Suite d'Existence - 13. Atto primo - Scena II

“Kannst du dich nicht einfach entlieben? Bei mir ist es doch auch gegangen.“
Can’t you just fall out of love? Just like I did.

Emma to her father - Eine aussergewöhnliche Affäre

As peaceful as it had seemed before, the mood abruptly changed the moment both men released their hold. The kiss had actually tasted sweet, as one reads in cheesy romantic novels. It might had to do something with the fact they’d eaten pastry moments before, but it made the experience even more intense. It had been soft and shy, tender and lovely. But when Tristan pulled back, he was flooded with the realization of what he had done. Ernest faced the same feelings of pseudo-regret.

“I…I should leave.”

For a moment, Tristan tried to gather his thoughts, but it didn’t seem to work. Only when Ernest stood up, confirming his statement, he managed to jump into action.

“No, no…don’t”, he mumbled, as he grabbed the moving arm in front of him. Seeing his confusion reflected in the pair of eyes opposite his, he hastily composed an explanation.

“Don’t leave…The second act hasn’t finished yet.”

“That’s true. Yes, that’s…”, Ernest replied, sitting down again, “I can’t miss the end, of course.”

The once so comfortable couch proved to be a helpful means for creating physical distance. Both men now sat at opposite ends of it, trying to follow the sung storyline. The frequent sideward glancing didn’t go unnoticed by either of them, but they didn’t dare say anything. It was uncomfortable in the least.

Finally, after ‘Pur Ti Miro’ had been sung, the drama was over. Monteverdi’s drama, at least. It was almost nine o’clock, but darkness hadn’t set in yet. A fully lit world made it impossible to hide without being noticed. Another sideward glance came simultaneously, so both friends were facing each other.

“I really should go now.”

“Yes…you probably should.”

“This can’t happen again.”

“It can’t.”

Even though Ernest had proposed the inevitability, he didn’t seem comfortable when Tristan agreed. His eyes were beautiful as always, but his posture betrayed his anxiousness.

“It can’t, because…”

“I’m married. I have two children. It can’t happen again.” Tristan interrupted him. Ernest nodded, looking as sad as the man in front of him felt.

“I’m going now, okay?”

Now it was Tristan’s turn to nod. He walked his friend up to the door, making sure the distance between them wasn’t too small. Handing him his coat, he watched how Ernest carefully fold it before putting it in his bag.

“It’s not that cold”, he said as if he could read Tristan’s thoughts.

“Well”, he continued while opening the door.

“Well…” Tristan replied, looking at everything but his colleague.

The latter sighed. “Thanks for the lovely evening and… Well, thanks.”

“No problem. It was nice of you to…check up on me.”

“My pleasure.”

Pain was oozing out of the spoken words, flooding the hallway in which they both stood. ‘Drowning in sorrow’ suddenly seemed a very possible perspective.

“Will you be at school next week?” Ernest said softly.

“I don’t know yet. I’m seeing my… I have an appointment on Monday.” For some reason Tristan still didn’t feel comfortable talking openly about seeing his shrink. Especially now he knew the things he had to tell Paul. It was hard, but at least they’d just agreed that this never could happen. This; loving each other, caressing each other, sharing secrets and memories… It couldn’t happen.

“Okay. But we’ll keep in touch, right?”

“Yes, we will.”

“Great. Well, I’m going now…” On the other side of the door the world smelled like fresh rain and failed attempts at burning meat. Barbecuing proved to be hard this wet summer.

The various scents went unnoticed, however, when Ernest suddenly turned around and put his arms around Tristan’s shoulders before pulling him closer. He couldn’t not hug him back. Laying his head on his shoulder, Tristan let himself being hugged while stroking Ernest’s back.

“Be happy, Tristan. Please, be happy”, Ernest whispered.

“I will”, Tristan replied as he pulled back. For a moment, nothing happened: neither of them said anything, both men just looked at each other. When Tristan felt a hand cupping his left cheek, he found it extremely hard not to break down into tears. Somehow he managed, though.

“Good night, Tristan.”

“Good night, Ernest.”

As he watched his friend walk towards his bicycle, he saw Ernest bring a hand towards his eyes before covering them. It was hard for them both, obviously.

They made the right decision, though. They did. Really. Right?

