One thing I loved about theatres was that you got the bone-rattling experience of a concert without the sweaty bodies and disorganization. The Queen Elizabeth Theatre, located some distance from the edge of Lake Ontario, was a modern theatre designed for live performances of any kind: acting, presentations, banquets—but mostly, music.

We snagged the last couple of seats near the front before the theatre filled in with people and noise. Nora proposed leaving our jackets on our seats to take a break outside, but I declined. The lobby would be just as hectic for me. Instead, I pulled on my noise-cancelling headphones and reverted to text messaging.

Nora asked about my headphones, and I explained it to her. I dreaded the likely follow-up interrogation: If I was Autistic, why didn't loud concerts bother me? Why did I need to have a routine sometimes but not all the time? Couldn't I just get used to certain things more?

But she didn't. She respected my fluctuating boundaries, and that was what I loved about her.

TAI: Did you know that theatres were designed not only to maximize the soundwaves coming from the stage, but also cancel background noise and echoes? Everything, even the seat arrangement, was designed with physics in mind. Like, most people think the seats are stacked in cake-tier style to give everyone a clear view of the stage. But it's also because different sound waves bounce off corrugated surfaces in a way that amplifies the sound coming from the stage and cancels out low-frequency soundwaves. Like the wind or people chatting a few rows away.

TAI: And then there's the rest of the theatre you have to factor in, because it's not just the auditorium. You have to design the rooms for backstage, exits and entrances. I wish there was a day where you could explore the whole theatre, top to bottom, without worrying about being asked what you're doing.

NORA: You studied theatre architecture in uni? I thought it was landscape?

TAI: I did study landscape.

TAI: The program was limited. Back then I liked geography more. I still do. But recently my mind has been straying more into the musical category.

NORA: You always drift closer to your true passions, I suppose. Still, you're very knowledgeable. I swear you could have done a double major.

TAI: Impossible. Uni sucked up my time like a vampire! I just learn about stuff I like. Now I feel all that time has been wasted.

NORA: I know that feeling. I curse my childhood for robbing the things I could have had. But running away has taught me that you still have the rest of your life to carve your dream.

NORA: Oh hey, Ebhoni's performing tonight!

I unfolded the crinkled playbill in my lap, excited to recognize some of the names. We spent hours together dissecting what made their songs stand out from the crowd. But a fair number of names sounded new, like a singer named DeFye.

Artist Spotlight: DeFye

After forty years of watching on the sidelines, DeFye decided to launch her musical career. "Everyone has a dream but only some chase it in the first place. As a trans woman from Trinidad, I want young people to see themselves reflected on the stage. Why hide when you can do so much more?"

Her social media handle only had one post: the cover of her Extended Playlist. The multicoloured letters and pastel aesthetic reminded me of spring.

Like someone blowing out a candle, the overhead lights dimmed, leaving the worn wooden stage illuminated. I removed my headphones.

The host walked onstage. "Welcome to the Hidden Stars event tonight. I, along with the rest of the artists waiting backstage, thank you for coming and showing your support. Some musicians are still commuting from other parts of the Greater Toronto Area. There's some inclement weather coming from the west, but as you know, the show must go on!"

The stage lights dimmed.

The night opened with Jonah Yano, a Toronto-based musician. I hadn't thought he'd fly from Vancouver to do a massively under-promoted show. (I tried to get on top of all of the latest venues going in Toronto, but after a time it became disheartening, so maybe it wasn't as under-promoted as I thought.) He sprinkled his lyrics in his songs sparsely, and let his guitar and your own thoughts fill in the rest of the song's meaning. That took talent; his disjointed lyrics wouldn't make sense on paper alone. But his voice lifted them up to stand straight like a glass metropolis. 

Though I preferred faster-paced songs, Jonah Yano was one of my early inspirations and role models when I first took music seriously. It was rare to see an Asian-Canadian sing about his ethnic experiences authentically.

There were a couple other indie artists too. The band OBGMs had the theatre walls shaking with explosive energy. My bones rattled as we listened to their hits, riding the waves of the drums, electric bass and intense vocals as one entity instead of individuals in an audience.

"Yeah, I'll never fall, never fall in love again

Death to the days that I need to pretend

Death to the days that I need to pretend...."

I suddenly realized that in context, it was an awkward song to listen to with your girlfriend. Or was it? I sneaked a glance at Nora, who looked back at me. She smiled sincerely and shouted so she could be heard. "It's a bit emo but I like it."

"Monty's really into this stuff," I shouted back over the finishing drumroll. We applauded. Some day we should compare all our music playlists. Wonder what that would reveal.

The first half of the show passed before I knew it—bright, hypnotic, fast and slow at the same time. There were artists from all different backgrounds. Each song sent my body vibrating like the strings on my guitar. The melodies and instruments amplified from the speakers washed over me like a physical wave. 

Sometimes people asked why I was bothered by the sound of a ticking clock but I had no problem with a bone-rattling concert. I didn't know. All I knew was that each joyful chord touched my soul, and I wouldn't give away my ability to hear things the way I did for anything.

"Tai, if venues like these are supporting indie musicians, wouldn't you have a good shot at landing a spot?" Nora asked during intermission.

I groaned. "Yeah, but I swear I never hear about these venues! They aren't advertised on their public website. It's like I have to go through some next level backdoor network while knowing the right people. Which I don't. But anyway, what's taking so long?"

