Once we go inside, I am glad that the waiting is over, but it's not. I'm stuck behind closed glass doors, and this is even worse than snow because the security person standing behind me won't stop yelling, "No cameras; no sharpies" right into my ear. What's wrong with her? Hasn't anyone told her that after the tickets, a camera and a sharpie are the most essential gear for a show?

Once I'm inside, all the cute faces I met in line turn into monsters, including the parents. There is pushing and yelling and elbowing, more than I've ever experienced at a show. Rise Against finally comes on, yet I can't see anything because I'm stuck under a 16-year-old's armpit, who apparently knows every word to every song and shouts them out on the top of his lungs. Thankfully, he backs off once the set is over, and I'm still alive.

But Gerard doesn't look like he is. He lays on a gurney, motionless. Then the music starts, I see his lips start to move: "Come one, come all to this tragic affair…" It feels like is holding their breath to see what he will do. He gets up from the gurney, sings the next few lines in a hospital gown, and his body moves like a robot's. After "I'd encourage your smiles, I'll expect you won't cry," the tall black curtains behind him open up. The rest of the band break into the song, Gerard rips the hospital gown off of his body, revealing his Black Parade suit, and the crowd goes nuts—absolutely wild.

I have had people sit me down to listen to certain songs, calling them a "Rock Opera." I've always wondered what they would look like, and there is one happening right here, right now, right in front of my eyes. It feels more like a musical than a concert, with the drum set spinning in front of the Black Parade background, little pieces of paper blowing up in the air. After the songs, they lower the lights, and all I see is the boys' silhouettes falling onto the stage behind the fake snowflakes: Gerard is leaning back with his arms wide open, and he stays like that for a while, as if he's stopping time to inhale our applause and cheers. During "Mama" and "Famous Last Words" I see people's jaws drop from the light and the heat of the fire that erupts from the stage and goes up to the ceiling.

"The Black Parade is almost over," says Gerard, and I try to check the time because I haven't had not nearly enough of the cancer yet. I relax when he says, "but there's gonna be something else afterwards," and the tall black curtains close. They open up again when I'm done singing along to "Blood," and the firs thing I see is the circle of guns hanging in the background: it's sweet revenge time.

They play Helena, I'm Not Okay, Thank You For the Venom, Give 'em Hell Kid, and Ghost of You, and we sing Happy Birthday to Ray's mom somewhere in between. It's just like the old days, but there's one crucial difference: they sound much better than they used to. Gerard pressed his fingers on his lips for a kiss, then blows it out to the crowd, who give the band applause and screams in return. What more can I say? Three cheers for chemical romance!

Once again, sorry about the poor visuals.
- Simay