Suite d'Existence - 10. Passepied

Mara had already gone to bed when he’d arrived home. No wonder: her decision to breastfeed their second child was taking its toll. If he owned a milk-producing breast, Tristan would have been more than happy to take over her nightly feeds. Unfortunately he didn’t.

The therapy session had haunted him the entire night. Paul hadn’t looked angry after his confession, probably because he had to stay in his role as a psychiatrist. He had confessed though, something he never ever thought he’d do. It felt like both a relief and a disaster at the same time. He was smart enough to guess what Paul’s ‘solution’ might be. Something about telling Mara and opening up, probably. That wasn’t possible, though, for his family’s sake.

The morning came too early; before Tristan had managed to fall asleep the sun already peeked through the curtains. Feeling the first light piercing his eyelids he gave up trying. Maybe he would find some time to sleep later in the day. He glanced over at the alarm clock before pulling Mara closer for a moment. It was only half past five; he wouldn’t wake her up yet.

-

“Good morning!”

“Morning”, Tristan replied with a smile, as he gave Mara a kiss. The past few hours he’d quietly done the dishes, ate breakfast, changed Sara and had tried to get some food into Daan. The boy wasn’t completely awake, though, so he’d decided to wait for a bit before trying again.

“Slept well?”

“Mwah… Saar managed to keep me up a lot tonight. How did it go yesterday?”

Unfortunately, Mara remembered his appointment. He’d secretly hoped she’d somehow forgotten it, but she obviously hadn’t.

“It went quite well. There wasn’t enough time though, so Paul wants to see me again today at twelve.”

Daan accepted the piece of bread that was held in front of him. Tristan only noticed because the tip of his index finger was bitten too. The look on his face made Mara chuckle and almost drop her plate. With Sara still asleep in her room, the family was complete. It all seemed so perfect.

“And what did Paul say? I mean, has he found a reason for your lapse?”

“It’s probably stress, as always.” Tristan answered, trying to stay calm. It helped he hadn’t slept, so his emotions were numbed. He still hated himself for lying to his wife, though.

“Okay, are you feeling a bit better, though?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. My dose of Prozac is upped by half a tablet, so hopefully that helps.” Again, he hadn’t told the truth. It was almost as if he’d gotten used to it, which was an awful thing to conclude.

“Great, come here”, Mara replied while planting a kiss in his neck. Their embrace was genuinely comforting and loving. Paul’s statement about love, however, had made him think about the nature of their love. To hide his doubt, he tightened his grip and whispered in her ear: “Hmm…Love you.”

“Love you too”, she replied, releasing her hold. “Are we still going to get that drink with Ernest and Sylvia, by the way?”

“Oh yes, I’d already forgot about that. I guess so.”

“Good. I’ve already asked Christina to watch the kids for an hour or so. I’m really exhausted, so you can stay longer if you want, but I’ll be going home after one drink.”

Christina was the eighteen-year-old daughter of their neighbours. She was more than responsible enough to babysit their children, even more so because it would only be for an hour.

“Oh that’s fine. I don’t think I’ll stay that long either. Do you mind if I go to the harpsichord after the second session, by the way?”

“No, that’s okay. As long as you’re back in time for the drink.” Mara smiled, helping her husband to feed their boy the rest of his toast. Tristan was instantly grateful for her accepting his plans. He knew he needed the distraction of the beautiful musical instrument after his appointment.

“Four o’clock at the Library Café, right?”

“Yep. Can you finish up with Daan? I’m going to check on Sara.”

“Got it. Want me to do the shopping?” Tristan asked, in an attempt to leave the house for a moment.

“If you’ve got time?”

“I’ve got about two hours before I have to be at the clinic, so yes, I’ll just pop around the shops after Daan’s finished.”

“Thanks love”, Mara replied. She walked over to Tristan, gave him a sweet kiss and left for Sara’s bedroom. The thought their routine might never be the same after today, made him sick.

-

He didn’t have to wait for Paul this time; the secretary had just sent him to his office by himself. Facing the truth at the end of the corridor seemed a daunting prospect, but he had to do it anyway. The door of his therapist’s office was already open, so there was no chance of turning around and running away.
Peeking around the corner he could see the practitioner studying his paperwork while munching away on a sandwich. Tristan wasn’t noticed until he softly knocked on the open door.

“Oh hi, Tristan! Come in, I’ll just put this away…” Paul said, putting the remains of his sandwich in a heavily used lunchbox. “Let’s just start right away, okay?”

He nodded and took seat on a chair opposite the shrink.

“How have you slept?”

“I haven’t”, he answered truthfully. “I couldn’t…I actually didn’t want to go here to be honest.” This kind of honesty was new to him; it felt like he had nothing to lose, waiting here for the judgment call.

“It’s normal to feel like that. You wouldn’t be human if you fancied facing your fears.”

“Which fears?” Tristan felt himself slipping into defense-mode once again.

“The ones you told me about yesterday, remember?” Paul answered, calmly as always.

“I’m sorry. I do…I just…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You have to, Tristan. As I said yesterday, the secrecy will kill you whereas the truth won’t. It might hurt, but you’ll live.”

For a few moments there was silence between them. Paul just observed and Tristan overanalyzed, scared of the final words. The words that would conclude something along the lines of ‘Tell Mara and go after your colleague’. Or maybe something slightly more subtle.

“What am I supposed to do?” Tristan finally managed.

“Well, firstly I want you to realize that it’s beneficial for both your physical and mental health if you make the changes I’m going to suggest. You’ve probably come to some conclusions yourself, some of which might match with my suggestions.”

“Paul, this will probably sound a bit harsh, but will you please just tell me your solution? Prolonging the waiting time is just making me very anxious.”

The addressed smiled a smile that represented a combination of contentment and sympathy.

