Suite d'Existence - 1. Prelude

“Come here, show me your drawing. What a beautiful car! Daddy’s not nearly as good as you are, love. And who’s sitting in the car? Mum and Sara in the front seats, okay. But isn’t Sara way too little to drive? Ah, mum’s driving, of course. And me and you in the back. That’s nice. And what are we doing then, when mum’s driving? We have to think of something… We can hide. For each other. Then you’ll find me first, before I find you. Nice plan. And then we’ll drink tea and hum silly songs, just like…- Oh, mum thinks it’s time to go, love. Dad will be back soon Daan, maybe you can start looking for a great hiding spot? I’ll put the kettle on, so we can make tea.”

The air outside was still warm from the countless times that the sun had peaked around a cloud that day. Though the temperature had been unusually high for the start of spring, a fresh breeze made it clear that it was nowhere near summer. Trees hadn’t grown all their leaves just yet, the last snow had just fallen some two weeks ago. Today it seemed a bit like summer though; the smells, the excitement on people’s faces, everything made it seem like it was July.
Funny, how entirely different situations could inflict similar feelings. It’s like smelling something, and associating the sense with an entirely different, but related situation. Our brains are marvelous and undecipherable blobs of goo.

So, it was an evening at the beginning of April, both too early for the heat and not in time for snow. Tristan was able to feel it, the approaching start of life in the garden he sat in. A few snowdrops still bent their heads down, here and there, but daffodils were beginning to take over most of the flowerbed. They’d bought the house, he and Mara, two years ago. Two weeks after their ridiculously high offer was accepted, she’d given birth to a beautiful boy. Within fourteen days, Tristan had became a father, he’d bought his first house ánd had managed to repair the numerous holes in the old roof. As mentioned before; the offer they had made on the semi-detached house, had been way too high.

The evening smelled of rain, grass and sunshine. A glass of lukewarm water in one hand, a badly written essay in the other, work continued even on days like this. He hadn’t applied for a job as an English teacher, but Tristan had no reason to complain. Mara was pregnant with their second child, but life had been steady otherwise. Everything had went to plan, without too many hurdles and some highlights once in a while.

He felt a hand massaging his left shoulder. A much smaller hand grabbed his hair and pulled it. If he’d turn around now, this moment would be one of those highlights. Perfect.

“I love you, and I love Saar and Daan too, I really do. But I just can’t do this anymore. I just cán’t. I can’t do this, I’m so incredibly—“
“You’re able to do this. You can’t change anything about the situation, but you really can handle this. It will get better, you know. Really. Daan doesn’t know anything else than you being his dad who plays with him, teaches him stuff he wants to know. You’re not different, but your environment has changed. I can’t bear being without you and you’re capable of loving everyone. The problems will subside, really. Just be patient.”

No, it couldn’t be more perfect than that Sunday night, some two hours before the start of a new week. Daan was sleeping in his room, innocent and calm. Mara had drifted to sleep too. He was on his own, with himself: Tristan, thoughts, nose, toes, teeth. He had plenty of time to think, so that’s what he did. That’s what he’d always done; every night the same mental ritual until his thoughts had morphed into dreams.

Often it started with memories of the last few hours. A loving kiss from his wife, a bruised knee, something that’d had a physical impact. Next were the thoughts about tomorrow. These were purely practical; what to cook for dinner, what to wear, where did I leave my tie, how will I manage the ride to work without my bike collapsing, etcetera. Finally, there were the doubts. Sometimes they were easy to manage, but sometimes they made the night into a never ending hell. Tonight seemed to be a good night. Maybe the medication helped after all.

“I don’t want you to come back here again. I really don’t.”