Closing the front door behind him, the returning silence in the house finally triggered a breakdown. His eyes leaking uncontrollably, Tristan walked towards the couch and lay down on it. He put his head at the end where Ernest had sat. The pillows still contained some of his body heat, the soft fabric hadn’t lost all of his scent. Weeping silently, he hoped for things to get better, as always. After all, they had made the right and most sensible decision. There was no reason to doubt their choices. He didn’t know why it felt so horrible, though.

-

Monday came too soon. Three days before, Mara and the kids had come back from Utrecht, bearing an extensive arrays of toys their grandparents had spoiled them with. Tristan had tried to hide his intense sadness, which proved successful in terms of his children not noticing anything. Mara was a bit harder to convince, but after baking poffertjes with them, she accepted his state of mind. Tristan wasn’t a huge fan of the Dutch dish, because it basically felt like eating raw dough. However, the weather still hadn’t looked like summer, and Daan loved to bake the miniature pancakes, so they did.

Saturday was okay. It had rained the entire day, so they’d spent it with lots of board games, reading stories and watching movies. Sunday had looked quite similar, but in the evening Tristan’s mood had taken a turn for the worst. Afraid of scaring his children with his behaviour, the day had ended with Tristan going to bed at six in the evening.

It didn’t help he hadn’t received any message from Ernest over the course of three days. No, he hadn’t sent one either, but he still felt as if their friendship had ended with the promise not to get involved. What was the feeling called… Longing? Mourning? He missed him, that’s what it was. He missed him dearly.

Now it was Monday. Mara had to go to work, but she’d return in the afternoon to look after Sara and Daan while Tristan went to his appointment. His wife worked as a teacher at a primary school. She was good with children, both their own and her pupils. Tristan wasn’t bad with children, but he couldn’t handle them well in his current state. He had to promise Mara to call her as soon as he felt he wasn’t capable of dealing with his kids.

Now, at half past twelve, both of them were sound asleep in their rooms. They’d played, eaten and then had unavoidably drifted off to sweet dreams. His appointment with Paul wasn’t until three, so Tristan found himself alone with his thoughts. Trying to keep himself distracted by correcting a few badly written essays didn’t work well. Too soon, his doubts spiraled out of control into a desire to sleep and never wake up.

He tried some of his breathing exercises, if only for his family’s sake. Just as he felt himself getting slightly calmer, his phone rang. The sound caused him to jump quite literally. His newfound serenity had disappeared upon hearing it.

Quietly cursing inwards, Tristan ran towards the living room and picked up his phone from the coffee table. The name on the screen was both a surprise and a trigger for a shower of anxiety.

“Hi.”

“Hi”, Ernest answered.

“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching at the moment?”

“No, it’s sports day today. Luckily I didn’t have to go, because there’s a meeting with the natural sciences staff this afternoon. Are you feeling better, Tristan?”

The question didn’t come completely out of the blue, but the build-up towards it could have been better. Now, Tristan didn’t have enough time to compose a sensible answer.

“I am. Kind of… I think.”

“You sure?”

“Hmm…yes.”

“Well…okay. You’re seeing your psychiatrist this afternoon, right?”

“I am.”

“Okay.”

Silences were often awkward. The ones over the phone were the worst. You couldn’t be sure if the connection was bad, or if the person you were talking to just wasn’t saying anything.

“Well, good luck then…”

“Thanks. I hope I’ll be back at school soon.”

“That would be great. I… We’ll see each other soon.”

“Yep. Thanks for calling, Ernest.”

“No problem. Take care.”

“You too. Bye.”

“Bye, Tristan.”

If conversations could be more awkward than their respective silences, this had been one of them. Tristan didn’t know what to think, apart from the wish for this day to be over. Soon. He still had a heavy appointment to get trough, though.

-

Where Monday had come too soon, three o’clock had come even sooner. He wasn’t ready in the least to open up about Thursday night. Knowing their mutual decision had been an unrealistic – and possibly wrong – one, was unacceptable. If Mara hadn’t pushed him out of the door after wishing him luck, he wouldn’t have gone. Choosing to face problems was hard, choosing to make a choice was an even harder one.

The bike-ride towards the city was harder than normal, the wind caused him more trouble than usual and the psychiatric ward suddenly smelt like hospital again. He found himself annoyed by the lack of new magazines and his own heart, that was racing at the thought of confessions. Would it have been possible to stop it from beating, he’d have done it. No, he wasn’t feeling too well.