“I will tell you. You promise you’ll take it to heart, though?”

Even though he wasn’t sure he would, Tristan decided to agree anyway. Nervously tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, he nodded. “Yeah, yes I will.”

“Great. Would you like some tea?”

“Paul, please…” Tristan pleaded, well aware of the fact that his psychiatrist was teasing him into honesty.

“Okay, okay. Firstly, I don’t want you to go to work this week. Take a few days off, invite some friends and play your harpsichord if you feel like it. You need time to think without the added pressure of your job.”

“I get that. I’ll call school this afternoon, they’ll probably understand.”

“Good. Next I need you to talk to your friend, Ernest. He deserves to know the full truth, including your attraction to him.”

“But…” Tristan started, not willing to accept this task.

“No, Tristan.” Paul interrupted. “It’s necessary, and the sooner, the better. I think you’re well aware of that, aren’t you?”

“Yes I am, but…Fuck…Oh sorry…”

“What’s making you feel so uncomfortable, Tristan? What’s making you apologize over and over again?”

What exactly was the right answer here? The fact he was probably in love with a man? The fact he’d betrayed his wife and was now stuck with a beautiful woman and two wonderful children? The fact he had lied to the world and now fit the stereotype of a married and closeted gay man? Or maybe, the fact…

“The fact I feel like a boy again. And I’m really tired.”

“Explain.” Always those bloody short replies.

“What’s to explain? I’m confused, emotional and crazy. And very tired.”

“Hmm…” The awful sound of a pen scribbling notes in the notebook dedicated to his problems.

“I need you to tell Mara, too”, came the dreaded suggestion. Paul’s face had turned serious.

“I’ll hurt her if I do.” Tristan’s face had turned both serious and incredibly sad. The sparkle had disappeared from his dark brown eyes for a moment.

“You’ll hurt her if you don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

The discussion had reached a point similar to that of yesterday’s conversation. Though this time he was even less sure if he could. A hodgepodge of irrational thoughts was blocking his speech, so all he could manage was an out-of-context question.

“Am I gay?”

Paul seemed a bit surprised by the sudden change of subject, but his attitude didn’t seem affected by it.

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know, but am I?”

“If a man falling in love with a man means that one’s gay, then yes, you probably are. But again, does it really matter?”

His thoughts were suddenly untangled, creating a freeway for the sliver of ratio he still owned.

“How am I supposed to tell my wife I love somebody else. How the hell am I going to tell her I’m in love with a man, for god’s sake?”

“So you’re in love with Ernest?”

Tristan could feel himself blushing, caught feeling something he wasn’t supposed to feel. Before having to answer, Paul had already continued.

“I can help you. You can call me at any time, you know that. And I’m pretty sure Ernest wants to help you as well, as soon as you’ve had your much needed conversation.”

This was it. The beginning of the end of the end, creating the start of a new beginning.

-

If he’d gone home now, he would be standing over the toilet bowl, throwing his brains and soul out. Naivety was useless when told the truth. He needed to talk to Ernest, his wife and after that he somehow still had to face the rest of the world. It still was completely incomprehensible.

Fortunately, there was the harpsichord. The beautiful Flemish harpsichord with the elegantly decorated lid, which brought light whenever there was darkness. The instrument was situated within the Music & Arts Institute and belonged to Johan, who only used it to accompany his recorder students. A quick showing of his membership card fetched him the key of the room and so it was in a matter of minutes that Tristan sat in front of the majestic instrument he loved so much.

Still somewhat restless from his previous encounter, he let his fingers stroke the wooden keys, their colour scheme inverse from that of a normal piano. The double manual had proved somewhat intimidating when he first played the harpsichord, but the effects one could manage with it were spectacular. Maybe not as much for an outsider, but Tristan had soon fallen in love with the complexity of sounds and technique that came with it.

Soon, music came flowing from the soundboard as he pressed the keys with controlled touché.

It formed a piece by Couperin, Les Barricades Mystérieuses, unpretentious in its technique but complicated by its harmonies. Literally translated as ‘the Mysterious Barricades’, the piece ironically represented the hurdles of life Tristan had to face.

The rondeau managed to distract him from the task of conquering the barricades, though. Before he knew, almost three hours had passed and so he had to rush to get to the Library Café. The café, which was more of a tearoom, was situated in the University Library. Apart from an abundance of chatty students, the place was a nice and quiet spot to catch up with friends over a cup of Earl Grey or Darjeeling.

While putting his bike aside he could already see his wife and friends sitting at their usual table. Soon enough he was spotted, so he went inside. It wasn’t that busy yet; classes ended at 4 o’clock however, so it wouldn’t be long before a steady stream of customers would flood the place. Calmer than a few hours ago, Tristan walked up to the trio and sat down.

“Hi, honey. Did everything go as planned?” Mara said, kissing her husband on the cheek.

“Hi Mara, yes it went okay. I forgot the time when I was at the harpsichord, so I had to race a bit. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Both Sylvia and Ernest greeted him too. Tristan couldn’t avoid looking at the latter just a bit longer than would be considered normal. He needed to talk in private to him very soon, but he didn’t feel ready in the slightest. Ernest caught his gaze and stared back. His face was hard to read, but at least there wasn’t some kind of anger or disgust. He didn’t need more of that on top of his own self-hate.

Like they’d planned, he and Mara didn’t stay for longer than an hour. After a nice but simple dinner Tristan had put the children to bed and soon after their parents had joined them in their bedtime ritual. He was glad to lay down on the mattress he was used to; the past few days had definitely worn him out.

Before going to sleep, there was some pillow talk. It was mostly Mara who spoke, but Tristan didn’t mind at all. It were the words he’d miss while laying awake in the middle of the night.