W ills Lager was a god—little g, not big .

“This is unbelievable, si ?” Jamie’s voice went loud, shouting over the massive crowd as Hawthorne played. The arena was filled to capacity, lights and smoke spilling over the crowd and I was right there, with my best friend, singing and screaming and laughing because this was the music of our souls .

“Look how close we are!” I could make out the sweat on Lager’s brow and the cigarette he had tucked behind his ear. “How did we get so close ?”

Jamie bent down, gaze flashing on the stage, to Lager and the sweet moan his guitar made. He held his hand next to mine, but didn’t touch me. “Chica, we got here five hours early, gracias a Dios for general admission!” We were supposed to be at the freshman end-of-year dance. Together. But Jamie’d landed tickets from his uncle and we caught three buses to get to Indy. Damn the dance. This was Hawthorne .

That moaning guitar went silent, and the lights fell. Darkness draped around us like a cloud and I held my breath, grabbing Jamie’s arm, needing to touch him, too excited to know what would come next. There was a hum around us, and shadows moved on the stage, but no one made a sound, no crew, no band members; it was just the buzz and bated breath from the crowd that kept the arena from being void of sound .

And then, a slow inhale and Lager belted out two words, dipped in that low note, shooting excitement and joy and utter thrill through my bones .

Hurt me …

Next to me Jamie laughed, a soft, low sound that was awed, not amused. Glancing at him, I saw the same thing I always did—his sweet, warm smile, his beautiful face, and the shine of happiness that only crowded his eyes when he heard great music. To us, Lager was the greatest .

“Dios mio,” he said, amazed, smile stretching as the voice bellowed, echoing across the arena. “It’s magic.” Jamie looked down at me, pulling me to his side. “This music can take us anywhere, mami. Don’t you see it ?”

I did, but what I found magical wasn’t on the stage. Jamie tilted his head, squeezing my shoulder before he leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I’m glad it was you I saw Hawthorne with. Only you would understand this .”

He’d never called me mami before. It was sweet, and I liked the way it sounded coming from him, like its own melody .

Everyone has a Know. It’s a fingerprint of the heart, something made for you alone. Something you search for without ever knowing why. But like most good things we want for ourselves, the Know is elusive. I was getting ideas about my Know .

Lager stood then, the music shifting, but I only noticed Jamie at my side, his sweet smile never lowering, the scent of his skin, the warmth of his kiss still there on my forehead .

Oh shit, I thought, wondering what had happened. A glance at him, a return of that smile and it hit me .

He was my Know .

My mother promised it would happen. She swore it could come along from no apparent place at all—the smoky confines of a bar, deep in a lonely corner where you think you can hide yourself from the rest of the world. Maybe, in the back row of a large bookstore, where you’re set to disappear to fictional worlds you only dream of visiting, with men that make the trip well worth the rocky road you took to get there. Sometimes, your Know comes right at you, lays on a smile that is equal parts tease and invitation .

Then, there is a touch—like a kiss. Something small, seemingly inconsequential—the smallest graze of fingertips on skin; the swift, cool brush of lips on cheek. Then the inconsequential becomes anything but .

You see. You touch. You taste and in that moment, with that person, you simply know . They are the end all, be all. They are the memory you fight never to lose. They are the part of yourself you never knew was there, but miss with a passionate desperation .

They are the one; the person in all of space and time, the whole of every particle, that you simply cannot do without .

I was fifteen that night, watching Lager and filled with the magic his music made. Right next to me was my Know. He came at me like a bolt of lightning; sudden, without the rumbling announcement that he’d be my one. My Know came in a leather jacket with a Ramones patch sown into the shoulder and dirty threadbare Levis. It came with the background sound of Hawthorne playing and the sweet, cool whip of surrender behind every word .

Jamie was my Know then and, though he didn’t deserve it, he was still my Know today .