So I turn the sheet music over. The next piece is written in a challenging key, requiring my hand to work harder and more precisely than before.
Barely have I let the first few notes resonate when my mobile phone vibrates in my pocket.
It's my mother, greeting me with a loving voice. Normally, we would talk about the weather, her vacation plans, and the health of my grandparents, butour conversation takes a serious turn today. "Listen, sweetheart. We need to talk," she insists.
Should I just say that I don't have time? "Uh—?"
"It's about your father." She cuts me off before I can present a suitable excuse.
I stand from the piano stool and wander through the room with the phone to my ear. "What's wrong with him?" I didn't really want to ask that question. "Is he sick?"
"Worse."
Why this pause? "Well, tell me." I automatically quicken my pace, the Persian rug muffling my steps.
"He's retiring," my mother reports from the other end of the line.
We both know what that means. And we both understand that it's better not to discuss this topic. "That's great for him," I reply when I can't think of anything else to say.
"Since he made that decision, everything has been resurfacing for him." She sounds remorseful. I can only imagine the conversations she must have had with him. "Until the very end, he was hoping you would change your mind. Pursue a law degree and..."
"No." Now I'm the one cutting her off. That's not up for debate at all. "The idea of me taking over the law firm someday is his dream alone."
"I know that. Still, you two should reconcile..." my mother tries again. "So he can let go and move forward."
That would lead to nothing. In his world, there is only guilt and innocence. Black and white. Good and evil. The only thing he believes in is tangible evidence, and I can't provide that. Not yet.
"Have we covered everything, then?" I ask wearily. I don't want to hurt my mother, but she's banging against a wall that she can never break through.
"Just think about it." Her voice becomes as thin as parchment paper. "For my sake."
A heaviness settles on my chest. I understand what she's going through. How difficult it must be for her to mediate between us for so many years without ever achieving any success.
"I will," I say, solely for her sake even though it's not true. Because the truth is, I've found a way to deal with this problem. And I'm certain that winning the International Music Award is the only way to show my father that I've chosen the right career path.
Before my mother can reignite the discussion on this tiresome subject, I bid her farewell. Disturbed, I walk back to the grand piano. No matter how forcefully the memories surge within me, I must push them back. Because only one thing matters.
The piano.
The upcoming concert.
The music award.
So I do what I must. I place my fingers on the keys and dedicate myself to the next piece. The first notes of the technically demanding melody go well. The crescendo is successful. Just like before, I gradually increase the tempo.
And then it happens.
I hit the wrong key. And shortly after, it happens again.
I immediately stop.
"It's fine," I say to myself. "It will be alright." I try to calm myself, but a volcano is brewing inside me.Because even without looking, I know exactly what’s happening to me.
My right hand trembles.
I can feel it. Every single finger vibrates.
Why?
