Learning to Fly: A story about overcoming depression

by David E Forrester

  Bloody hell, Tom. Can’t you tell something’s up? he hissed, lengthening his stride. Pete did the maths: a mile to Liz and the ute, Bobby’s likely doing the maximum sixteen ks and has a head start, I’m going to have to match my mile time to catch him in work boots on uneven ground. Pete muttered, ‘This is gonna hurt!’

  Pete noticed that the harvester was going dead straight. Crap, the kid can drive, which means he’s going to cover ground faster and make it harder for me, Pete thought as pain began gripping his legs. He looked ahead and saw Liz jumping and waving at Bobby to stop. Pete thought he saw Bobby wave back.

  Then as the harvester began bearing down on Liz and the ute, Pete noticed that it was beginning to slow. Good, Bobby has the sense to decelerate, but at that speed, he’s going to have to pull on the hand brake if he’s going to stop before hitting the ute. And, he won’t have the strength to do that.

  Pete put on a final burst of speed to run down the harvester and jumped into the cabin to the sound of raucous applause as Cold Chisel finished the last line to their final song – ‘Keh Sanh’.

  Pete leaned breathlessly over Bobby, who was frantically pressing the decelerate button, gripped the handbrake with both hands and yanked it up with his remaining strength. The harvester jerked to a stop. Pete then laid across the driver’s seat and Bobby’s lap catching his breath. After a few seconds, he braved a look at Liz. She was scowling at him just a few metres away.

  ‘Daddy did you see me drive the harvester? I kept it really straight. I just couldn’t slow down enough,’ Bobby said.

  ‘Yeah Bobby,’ Pete said, still catching his breath. ‘It’s a bit tricky. So next time make sure I’m here OK?’

  35

  Mirror

  After the exciting morning, it took Liz a long time to get Bobby to go down for his nap. He kept wanting to recount his story of driving the harvester to his grandparents and then again to Liz while she was trying to get him to go to sleep. Once he had finally gone down, the family gathered around the kitchen table. Liz and Pat, Pete’s mother, sat glowering across the table at Pete and Tom, who were slouched in submissive postures. Pete’s father, Robert Senior, stood by the kitchen sink sipping a cup of coffee with a wry smile on his face, as he thought about the morning’s events and the dressing down Tom and Pete were about to receive.

  ‘What the hell were you thinking leaving Bobby alone in the cabin like that? You know how precocious he is,’ Liz said angrily to Pete.

  ‘I just had to take a quick call from work. I put him in the seat belt in the trainer’s seat. I didn’t think he could get out,’ Pete replied.

  ‘So, tying my grandson to a chair is your idea of parenting, is it? How would you like it if I did that to you and left you alone?’ Pat chimed in.

  ‘He probably never would’ve got away to Singapore then,’ Tom snickered.

  ‘Don’t you laugh,’ Liz said, turning to Tom. ‘How stupid were you not to notice that something was up?’

  ‘How was I supposed to know? Sure, Bobby was going a bit fast, but he was doing a better job than Pete at keeping the harvester straight. The kid’s a natural,’ Tom said flippantly.

  Robert Senior decided to join in the tongue lashing. ‘Yeah, well I wonder how many heads he cost us going so fast. You boys know that you’re supposed to keep it under four kilometres an hour. Seems that Bobby’s inherited an impatient streak from both of you.’

  ‘He just wanted to get back to Liz as fast as he could,’ Pete said.

  ‘Yes, because you were neglecting him,’ Pat chimed in. ‘How much time do you spend with him anyway? Your head’s always in that job of yours. This is just another example of how Bobby’s environment is no good for him.’

  ‘What were you doing taking a call from work anyway? You’re on holiday,’ Liz scolded Pete.

  ‘There was a big move in the market and Johnno wanted to run a trade by me. If I’m going to be Head Trader I’m going to have take such calls, even on holiday,’ Pete answered defensively.

  Everyone in the kitchen rolled their eyes and Pete knew that he had made a mistake bringing up his potential promotion.

  ‘Well sorry to take time away from your high-flying corporate career, son. I guess we only humbly put food on people’s plates here,’ Robert senior said condescendingly.

