Backstage [discontinued version]

Chapter 7

Sleep had evaded me like that certain pencil you couldn't find when it mattered the most. On the plus side, replaying the entire concert in my head and reliving the lights and sounds felt like a good use of my time. My senses remembered pretty much everything from yesterday—something I loved about being hypersensitive. After dropping off Nora at her condo, I'd driven back to my apartment, written the beginnings of a new song, and searched the house for stock paper before realizing I'd run out of my diorama supplies. My markers had also dried out. That might have explained why I dreamt of city planners criticizing the drab colours of my paper metropolis.

Since I woke up late the next morning, it meant some frenzied hours of catching up to my regular morning routine: an outdoor walk, working on my songs, going to my Kumon workplace, and cooking tender shrimp for gỏi tôm--a quick Vietnamese salad with carrot and radish strips. Eating it with my never-ending supply of giant lobster crackers was my reward for a Friday.

And just when I thought this would be the extent of disruptions to my schedule, someone messaged me on Instagram.

PHIONA: Hello Tai. Thanks for filling in for me during the show on such a short notice. I liked your songs; I can see you made them with a vision, and I respect that. I'd be up to work with you as your music manager if you're interested. You can find information about my qualifications on my website. -Phiona

I covered my mouth, inhaling the semi-sweet and salty flavours of shrimp that stained my hand.

"They're the same person?" I asked myself dumbly. With my sticky salt-covered fingers, I compared DeFye's picture with Phiona's Instagram. But when I really looked at her face, I recognized the same hairline and shape of the eyes. It made sense though, separating your administrative career from your creative one. Brand image mattered.

Phiona—as DeFye—had sung some of her traditional soca pieces at the Elizabeth Theatre, fused in with the modern rhythms of rap. As the last performance of the show, she closed the night with bittersweet harps, guitar and drums.

Anticipation grew like a helium balloon inside me. As I took another bite of shrimp, I felt like I was on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the endless sea below. But for the first time, there was the possibility that I could fly, too.

—

One week and a bunch of text messages later, I was racing to the university's snowy campus to meet Rajathiran. I was thirty minutes late. Sticking to a change in my schedule was hard, and my past friendships had gone down in fire after I failed to show up on time. Over time, I gathered tools like calendars and alarms to help me, but that wouldn't change the way my executive functioning worked.

I bent over to catch my breath, cold air scraping my throat. Rajathiran was nowhere in sight. They'd been adamant about letting them introduce me to Phiona. Rajathiran promised they would be on time, but since I was already running late on schedule, I couldn't be mad at them either. That didn't make the daunting mound of unpredictability seem any smaller.

Finally the doors swung open to reveal them. In one smooth motion, they swung themselves onto the staircase rail, slid down the stairs, tumbled in a safe roll on the ground and popped back up, backpack and all. Icicles snapped from the staircase rail.

With the energy of an adventurer, Rajathiran blew strands of hair from their mouth. "I'm sorry about being late. I was cleaning my room and I found the homework that I'd been looking for a couple weeks ago, and...well, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I was late too."

"Then let's go! Are you excited?"

"Yes."