Because as much as I look forward to having Sophia with me soon, I mainly feel fear. Her mother always took care of everything, freeing me up to focus on my career. My daughter and I hardly know each other. Moreover, since the divorce, she has oscillated between two extreme emotional states: silent and quick-tempered.
Will she look at me the way the little boy looks at his father? Will she ever reach for my hand and hop alongside me like that little guy who now disappears with the man toward the cash register?
Longing and doubt simultaneously creep up within me. The fear of not being a good father threatens to overwhelm me.
To stop that, I hastily look around for a salesperson. The man at the cash register, who looks exactly like I imagined Santa Claus as a child, is busy. The lady with the knitted vest and oversized glasses is already assisting a customer.
In the back, I spot a young woman with long black hair, her top sparkling as conspicuously as the doll she holds in her hand. Indecisively, she looks back and forth between the doll and the shelf. The miniature Christmas tree ornaments on her extra-long earrings sway in rhythm. She appears nervous, almost desperate.
Helplessly, she looks around and places the doll on a shelf. It immediately falls out.
"No, no, no," I hear the woman murmuring in the distance, her voice growing increasingly panicked. She nervously brushes her hands against her expansive blue skirt.
She appears anything but competent. I doubt shecan help me find the right welcome gift for Sophia. As I skeptically observe her, one of my pieces plays through the speakers. "Freedom."
The delicate notes begin to sound. Soon, the orchestra will join in. The music will swell, and the intensity will increase.
But it's not there yet. Only the piano can be heard, and although the melody is soft, the stressed woman's face suddenly relaxes. With the doll in her hand, she closes her eyes and sways to the rhythm.
A smile spreads across her lips. The clearer it becomes, the more the cute dimples flash on her cheeks.
Spellbound, I watch her. I see the peace that suddenly dominates her expression. And I realize how her chest rises before she exhales with a deep sigh.
Then she starts to dance. Right in the midst of the bustling shopping mall. Holding the doll tightly against her chest, she twirls around. She stumbles over her skirt, regains her balance, and laughs for a moment.
All of a sudden, I’m overwhelmed with emotion. Because I know it's my music giving this woman a carefree moment. It makes her radiate with such warmth that it reaches me despite our distance.
Her facial expression carries a special kind of bliss that I have never seen before. I feel connected to her.
Perhaps I shouldn't stare at her, but I can't look away. Not even as the last notes of the piece slowly fade away. And certainly not when she opens her eyelids and looks directly at me with a dreamy gaze.
Without any effort on my part, my mouth corners lift.
A fraction of a second later, her expression changes. It's as if she just woke up and realizes where she is. With a startled look on her face, she turns her back to me and tries once again to place the doll on the shelf. Her hands tremble, and her upper body shudders.
Strange.
Something like this has never happened to me before. Has she mistaken me for someone she fears?
Confused, I return my attention to the toy shelf where I still stand.
"How can I assist you?" a female voice asks from behind me.
It's the saleswoman with the cardigan, looking at me kindly.
"Um..." Why was I here again? Ah yes, Sophia. "I need a gift for a five-year-old girl."
"Well, let's see if we can find something." She claps her hands enthusiastically. "Mr. Friedberg, right?" she adds with a conspiratorial undertone. "I'm a big fan, you know."
The day has been long, and the interview drained my energy. But I'm happy to be there for the people who have contributed to my success. So I reveal my identity, give her an autograph card, and smile for a selfie in her phone camera.
Unfortunately, our interaction doesn't go unnoticed. Within a short time, more and more people surround me.
"When is your next album coming out?" an attractive woman with small dark curls asks, pressing her cheek close to mine for a photo.
Slightly dazed by her sweet perfume, I place a finger on my lips. "That's still a secret. But I can revealthat there will be news soon." My manager, Tamika, would expect me to convince the woman to subscribe to my newsletter or follow my social media accounts.
But that's not my style. Despite my success, it still feels like I'm imposing myself. So I discreetly pull out the pen again and turn to the other fans.
