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 convertible theatre designed for live performances of any kind: acting, presentations, banquets—and most importantly, music.

We snagged the last couple of seats near the front before the theatre slowly filled 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. Instead, I pulled on my noise-canceling 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. Or if she wanted to, she refrained from doing so, and I relaxed.

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: Do you know anyone performing tonight? I've listened to Ebhoni's Youtube MVs, and everyone of course knows Charu, but that's it.

I unfolded the crinkled playbill in my lap, excited to recognize the names. The black and gold colour scheme with crumpled paper cut-out images of musical equipment brought back to mind where Hidden Stars had rung a bell. It was an artist management company with plenty of branches in all departments of music. Formed by immigrant musicians who wanted to make their music visible, they worked on promotions, partnerships with venues and pitching deals to the bigger fish in the market for fellow members.

Anyway, 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 middle-aged woman from Trinidad, I want young people to see themselves reflected on the stage. Why hide when you can do so much more?"

The description was criminally short among the paragraphs of other singers. 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. There was also Ebhoni*, whose clever utilization of the stage lights and minimal set pieces created a dark chic atmosphere that spoke of city heartbreak in her song, Rep It.

And then, of course, there was Charu Dubashi.

The cheers as Hidden Stars' biggest accomplishment stepped onstage felt acutely dedicated to them. From our front seats, I could see the saffron accents of their earrings, shoes and hat that tastefully complemented their dark suit and dress pants. Their stocky figure commanded the stage without effort. But it was the careful way they perched the violin on their shoulder, the slight tremble of their ashy brown hands fingering the strings, and the small smile they flashed at the audience that made me lean forward.

Where the roses lead

Where the gold coins bleed

Down the city sewers

Drowned by the rain

I made the mistake

You're almost gone

I hold onto the thing you hate

For without you

I'd have nothing

To my name.

That was how you captured an audience's attention.

There was only so much noise a half-filled orchestra could make, but Charu beamed all the same and bowed twice before leaving the stage. I'd always thought having live instrument players would enhance the music far more than playing a pre-recorded orchestra arrangement, but that was Charu's entire image: mysterious, sorrowful, and steadfast in the unorthodox decisions they made. Nevermind the lone dramatic spotlight; the emptiness of the stage intensified the experience. They knew exactly what they were doing.

And how did you sing while playing the violin? Not unheard of, but still. My hands hurt from clapping.

The first half of the show passed before I knew it—bright, hypnotic, fast and slow at the same time. 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 concerts ruled.

"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'd taken off my headphones.

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."

"Yes, which was why I recommended you network," Nora said.

True, but also not true. "It's hard, okay? Saying the same thing isn't going to help."

"How about Hidden Stars? Are you not like the people they're looking to join?"

"Well..."

I explained. I'd stayed away from it, partly out of intimidation--I heard they only accepted the cream of the crop; partly because of the commitment and relationship juggling involved--a go-between source for all my gigs and income was only worth the amount of time it'd last before I unintentionally burn that bridge; and mostly because for all the word of mouth, navigating their website and social media reminded me of a labyrinth. They were still up and hot in the public eye. Changing management hands or whatever happened though hadn't left their brand completely unscathed.

I hadn't looked up them in a long while. Maybe they had picked up steam.

"You can't be the only Autistic musician in Toronto," she said.

"No, but..." I shrugged.

Nora touched her forehead. I made a face. I was making excuses for myself. But she wouldn't understand.

Fortunately she changed the subject. "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 amphitheater like rows of dominos. People started to talk.

I held up my hand 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 a shot in the dark, but 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. "Yeah. There's like eight other musicians missing, so the show's going to end early if the remaining musicians don't sing more songs, and well--that's not fair to ask of them. Doesn't help that we barely sold enough tickets to fill half of the seats. If this fails then management won't want to continue with this...."

"What?" I said. "I thought Hidden Stars was dedicated to helping out small brands, not big names. It's not fair! Just because of some bad weather, they won't give it another chance? If you had promoted this more, for example, that would've helped. Does Charu know? Just because you're supporting smaller artists doesn't mean--"

"Tai," Nora interrupted quietly, "You're making her feel blamed for."

Oh shit. "I am so sorry," I said, and I must have repeated that like five times. I really didn't know it'd come out like that.

The stage crew person smiled. "I get it, I really do--maybe you can send them a letter about your concerns." She glanced at her watch. "But intermission's gone long enough. Unless you know anyone who can sing well, I'd better report back."

Canceled 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. I'll get your guitar. But watch out for contracts and the like," she warned. As I watched her rush down the aisle to the exit, it looked like 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 stage 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. It was a good thing I had the foresight to bring my headphones. Bonus points for being 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! It 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 instrument. 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 Tài Vương, coming from Mississauga. I'll be singing a few songs from my first and 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 amphitheater, 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.