Suite d'Existence - 8. Deuxième Minuet

It had started raining again, halfway between the school and his home. The ferry had arrived at a quarter past nine and it had taken about half an hour for everyone to drive to the city centre. They had all said goodbye to each other before going their own way again. After all, it wasn’t summer break just yet.

Him, Sylvia and Ernest had agreed to meet at Sylvia’s place on Wednesday evening, around seven o’clock. Depending on the weather they’d possibly go for a drink on Tuesday too, when Mara could still join them. It was only Monday though, and Tristan was cycling through the open fields when he felt a raindrop land on his nose. Soon it was followed by a lot more water; it had started to rain quite heavily, so he tried to move as fast as his bike would allow him to go. That wasn’t very fast, unfortunately, so when he turned into his street his clothes were soaking wet.

It was late enough for the garbage to have been collected, so along with his bike he dragged the grey garbage can from the street corner towards the house.

On his way to the front porch he was greeted by one of his neighbours leaving for work. While searching for his keys he politely returned the greeting, trying to avoid a conversation. He needed to save up all his words for the upcoming hours. Small talk didn’t fit within his vocabulary-budget today. Luckily the man was in a rush, so he didn’t have to waste any of his precious syllables.

Actually, Tristan didn’t want to come home yet. He wasn’t feeling like facing reality at the moment, nor did he think he would ever be ready. So, coming home it was. If only he could find his keys… While he was frantically reaching into his pockets, the flowers that surrounded him eagerly drank the water that fell from above. A relatively warm May had caused the flora to dry out, not developing properly. Now everything bloomed and blossomed, though.

Well, they did. He wasn’t really sprouting any twigs of joy.

Come on. A bunch of keys shouldn’t be that hard to find. Come on, please.

Drops were now running from his wet strands of hair along his face. His search had moved from himself to his luggage. Frustration was slowly creeping up on him.

Shit, where are those bloody keys?! I just want to go inside, I want to come home. No, I don’t want… Fuck. No. No, no, no!

While opening the suitcase, the rain had found a great opportunity to drench the neatly placed paperwork that was in it. Tristan saw it happening before him; his precious sheet music, slowly getting damp, the pages curling up at the corners. The irritation became almost unbearable.

Instead of doing what would seem logical – closing the bag – he’d completely shut down. Tristan just stood motionless, staring at his plowed-trough suitcase. He still stood in that position when someone opened the front door.

“You’re home!” Mara called with a big smile that faded quickly upon seeing her dripping husband.

“Tristan?”

“I…I’m so sorry”, he stuttered. Before being able to say anything else, the woman had embraced him.

“Oh Tristan…Come here…”, she whispered as she let him bury his head in her neck. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. I’ll get your stuff, you just get inside.”

He didn’t enjoy being cared for, but he knew there wasn’t really another option. At the end of the hallway he stopped for a moment to look at the mirror. His reflection startled him; a pale complexion and a pair of exhausted eyes were staring back at him. Thank god Mara had opened the door before anyone else could have seen him in this state.

A hand pushing on the small of his back motioned him towards the living room. “I just made some tea. Sit down, I’ll get you a towel.” As his wife walked upstairs to fetch a towel, Tristan noticed his children weren’t around. Luckily, Mara returned before his brain started to produce irrational fear.

She sensed his doubt. “Oh I forgot to tell you, sorry. Your mother came to pick up Daan and Sara to go shopping with them. You know she likes to spend time with them, so she took them to the mall an hour ago. I can call her, if you want –“

“No, it’s fine.” If there would ever be a moment when the absence of your children was convenient, this was it. They didn’t deserve to see their dad like this.

Mara dropped next to him on the couch before handing Tristan a fluffy towel and a large mug of steaming tea. He could feel her eyes burning lovingly while she caressed his arm.

“Want to talk about it?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“You know you do. But you know it helps to talk, Tristan.”

Yes, he knew that. It didn’t make it any more pleasant or easy, though.

“I think the depression has come back.” He said softly, surprisingly sure of his statement.

“Okay, did you contact Paul yet?” Mara replied.

That’s why he loved her. No ‘I guessed so’ or ‘I’m sorry’, just understanding and practical thinking. He hadn’t lapsed for a substantial amount of time, so it wasn’t as if situations like this occurred every week. It had happened before, though, so he wasn’t as ashamed as he would be around strangers.