  Pete’s anger level spiked. ‘Yeah, food that’s probably slowly poisoning a lot of people,’ he said under his breath.

  Liz looked at Pete disapprovingly.

  ‘What was that?’ Robert Senior asked, straightening up.

  Liz shook her head slightly, but Pete ignored her. ‘I mean that wheat is not good for some people, many people in fact. Including me. I’ve been gluten-free for over six months and never felt better,’ Pete said emphatically.

  The kitchen fell silent for several seconds before Pat spoke up. ‘No wonder you look so skinny. I’ve read about you “manorexics” in Women’s Day1. You’re clearly not getting enough nutrients from your gluten-free food.’

  Pete grimaced. ‘I eat loads of good food, Mum, and so do Bobby and Liz. Don’t we Liz?’ Pete asked turning to his wife.

  Liz glowered at Pete then said calmly, ‘Mum, Bobby’s in the top percentiles for his height and weight and his teachers say he’s doing really well in school. We also still have wheat at least once a week as a treat, and to make sure that our digestive systems can still handle it. So Pete’s exaggerating when he says we’ve all gone gluten free. Just like he’s exaggerating when he says he had to take that call from work,’ Liz added, smirking at Pete.

  Pat placed a gentle hand on Liz’s forearm. ‘I can always trust you to look after Bobby, dear. I can see that he’s growing into a wonderfully healthy and bright boy who adores and respects his mother.’ Her tone hardened again as she said, ‘I’m more concerned about what Pete’s doing as a father.’

  Damn, Liz’s good. She deflected all of this right back on me, Pete thought with admiration, allowing his anger to subside. Given the tense situation, however, Pete respectfully suppressed a smile. ‘Mum, I’ve lost weight because of my training for the bank’s mile team and I really am feeling good,’ Pete said reassuringly. ‘And you’re right, I’ve struggled with fitting in time around work for Bobby, but I’m trying very hard to be a better father. I even let him and his friends pelt me with water balloons at his sixth birthday party.’

  ‘I hope Bobby got a good few in,’ Pat interjected with a tight smile.

  ‘Trust me, he did,’ Pete replied. He sensed his mother’s attitude toward him was thawing and continued, ‘Mum, I know I stuffed up today, but I can assure you, it’s not the norm. I just underestimated Bobby’s intelligence,’ he added, having learned from Liz how to soften his mother up.

  ‘I know, dear, we all do that. But you have to remember you’re a father now and with that comes a lot more responsibility. Your world can’t be just about you. I told you that when you got married and you still seem to be failing to understand it,’ Pat tutted.

  ‘I know, Mum. I’m working on it,’ Pete said demurely.

  Robert senior was still simmering away and decided that it was his turn. ‘So, you’ve joined the hippy gluten-free sect? What are we supposed to be growing then, hemp?’

  Pete looked over at Liz as if to say, ‘I told you so’. But he had been preparing for this conversation for several months, and calmly answered, ‘Dad, I think that we should look into growing some sorghum.’

  ‘Sorghum?’ Robert Senior said with a huff. ‘Do the Italians who buy our durum make pasta out of sorghum?’ he demanded, already knowing the answer. ‘No, so we’d be dumping our best customers for God knows who will buy sorghum. Next thing you’ll be suggesting we do bloody farm stays!’ Robert Senior looked at Pat and added derisively, ‘Quick Pat, you’d better get working on your smashed avocado on gluten-free toast for all the fancy city folk who are coming to stay.’ He grabbed his hat. ‘I’m going out to the shed. Something needs fixing,’ he declared and headed towards the back door, where he
paused and turned to look at Tom. ‘I can still rely on you to do some honest work, can’t I, Tom?’ he asked.

  Tom nodded. ‘Yes, Dad,’ then got up from the table and followed his father out the door.

  After a short pause, Pat announced, ‘I’m going for a cigarette.’

  Liz looked across the table at Pete and said, ‘You did all of this, so you’d better fix it before we head home.’

