Gunnar In The Carrels

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table; (1 - 3)

-The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot

Thereafter, he satisfied his exploration of words through speeches and debates. These activities were encouraged in the Larsson children as a precursor to political campaigning in Gunnar’s case and supporting a husband’s political career in the case of his older sister, Ingrid.

He encountered poems sometimes, most often as inspirational quotations inserted into his father’s campaign memos, which Gunnar knew were written by aides. He learned to ignore them the way a closet alcoholic ignores the drink table at an office party.

Gunnar lived several years, therefore, without adding another poem to what he would come to think of as his ‘collection’. In the days between Mrs. May’s Grade 9 English class and Professor Daniel Addison’s Modern Poetry for Second Year Engineers, he allowed himself to be handled by Et Al into the most beneficial summer jobs, the right sports teams, and the correct interest groups.

Gunnar started mentally referring to his parents as David and Connie the year he turned 18. That year, they threw him a SuperBowl themed surprise birthday party. Fifty teens whose parents owed his parents a favour arrived at the London Room of the Berrington Hotel dressed as cheerleaders and football players. During the festivities and under the guise of a toast (mocktail crantinis and near-beer, of course), David gave Gunnar advice about manhood, the responsibilities that came with being an adult and the social need to carry the ball forward. Then he produced an actual football and, after an athletic forward and backward dance meant to simulate attack, spiralled the ball to his son, who fumbled.

Et Al chose political science as his major and preferred that Gunnar attend the local school that would allow him to continue to live at home. In a rare display of will, Gunnar pushed for their second choice which was a three hour drive north. Surprised and secretly pleased that their passive lump of a boy was finally showing spirit, David and Connie acquiesced on the condition that he share Sunday dinner each week with one of David’s former professors who now taught at the school.

Professor Sharp turned out to be not only a professor, but the actual chair of the political science department. Taking his stewardship of David Larsson’s son seriously, he functioned as something of a social maven for Gunnar. He produced tickets for events Gunnar should attend, saw to it that he had appropriate clothing and haircuts, and even arranged a few ‘dates’ with daughters of other former students.

The freedom Gunnar had anticipated by choosing a school away from home never materialized. He relaxed into the familiar routine of class during the day and social functions at night, busy enough that he could almost ignore the dark mass forming in his guts.

Almost.

One Monday in October of his second year of classes, Gunnar didn’t get out of bed. When his phone rang, he pulled the duvet (covered inexplicably in Campbell tartan plaid chosen by Connie) over his head and left it there.

The knocking started the next day and Gunnar did then get out of bed, but only to ensure the safety chain was on, use the bathroom and retrieve a large plastic pitcher from the kitchenette that would eliminate the need to get up again.

Ha - eliminate! Good one.

It was, wasn’t it? replied Gunnar, and then literally paused, sitting on the edge of his bed, to wonder who he was addressing.

Whom, said Sigmund.

Your name is Sigmund? asked Gunnar, starting to smile.

Simon says, said Sigmund.

That deserved more thought than Gunnar had in him at the moment, so he swung his legs under the covers and eased his body back into the hollow he had created with pillows and bedding. The street clothes he'd worn on the Sunday evening he'd climbed into the bed fully clothed were jammed into the crevice between bed and wall.

He thought maybe today was Wednesday.

On Thursday, the lock in the door to his bachelor dormitory was opened by custodial staff, the chain disengaged, and the door swung inward to admit the ready-for-anything stares of David, Connie, Professor Sharp, Mike (his father’s intern), Jackie (his mother’s PA), Gary (the stats guy for his dad’s office who was likely using the time on the drive for a ‘meeting on wheels’) and Ted, whose name was neatly stitched in what Gunnar thought to be a surprisingly feminine font on the left front of his custodial uniform.

Shit, said Sigmund, and Gunnar silently agreed.