing could have smoothed out my inconsistencies, saving me with his ability to make me better than I had any right to be. When Emmett sang, all my problems disappeared. There were no mistakes.

Maybe what I had done crossed a line last night. Maybe what I’d done was inexcusable. But for him to leave without a word, without giving me the chance to explain myself, apologize, grovel—anything?

again. Emmett abandoned me because I did something I never should have even thought about, let alone gone through with.

I was blinded by lust. Or loneliness.

I’d allowed myself to dream when I should have been content with reality.

Then, with the expanse of his hands, he takes the sides of my face, pulls me to him, and kisses me.

Our kiss isn’t only transformative—it’s synergistic. Vital. Like being underwater or in space,

In a way, our kiss is the natural culmination of what we’ve always found ourselves doing together: making perfect, glorious music.

We swell and crescendo. And climax.

He strokes my cheek, and a few tears drip onto his fingers. “I knew what was going on the whole time. I even pretended to be cold just to get you to hold me. Do you remember that? I was too chickenshit to touch you. So I made you do it instead.”

Visions of him cavorting around in some private hotel room in San Francisco with some woman or man—or both—raced through my head, making it coil up with metallic tension.

No matter what people say about you, no matter how they try to define you, just remember that you get to decide who you are.

tell them the truth. When you don’t, they lose faith in you.”

One day I’ll break through And do what it takes to Be more than this simple disguise Until then, it’s clear I’m giving in to my fears By always hiding myself in these lies

“He always loved music because he always loved you. And he always loved you because he loved your music.