Chapter 48
Josh
After the host's words of praise, the audience continues to applaud. In the spotlight, I make my way toward the piano. Only a few steps separate me from the stool.
My hand trembles. I swallow hard.
The moment of truth has arrived.
I halt my movement, facing away from the crowd, gathering my energy. Because for what is about to happen, I will need everything I have.
The applause fades away, replaced by murmurs. I turn around. The spotlight blinds me, but it won't stop me. My decision is made. With swift steps, I reach the front of the stage, grab the microphone from its stand, and switch it on.
My gaze shifts downward to the orchestra pit. Tamika is standing there, looking at me with an expression that probably translates to What the hell are you doing?
To that, I respond with my gaze, conveying what I should have done long ago .
I clear my throat. Even though I'm not ready for what comes next, I know it's the only right thing to do. Behind the audience, the day is coming to an end. Just as my game of hide-and-seek does now.
"As long as I can remember, I've wanted to play the piano. Music is my life," I begin, speaking in German. I can't stand still, so I start pacing up and down the worn planks of the stage, repeating what I say in English. The spotlight follows me. "It has helped me through difficult times, and we've always believed in each other." A wistful smile spreads across my face.
Tamika waves her hands as if directing an airplane to its parking spot. She desperately wants me to stop talking. But it's already too late for that.
"But in June, I had an accident that injured my hand." As if to prove it, I raise my right arm. Not only my fingers but everything about me trembles. "My doctor diagnosed damage to my spinal cord, and the nerve pathways supplying my hand were impaired."
A shocked murmur ripples through the amphitheater.
"I couldn't play anymore, had to cancel concerts, and out of pure fear, I decided to keep my illness a secret," I say, my voice strained, even though it's difficult. "An operation was supposed to fix everything." With a pounding heart, I turn my gaze away from the horrified faces in the front rows of the audience and look at Tamika once more. Because what everyone is about to hear is new even to her. "But it didn't." I exhale shakily. With my breath, a part of the tension leaves my body. "My hand will never be the same as it was before."
I've said it. The mask has fallen.
A solemn silence descends. The orange-tinted clouds in the sky darken.
"As a pianist, I always wanted to be flawless. I didn't allow myself any mistakes because I was certain no one would forgive them. My career and my perfectionism dictated my life," I admit. I don't know where these words come from all of a sudden, but I feel how true they are. And there's no reason to hold them back. "It didn't just lead me to lie to all of you. No. I've lied to myself as well."
Suddenly, the weight on my shoulders eases. My lungs fill with oxygen, my chest expands.
"I constantly convinced myself that I was only good enough if I proved it to the world. I thought winning the International Music Award was the only thing that truly mattered. So I did everything to make that goal come true..."
My gaze wanders through the fully occupied rows of the Colosseum, where the encroaching night casts its shadow over the faces of the audience.
"...and since my diagnosis, I've been hoping for a miracle, without realizing that it had been with me all along." Shaking my head, I smile. Everything suddenly becomes so clear. And I want everyone to know.
"Maya." My voice is firm, my breath steady. "You are my miracle. Because you've shown me that the world only becomes perfect when you're not." Although I don't even know if she's listening to me right now at home in front of the TV screen, I hesitate for a moment to continue speaking. Yet I have to say it. "I'm not the best pianist. I'm simply the best pianist that I can be. And that's enough."
Because I am enough for myself.
Because life outside the tunnel of my career has so much more to offer.
Because I no longer want to hate my hand, because in the end, it did me a favor. If it hadn't let me down, I might have never met Maya. And my wonderful daughter either .
"Standing here today, as one of the three nominees for the International Music Award, still means a lot to me. And the fact that all of you have come here means a great deal as well. That's why I want to play. But if I sit down at the piano now, I'm not doing it despite the problem with my hand, but with it," I declare.
Nothing has ever felt more liberating than shouting that out into the world. I look up at the sky, and for a moment, I feel so light as if I could float up to the stars.
"Perhaps it won't be the performance you expect from me. But it will be the best I can give you," I continue.
As soon as the words leave my lips, applause erupts. At first, it's just a soft clapping, but it grows stronger and more fervent.
Touched, I gaze at my audience. It's too dark now to see individual faces, but I can clearly feel the encouraging cheers, the enthusiastic whistles, and the wave of affection directed toward me.
They're not angry with me. They don't hate me, even though I just announced that I'm no longer flawless. On the contrary, it seems as though we've come a little closer to each other because of it.
Somewhere down there sits my father. I have no idea if he's applauding, but one thing I know for sure is that I couldn't care less.