Chapter 46
Josh
The time has come. The day I've been waiting for my whole life is here. In a few minutes, I will step onto the stage. In my imagination, this moment has always shone in the brightest colors. I was full of anticipation, energy, and enthusiasm.
But today, none of that remains. All I feel is fear.
My neck feels like it's encased in concrete. And my hand is more restless than ever before. It's as if all the pressure weighing on my shoulders is channeled into my fingers, and there's nothing I can do about it. Restlessly, I pace back and forth in the small artist's dressing room. Whenever I pass by the mirror, I glance into it for a moment.
The makeup artist has done a great job, making the shadows under my eyes disappear. My complexion looks fresh and healthy, and my forehead is so covered that no wrinkles are visible.
I feel like I'm wearing a mask.
That's not me.
The man in the mirror is just someone I'm willing to show to the world. Because no one out there in the audience could love me anymore if they knew who I really am.
A man who clings so desperately to his dream that he can no longer be himself.
As if it would somehow help, I turn away and continue walking toward the concrete wall. Once there, I turn around and cross the room again. In the pocket under the table is my bottle. Only the silver cap protrudes between the open parts of the zipper.
It has served me well during the performances in Tyrol, Geneva, and Paris. But today, it's no longer an option for me.
Drinking is wrong. And even though it took me a long time to understand what happened during yesterday's final rehearsal, it finally made me see clearly.
"I don't want you anymore," I say, addressing the bottle. "I have to do this without you."
My hand trembles, and dizziness overtakes me. "You're healthy," I scold it sternly. "So you have absolutely no reason to sabotage me."
Unfortunately, my fingers couldn't care less. In fact, I even imagine that they tremble even more than before.
Panicked, I look at them. I can't play like this.
But I have to! In ten minutes, I'll step onto the stage. I have to perform, or everything will be lost.
My gaze shifts to the door.
What if I accidentally trapped my hand there?
These things happen. No one would suspect what really happened. The fans would be disappointed, but they could at least understand that I can't play for them today. And Maya? Will she forgive me, even if tomorrow I'm standing outside her house, refusing to leave until she listens to me?
I take a step toward the exit and look at the doorframe. It seems solid. Silently, I open the door a little and slip the fingers of my right hand through the gap. The edge presses unforgivingly into my skin.
With my left hand, I grasp the doorknob.
If I open the door and then slam it shut with all my strength, it would be over. I wouldn't have to torment myself any longer, and I would finally have an escape route that would even allow me to save face.
I bite my lip. Then I close my eyes. My pulse quickens, and my breathing becomes heavy.
With a jerk, I swing the door open. The fingers of my right hand cling tightly to the doorframe.
"Now or never," I utter, and suddenly, it's as if time stands still. Because at this moment, I realize that I'm standing at the most important crossroads of my life.
I can behave like the failure my father has always seen in me. Or I can leave that behind and free myself from the burden that has always weighed me down.
Every path begins with the decision to take the first step . Maya taught me that.
It's not too late. Not today either. Because it's never too late.
Suddenly, I know exactly what I have to do. I will play. Despite my trembling hand and completely sober. Not for the jury and not for the fans. Not for myself and certainly not for my father.
Only for the woman for whom I am more than just my career. For this one person who showed me that you don't have to be perfect to be loved.