“Nah, I planned on doing it when I got home.”

“You’re home now…”

His face must have given away the fact he didn’t feel like making the call, because the woman opposite him embraced him once again and whispered: “Please don’t wait too long, okay?”

Tristan pulled back slightly so he could face her. Even if he didn’t want to call, he had to, for his family’s sake. To make his words more reassuring, he stroked her right cheek with his slightly trembling right hand. He hadn’t completely recovered from his most recent outburst.

“I’ll call him after lunch.”

Mara smiled and pulled him back into their hug.

“I’ll stay with you if you need support.”

He always went to his appointments without company, ever since he’d started the therapy sessions. His psychiatrist of nine years, Paul Zeijen, had agreed it would be good to separate the sessions from everyday life. The privacy also helped him talk more openly during their appointments. The first nine months, including his last two weeks in hospital, he didn’t have to explain to anybody why he wanted to be alone. Nobody had ever asked to come with him, that was mainly the reason.

However, shortly after his twenty-third birthday, he had met Mara. It had taken him another three months of dating before he dared to tell her about his mental illness, but she’d taken it very well. At first she found it hard to understand why he didn’t want anybody around at the clinic. Of course, it would be weird to attend the session itself, but Tristan didn’t want any company during the trip to and from the ward either. She’d come to accept it, though.

Mara accepted his quietness, his unwillingness to discuss his condition with her. It probably wasn’t the healthiest way to deal with it, but he was glad she let him be. He was lucky to have found somebody as patient as she was.

But he didn’t miss the slight look of disappointment when he declined her offer. It made him feel guilty, not in the least because he hadn’t told her the complete problem.

“I’ll be fine, but thanks.”

With a forced smile Mara pushed herself up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen.

“You know I missed you, right?”

“Of course I do. I missed you too, and you know that. I’m sorry I –“

“It’s fine. Go take a shower. Take your mind off things.”

Tristan thought it would be best to just leave her alone for a while. She was obviously upset, and caused him to feel hurt. He couldn’t remember her acting like this the previous times he’d broken down. She could hardly be blamed, though; if there was anyone who had screwed things up, it would be him.

Without making a fuss he stood up and left for the bathroom. Halfway up the stairs he stopped for a moment, to look at the pictures that were hanging on the wall next to him. Multiple photos of Mara and the kids were arranged neatly in a large collage. Tristan often was the one to take pictures, so he was featured considerably less in the mix of captured moments. He didn’t enjoy being photographed, though, so he was completely fine with that fact.

Before stepping into the shower, he turned the radio on. Sounds of strings, recorders and percussion met him under the warm water. He didn’t recognize any of the pieces that came on, not that he paid any attention. All he worried about was the call he’d have to make. Telling the grey-haired psychiatrist he really needed help again. Oh, how he hated to ask for help.

He tilted his head back slightly, letting the water stream down his forehead.

Normally he met up with his psychiatrist once a month. To check up on the effects of the medication, but mostly to talk. Not only about the serious subjects, the lack of confidence, the inability to see positive things, but about everyday situations too. They didn’t just discuss his inability to forget any negative comment from the past, but the growth of his beloved children would also pass by. The monthly appointments were both necessary and pleasant. He hadn’t been completely honest with Paul though, even though he’d promised he would be.

The music had changed from a solo harpsichord piece to a part from Rameau’s Pygmalion.

The change in musical character – from solemn to fast and cheerful – mirrored the sudden change in his behaviour. He wouldn’t wait until lunch; there was no good reason to delay the call. The sooner he could speak to someone, the better.

After finishing his shower he couldn’t avoid the nervousness that came with pushing the keys of his phone. There was no way back, though, after he’d pushed the green button.

“Hello, this is the psychiatric ward of the MCL, can I help you?”

“Hi, is it possible to speak to doctor Zeijen, please?”

“Who can I say is calling?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s Tristan Mulder. I’m one of his patients.”

“Mulder, you said?”

“Yes. M-U-L-D-E-R.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll see if he’s available. Hold on , please.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Now everything was going to be alright. Paul would help him, as he always did, and he’d go back to his normal life.

“Sir, are you still there?”

“Yes I am.”

“Great. Unfortunately doctor Zeijen is in the middle of a session right now, but he offered to call you back as soon as it has ended.”

