7 Fireworks that go bang, bang

Quang has a brown paper bag. Inside the bag is lunch from my favorite food cart. He always knows exactly what to order: a #3 sandwich with extra pickles on the side. And he always gets a #3 sandwich, too, and gives me his extra pickles.

I could eat pickles for days.

I grab my coat and bag, and we go to the roof of the bakery. There is a picnic table here for the staff to take a break and get fresh air. The weather today is cool, but pleasant. Usually the air smells a lot like fresh bread, but it’s still good to be outside. We finish eating, and while Quang prefers sitting on the side of the picnic table with shade, I enjoy the sunshine on my face.

“Play me a song,” says Quang out of the blue.

I freeze. I can’t move. I can’t even breathe. Why does he want me to play him a song?

“You have your ukulele in your bag, don’t you?” he asks.

I can’t lie. I always have my ukulele in my bag. That’s why I play a ukulele. It’s small. I can carry it in my bag everywhere I go. So, yes, I have my ukulele in my bag right now.

Still, I say nothing.

Does he know that I have been trying to write a song for him? Or am I just acting weird?

“So play me a song.”

He must know. And now he wants me to play the song I wrote. But I haven’t written anything!

“Here,” says Quang, as he hands me the ukulele from my bag. “Show me the jumping fleas!”

I try to smile. I try to look him in the eye, but even now, after 10 years, I sometimes feel so shy. I sometimes feel very nervous. I sometimes feel very vulnerable.

I want to write a song for Quang. I want to write a song that says in music all the things I cannot say with words alone. I want to create something just for him.

My mind jumps back in time. The weather makes me think of Francisco’s sunshine. My racing heart reminds me of Abdi’s drumbeat. And when I overhear Veronika’s laughter from the bakery downstairs, I instantly jump to my feet so that I do not break tradition. Each of these things reminds me of my wish, my goal, my dream—and my failure.

Quang looks at me from across the table and smiles.

So I try. I try to make music. I try to play the perfect notes. I try to sing the perfect words. I want to show Quang 10 years of love through the four strings of my ukulele. But all that comes out is three plinks and a plunk:

My. 
Dog. 
Has. 
Fleas.

I am so embarrassed. I am horrified. I am mortified. What did I do? Quang was surely expecting something special—sunshine and moonbeams, a marching band with red and white confetti, or a Ukrainian wedding where a simple kiss can turn something bitter into something sweet.

I close my eyes because I cannot even look at Quang right now. And then I hear what sounds like an echo:

Your.
Dog. 
Has. 
Fleas.

Quang continues to improvise:

But it ain’t no real disease ….
Wiggle those toes and scratch these knees.
Your dog has fleas.

I open my eyes. Quang blinks his eyes at me. He wants me to continue. And so I do.

Plink, plink, plink, plunk!

I start to sing:

My dog—

Quang interrupts, raising his hands as if he is performing on stage of a theater.

Your dog—

We start to sing together.

Our dog has fleas!
But it ain’t no real disease …

My turn:

Give him a hug, give him a squeeze—

Quang’s turn:

Just don’t give him any more fleas!

We finish this part together:

Give him a hug, give him a squeeze!
Just don’t give him any more fleas!

I can’t believe what is happening. We have never done this before. Quang and I are making music together. We are harmonizing! And it’s a song about dogs and fleas! Ha!

I strum a little bit and then change keys. That means all the notes of the melody are now one step higher. Changing keys is something musicians do to add energy to a song. It gives the song momentum, which means that it keeps it moving forward, like reaching the top of a hill and now, all of a sudden, you’re rolling down the other side. It’s the same hill, but you’re moving faster and it feels even more exciting.

My dog has fleas—

Your dog has fleas—

Our dog has fleas,
But it ain’t no real disease.
I don’t have any expertise—
          —but you can act as you please—
I don’t have any expertise—
But my dog—
          —your dog—
                   —our dog—
                              —has fleas!

I’m not sure what Quang thinks, so I stop on a funny note.

We are just making this up as we go, after all! Songs like this often follow a familiar pattern. But that’s one more thing I love about Quang: He can see what’s not yet there. That must be why he paints invisible paintings. But today, I want to show him what I see. I want him to see what is already there. So I ask myself, “What if I changed the words?”

Plink, plink, plink, plunk!

I love you, Quang.
We are the yin and the yang.
Together we are fireworks that go bang, bang.
          We are a sweet wedding toast and a noisy drumline.
          We are midnight moonbeams and daytime sunshine.
You’re my lemon pie, and I’m your fluffy meringue—

Plink, plink, plink, plunk!

I love you, Quang.

“I love you, too, Alma,” says Quang. “And I love your new song.”

“Quang,” I say quietly and with great respect. “This is not my song. This is your song.”