“…and the lithium is still not bothering you? Tristan?”

He wasn’t paying attention either, it turned out. Pretty much having forgotten the fact he already sat opposite Paul, Tristan felt unable to untangle himself from his worries. As expected, his psychiatrist noticed.

“What? No, I’m still fine.”

“You’re not fine though, are you?” Tristan remained silent. “Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea?”

“I’d like a cup of tea…” was the only thing he could manage.

“Okay, I’ll be right back”, Paul said, smiling reassuringly. A couple of minutes later he returned, carrying two filled cups and a pair of teabags.

“Here you go”, the shrink said as he handed over one of the cups. “Now… Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Not really…”

“Let me put it differently then. Is there something you need to tell me, Tristan?”

Denying it would be useless. It would only cause him more pain, since this was the place to lose some of the doubt that took up useful space in his brain.

“Probably…”

A reply of some sort would have been helpful at that moment. Tristan knew his psychiatrist remained silent on purpose, though. It would force him into talking, without actually being forced. It worked every time, without exception.

“Something happened last week… And everything’s supposed to be okay now, but it isn’t.”

Paul nodded. Again, he had to continue his own confession.

“Ernest, you know, the man who replaced Sigurd, came over on Thursday. We were supposed to watch an opera, but…”

Now, in the middle of his sentence, Paul chose to interrupt him. The guy’s timing was far from great, but it all had a purpose.

“Is Ernest just ‘the man who replaced Sigurd’?” the shrink asked him.

“Well…He is, of course, but…”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. You’ll screw everything up. You’re not supposed to fall in love again.

“But we kissed that night, so I suppose not.”

And so another sliver of the truth had found its way out of Tristan’s brain. A quite substantial piece of the truth, actually. The earth hadn’t swallowed him yet, nor had Paul punched him in the face. All was well, considering the unusual circumstances.

“Okay. How did you feel when it happened?” Paul asked, not a hint of judgment noticeable in his voice.

“Honestly?”

“That’s the name of the game here, Tristan.”

The addressed couldn’t help but smile a little. His thoughts weren’t just occupied with Paul’s sense of humor, but he remembered the kiss quite vividly too.

“It was nice. It felt really nice.”

As always, the unnerving scribbling of notes in the story of his own life. Tristan wondered if he’d ever be able to read the things Paul had written about their sessions. He wasn’t sure he wanted to reread all of his misery, though.

“And how’s the situation at the moment?”

Ah. The hard part.

“We agreed this can’t happen. We haven’t seen each other since, also because I didn’t know whether it was a sensible idea to go back to work.” Tristan replied, trying very hard to hide the discomfort and pain in his words, but failing. He felt his hands trembling and a headache developing in the places where nice thoughts were supposed to be.

“Do you like him, Tristan?” He nodded. “Are you afraid you might love him?” Tristan nodded again, this time slightly less convinced of the outcome of this interrogation.

“You haven’t told Mara yet, am I right?”

“No, I haven’t. I love her… I can’t tell her.”

“But you love Ernest too, don’t you?”

“It’s different.”

“But you do love him?”

Whatever answer he was going to give, he’d feel bad about it. The truth hurt just as much as lying would.

“I’m afraid I do.” Tristan finally managed. His shaking hands and appearing headache had in the meantime morphed into a leaking-eye phenomenon. Therapy sessions were never upbeat, ever.

The appointment ended similar to the previous one: Tristan had to talk to Mara, his medication stayed the same, another appointment was planned for next week and he could always call if he needed anything. He had to return to school, though, which was unpleasantly different from last time.

Walking through the corridor after having made an appointment, he didn’t look at any of the new paintings that were on display. Instead, his swollen eyes followed the lines on the floor, trying to read them as if they would spell out a solution. He had to tell Mara, but he couldn’t. He had to face his colleagues again tomorrow, which wasn’t his idea of a joyful day. He had to face Ernest, which seemed oddly awful and pleasurable at the same time. Still, the cold grey tiles refused to help him in his quest to look for answers.

Having just managed to reached the doors without breaking down again, Tristan looked up to face the world. Instead, he was confronted with his fears once again.

For the first time in nine years of leaving the building behind him, someone was waiting for him to come outside.