A feeling of slight disappointment replaced some of the positivity that was happily bouncing around in Tristan’s brain. He couldn’t let it interfere with his social behaviour, though.

“That would be great, thank you. Do you have any idea how long it will take before he’s finished?”

“He will be occupied for another fifteen minutes or so. Is that okay?”

“Yes, that’s absolutely fine. Thank you for your time.”

“No problem, have a good day sir.”

“I wish you the same. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Fully dressed, cleaned up and in a more positive state of mind, he walked down the stairs to see if his wife needed any help with something. Upon walking into the living room he was surprised by a hug from Mara. It was a warming, long hug; she didn’t want to let him go.

“I’m really sorry Tristan. I shouldn’t have reacted like that”, she mumbled, stroking her cheek against his.

“It’s okay, dear. I’m not the easiest person to deal with, you know.”

“Oh you know that’s not true!”

“I don’t make it easy for you, Mara.”

“You make it sound like I have to watch you twenty-four seven.” Mara grinned.

“Well it’s not that unlike—“

“Oh will you stop, please. Come, I’m baking some cookies in honour of your return. Want to help?”

Tristan knew she wanted to close the subject for now, so he did. He was glad she didn’t seem that unhappy anymore, that was the most important thing. If him baking cookies would help her stay that way, he was more than happy to participate. It wasn’t such a good idea, though; he was capable of ruining an omelet, so it was for the best he helped, well…quite passively.

His task being studding the raw dough with chocolate chips, with the (more than) occasional piece disappearing into his mouth, he had plenty of time to study the woman next to him. She was in her element; Mara was the one who loved the cooking. As he sneakily brought another chocolate chip to his face, he was welcomed with a sticky hand covering his mouth.

“No way, you won’t leave anything for the cookies if you keep eating it all”, Mara said, smearing bits of dough across his face. Tristan fought back by tickling her sides. She was very, very ticklish, he had discovered during their relationship.

“Stop! Haha…Please…stop…Tristan!”

He stopped, leaving a breathless chuckling Mara standing at the counter.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. And I won’t eat all the chocolate, I promise. Do you know when Mum comes back, by the way?”

“She told me she’d bring the kids back around lunchtime, because she was taking your dad out for lunch. But if you want to make the call first, I can—“

Mara was interrupted by the sound of Tristan’s mobile phone. She looked at him questioningly as he answered the call.

“Tristan Mulder speaking.”

“Tristan, it’s Paul. I hope you were told I would call you back?”

“Yes I was aware of that. Thanks for calling me back Paul, I just don’t think this can wait too long.”

Realizing who was calling her husband, Mara smiled contently and got back to baking again. Tristan nodded towards the study, wanting to tell her he’d go there to speak privately. She let him know she understood with a wink.

“That doesn’t sound too good. So tell me, what’s the problem?”

He swallowed away his fear, and explained.

“Well, I think the depression has returned. Quite badly. I thought it would be wise to make an appointment.”

“That’s good thinking indeed. Has it come completely out of the blue?”

God, this was hard. He wasn’t going to confess everything in a telephone conversation, but he had to say something.

“Well…A bit. But not really, actually. I’m not really making sense, am I?”

“I think you are. Maybe it’s best if we save the rest for our proper conversation, don’t you think?”

Saved by the psych. Great.

“Yes, I’d prefer that. Do you have time in the near future?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Another patient cancelled their meeting at six tonight. Does that suit you?”

“I guess it does. I just really need to talk.”

“Okay, we’ll meet each other at six then. In the meantime, take some rest. But you know that already.”

Yes he knew that. And he was aware he had to keep himself accountable for something else. A confession. One he wouldn’t make without pressure. Tristan took a deep breath, considered his words, and replied.

“Yes I do. Paul, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“It’s…Um…I need to tell you something I haven’t told before. And I won’t tell you if you don’t remind me. So… Ugh, this sounds stupid.”

“No it doesn’t, Tristan. Continue.”

“Will you remind me I have to tell you?”

“I will. It’s really good you’re aware of your own weaknesses. I’ll keep you accountable, okay?”

He sighed. “Yes. Thanks. I’ll see you at six.”

“Okay, bye!”

“Bye, Paul.”

Relaxing was going to be a difficult task.