  Pete walked into the shed and saw Tom and his father standing at the workbench. Tom was holding a hole puncher, while their father was preparing to hit it with a hammer. He glanced at Pete then looked back at the hole puncher and hit it hard with the hammer. He gave Tom a nod and put the hammer down. ‘Come to have another go, have yah?’ he asked.

  ‘No, Dad, I just want to make sure we’re OK. I don’t want to leave tomorrow on bad terms. It’ll be a while before I’m back.’

  ‘Going to skip Christmas again? Where’re you planning on spending it this time? Bali again?’ his father prodded.

  ‘Phuket,’ Pete answered.

  ‘That’ll run to a pretty penny.’

  Pete glanced over at Tom, who was keeping quiet, then back at his father. ‘Not any more than flying all three of us back here. And we’ll have a lot more time to relax and enjoy our holiday rather than spend most of our time travelling,’ he explained.

  ‘But it’s still not time with your family,’ his father snapped.

  ‘It will be time with my family,’ Pete countered.

  ‘So, you’re disowning us now?’

  Pete lost patience with his father’s belligerence and said, ‘You know what, Dad, sometimes it’s just nice to spend time with people who are happy.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Robert Senior said, becoming agitated.

  ‘Dad, you’re bloody miserable all the time. Why do you think I left the farm? I didn’t want to end up like you,’ Pete said without thinking.

  Robert Senior walked slowly away from the workbench and then exploded, shoving Pete hard against the wall, which released a sound like a roller door snapping open. He gripped Pete by the front of his shirt and snarled, ‘Listen here you little ingrate. What do you think helped pay for your uni degree? This farm! And you’d be nothing without it.’

  Tom came over and tried to pry his father’s grip from Pete’s shirt, but it only tightened as he dragged Pete closer to his face. Pete could see tears of anger pooling in his father’s eyes.

  ‘This farm’s been in our family for over fifty years and my father entrusted it to me. You’ve just walked away and come back when it suits you. You think it’s easy? Every year it gets harder to keep our heads above water. If it’s not the wheat price, it’s the weather, the price of fertiliser or diesel or even the bloody currency. It’s always bloody something and no matter what I do, it’s never good enough. We only ever just get by,’ he said, then pushed Pete back against the wall, releasing his grip. ‘So don’t you go telling me I’m miserable. Misery is a reality for me, I live it every…single…day. While you’re just a tourist,’ he added with contempt, hunching over as if he had just taken a heavy burden onto his shoulders.

  Pete had seen his father look like this before and in nearly the same place. The scene forced into his mind the day he had received his Higher School Certificate results and went out to the shed to find his father and tell him that he wanted to go to university in Sydney to study economics so he could become a banker. It was against the plan his father had laid out for him and Tom. They were to stay closer to home and study agriculture in Armidale, Pete first and then Tom. That way, they would be able to ease the workload off their father, save the cost of hiring hands and hopefully buy another farm in the area after a few good seasons. Instead, Pete’s departure had left them subsisting, in his father’s view.

  Back then, Pete had read his father’s response as anger and disappointment, but now he saw it as something far deeper and more sinister: his father’s depression.

  Pete also saw something else in his father at that moment – himself twenty years, or maybe even less, into the future. Escape from the farm and his father had not been the antidote to his depression Pete had hoped. The Monster had travelled across time and space, its vehicle the genetics woven into Pete’s DNA, and the fuel the life he had chosen to lead because of his father.

  Robert Senior’s depression had affected himself and everyone around him. It had pushed Pete away from the farm, cowed Tom into docility and made his mother a stress smoker. Pete was already fighting to prevent the same intergenerational transfer of mental illness to Bobby. And now that he understood his father’s own battle with depression and how lonely it was with no one to help and understand him, Pete decided he was going to try and help his father with the struggle they shared. ‘Dad, I know how you feel,’ Pete said sympathetically.

  ‘What do you know about it?’ Robert Senior asked tersely, staring at the ground.

  ‘I know how things never work out perfectly, no matter how hard you try. I know the frustration of always feeling that what you do is never good enough,’ Pete said, putting a hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘And I know the pressure you feel to make things good for your family.’