We craned our necks to the empty stage. Occasionally a stage crew member would peek from behind the curtains before disappearing.

Restlessness shifted through the amphitheatre like rows of dominos. People started to talk.

I held up my arm as someone who looked like a stage crew member ran up past the aisle. "Why are the musicians not here yet?"

"Weather delays," she replied. "This is one in a million shots, but like, do you know anyone who can fill in for them? Right now?"

"It's that bad?" Nora interrupted.

The stage crew person chewed her thumb. She was frustrated, but not at me. "Yeah. There's like eight other musicians missing, so the show's going to end early if the remaining musicians don't sing more. This is our first time doing something like this. Small brands instead of big names. Doesn't help that we barely sold enough tickets. If this fails then management won't want to do another Hidden Stars event."

Then the artists featured in the playbill.... "That's not fair! Just because of some bad weather, they won't give it another chance?"

She glanced at her watch. "Intermission's gone long enough. Unless you know anyone who can sing well, I'd better report back."

Cancelled concerts were a tragedy. I knew that disappointment too well, where things out of your control interfered with your perfect night, reducing it to a vague memory you wished you didn't remember.

I retreated to a classroom. The applause from the cafeteria sounded like jeers and laughter, mocking my incapacity to understand what was going on. I wanted to hide. I wanted to go backstage and cocoon myself in the stage curtains.

"My guitar's in my car."

"I'm sorry?" the stage member replied.

Nora tilted her head. "Are you sure? You don't need to feel pressured. You said you don't like surprises."

"I don't. But I'd hate to not see the rest of the show. And I..." It was hard to explain.

Unexpectedly, Nora beamed. "Then I wish you the best of luck. This is exciting. I'll get your guitar. But watch out for contracts and the like," she warned. She hadn't regained her no-nonsense attitude completely yet, but as I watched her rush down the aisle to the exit, it looked she'd regained some of her spirit.

"Sign me up," I told the stage person.

—

Twenty minutes later, I felt decently prepared. Nora had retrieved my guitar while the backstage crew had given me the rundown of how things worked.

Backstage was a pressure cooker though. You had people running around and shouting above the booming music of someone else as they opened the show's second half. Meanwhile I had been herded to a messy, unused dressing room to wait it out. Too bad I didn't have time to examine the architecture backstage.

A concert! In the Elizabeth Theatre! Under the title of undiscovered musicians! That had the formality of a royal seal.

Overcome with giddiness, I held out my arms and spun like a helicopter until the floor swayed beneath my feet. The floor thrummed with music. This was like being on the tip of a rollercoaster, so high you could touch the sun. I jumped up and down. If I couldn't get all this out of my system soon, I'd be too jittery to play my guitar!

When applause marked the end of the band's performance, I grabbed my guitar. I reached the curtain area just as the vocalist completed their message to the audience. The drummer mouthed "good luck" to me as he headed back to the green room. I reminded the stage crew members to dim the stage lights so my eyeballs wouldn't feel like they were on fire.

"Next up is a guitarist just breaking into the music world. Please welcome, Tai Vuong!"

My limbs were as light as air walking on stage. I adjusted the microphone, plugged in my guitar, and positioned my feet in a comfortable stance. I stared out into the rows of hundreds of people, their silhouettes barely illuminated.

"Hi." My amplified voice sounded stronger, more confident than I felt. "I'm Tai Vuong, coming from Kingston. I'll be singing my latest album, Unknown Destination."

As I strummed my guitar, building up energy, I settled on tonight's goal: Play like it'd be the last time I'd be doing this.

"I'm riding through a storm along the back of the sky

Waiting for

The ground to form

So I can see the blinking lights

The plane touches the ground

And night turns to day

But I'm still bound

To a million miles away

Is it possible to love

Another town more than here

That fits me like a glove

And doesn't know my fear?

Searching for a way back

I'm looking for a bridge

I can build out of tarmac

And doesn't take more than I give

In my luggage I packed my love for music

But when I bring it out

My voice loses direction, filled with doubt

Nowhere to go, nowhere to find hope

Is it possible to love

Another town more than here

That fits me like a glove

And doesn't know my fear?

Searching for a way back

I'm looking for a bridge

I can build out of tarmac

And doesn't take more than I give.

Searching for a way back

I'm looking for a bridge

Step over the cracks

And find a way to live..."

Before I knew it, a rush of deafening applause rained on me like a summer storm. This wasn't like playing at gigs. The applause bounced off the curves of the auditorium, filling in spaces I didn't know existed, and amplifying it to a level I didn't know was possible.

Dazed, I bowed and ducked behind the curtains, flapping my hands. I felt like my skin was glowing, emanating pure happiness. People gave me weird stares. I didn't care. Stimming didn't hurt anyone, and it made me feel good.

Long after returning to my seat in the amphitheatre, I could still hear and feel the audience's applause when I closed my eyes. The magical stage lights, the way my fingers flew over the guitar strings, Nora's pictures of me on stage captured with her Samsung's Galaxy S 10 sixteen-megapixel camera. Her mouth was moving while she scrolled through the photos, but I hadn't paid attention to what she said. All I remembered was her smiling.

Did I make other people feel the same way? Was it too much to hope for? I wouldn't know but if I could bring my own smile offstage, then I guessed history didn't always repeat itself.