"But I..." My protest fades unheard in the room.
"You should be grateful for that," he says, raising aneyebrow. "If I didn't see to it that you become something decent, you would end up in the gutter."
So that's what he thinks? That I'll end up as a penniless artist who can't even afford a place to live? "I never asked for that. So just stop it. I'll follow my own path." This conversation is over for me, so I rise from the chair.
He throws his arms up in the air. "Grow up, Joshua. Even your first piano teacher recognized that you lack talent. Nobody out there is waiting for another keyboard pounder who thinks their tinkling will change the world."
Angry, I take a step toward him. I lift my chin as high as I can. "One day, I will be the greatest pianist of all. Count on it."
He stares at me with a mixture of suspicion and bitterness.
I stare back.
So he can see how serious I am about this promise.
"Well then, show the world what you can do." His mouth turns downward, and he breathes heavily. Ultimately, he's the one who turns away. "But don't expect me to pick you up off the ground after you crash."
With great effort, I tear myself away from the memory. His cold words echo within me. Then and now, I clench my fists so tightly that I can barely feel anything else. I warned him. And ever since, I've fought to prove to my father that I can do it. Nothing was ever good enough for him to admit his mistake.
The gold record.
Pure chance.
The millions in my bank account. Will soon vanish into thin air.
The sold-out tours. Temporary success.
"One day, I will be the greatest pianist of all." I repeat the words I threw at my father thirteen years ago, my voice steady.
The words that have driven me day after day since then.
The words that have made me the pianist I am today: a man whose hand now trembles so violently that it wouldn't even be capable of bringing a glass of water to his lips.
My God, this can't be happening! Finally, I have the opportunity to prove to my father that my music is good enough.
That I am good enough.
If I fail now, everything I've ever worked for will shatter into a million pieces.
In my desperation, I rush to the cabinet. I snatch the bottle of vodka from the pile of clothes where I've hidden it. Hastily, I unscrew the cap and bring the bottle to my lips.
I drink in large gulps because I know it's the only thing that can help me achieve my goal.
"What are you doing?" The words reach my ear shrilly.
I flinch, choking on the vodka. Even without turning around, I know who stands behind me.