  Robert Senior slowly looked up at Pete. ‘Dad, I know all of this because I experience it too.’ Pete hesitated, took in a breath and said, ‘I know because…I’m being treated for depression.’

  Robert Senior’s face turned from one of stone to sympathy and he nodded. He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a croak. Instead, Tom said, ‘Depression? Really? Me too. I’m on Prozac. What’ve they got you on?’

  Pete looked at Tom in surprise, but soon gathered his composure to say calmly, ‘Lexapro.’

  ‘Side effects?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Farting like the clappers and sometimes I feel like a woman menstruating.’ Pete saw the look on Robert senior’s face turn from surprise to shock.

  Tom chuckled and replied, ‘Yeah me too, except the menses, so I guess I’m not as sensitive and feminine as you.’

  To Pete’s surprise, Tom’s use of the word sensitive did not provoke the usual anger. Instead it elicited a smile at the humour and bond they shared. Pete was about to give a witty rejoinder, when Robert Senior looked at them both in confusion and asked, ‘What the hell are you boys talking about?’

  Pete said, ‘Dad, the point is that I—’ Tom cleared his throat to get Pete’s attention. ‘We understand how you feel and we’re here to help. The farm’s not just your legacy, but Tom’s, mine and Bobby’s as well.’

  ‘But there may be nothing left for you,’ their father said.

  ‘It’s OK, Dad, I have a plan,’ Pete said reassuringly.

  ‘What, your bloody sorghum idea again?’ his father said sceptically.

  This time, Pete was not frustrated by his father’s resistance, as he now understood it. ‘Dad, I’m not saying we should switch completely over to growing sorghum. I’m just saying we should double crop. Rotate between wheat and sorghum. Sorghum’s less thirsty and we can grow it during the dry months or when the weather bureau thinks there’s a drought coming. I know it doesn’t sell at as high a price as wheat, but at least we’d have some cash flow when we’d probably have none otherwise.’

  Robert Senior sized Pete up for a few seconds. ‘You really mean all of this, or is this just another one of your hobbies, like that guitar of yours? Because this is serious family business,’ he cautioned.

  ‘I’m serious, Dad. We can talk more about it tonight after finishing up for the day if you want,’ Pete offered.

  There was a pause while Robert Senior considered Pete’s proposal.

  ‘Have you had a coffee?’

  ‘Tea,’ Pete replied.

  ‘Same difference. Let’s get back to work then, so we have plenty of time to talk tonight.’

  Liz got up from the table to top up her tea. She leaned on the kitchen bench observing the discussion going on around the kitchen table while sipping her tea. Pete was going through his pl
an for introducing sorghum to their cropping.

  Pete looked up and smiled, and Liz smiled back. That’s happening a lot more these days, he thought warmly and then turned his attention back to his parents and Tom. I’m gradually winning them over, like I am with her.

  36

  An itch you can’t scratch

  It was very early in the morning on their first night back in Singapore after their trip to Australia. Pete and Liz both woke up, the same way they used to before age, work and parenthood had made them perpetually tired. Pete rolled on top of Liz and smiled at her. Liz smiled back, and they kissed and said, ‘I love you,’ to one another. Pete reach down and pulled Liz’s nightgown over her head, and Liz reached up to help Pete pull off his t-shirt. She began caressing his chest and then traced the lines of his body down to his waist with her fingernails. She gripped the elastic waistband of his shorts and pulled them down.

  Pete, primed with anticipation, tugged off Liz’s underwear, and then plunged slowly in. They groaned their familiar groans and rubbed up against each other in their familiar ways, opening up to each other and sharing their carnal warmth.

  But then it happened; it was as if a circuit was shorting out and the entire power plant shutting down, right as the lights were about to go on.

  Pete shook it off as an aberration. He was still aroused and kept trying to flip the switch to get the lights to go on, but while sparks flew there was still no complete circuit.

  Pete and Liz tried different positions until Pete started to get tired. He stopped and rolled over to lie on his side of the bed. ‘Do you want to keep trying?’ Liz asked gently caressing his forearm.