Gunnars Älskling (Entry 1) - Gunnar

(Most of the dialogue has been translated from Swedish for the audience's convenience.) 23 juli 2009 Karlstad, Sweden Mid-morning, and Gunnar was in a sour mood. He anxiously glanced at the clock every ten seconds or so, unbelieving that time could really go so slowly. Especially on a day like this. "Fetch me one sixteen millimeters, Gunnar," Josef Svensson ordered. Gunnar jogged over to the toolbox and shunted open the drawer with the wrench sockets. He found the 16mm hexagonal socket head and picked it up, turned around, and sauntered back to hand the tool to his father. He leaned his arm onto the side of the 2000 white Saab 9-3 in an attempt at relaxation. Josef motioned for his son to crawl into the pit under the car. Gunnar grudgingly slipped under and was promptly handed a grease-covered adjustable wrench. "I can not fit the air wrench in here, so you must take the bolt out this way," the elder Svensson explained. Gunnar fixed his wrench around the bolt and heaved his weight against the handle for the most leverage. The bolt loosened up and his father took to unscrewing it by hand. "Now take off the oil plug, Gunnar," his father told him. The boy picked up a socket wrench equipped for the task and turned it until it fell to the grated floor and unleashed the thick black stream. He knew what was next, so he automatically went to collect the new oil filter. After the oil's running had subsided, he set to the task of removing the present filter and twisting on the replacement. "Mr. Svensson, are you ready?" asked Mr. Sandström from up top. "Yes," Gunnar answered. The sound of liquid rushing into the car's machinery was heard. Oh, no. "Sjutton! Sjutton också...och mycket mera! * " Gunnar shouted. "Stop! Stop!" Black fluid splashed onto his shirt and gushed into the grating. Josef Svensson turned around to see the mess his son had made of himself. "You did not screw the plug back on, or no?" Gunnar ground his teeth. "It is fine, son," his father said, "Only know that you are going to pay for that oil." Gunnar nodded at his father and then hissed, totally furious with himself. It was a terrible day so far... * * * A young lady timidly walked into the garage, brushing some strands of her long copper hair away from her face. Her hesitant demeanor suggested she was worried or lost. Josef Svensson recognized this and clambered out from under the car and set his socket wrench down. "Hello. Do you need help?" The girl balked before answering. "Ah, no. I was only looking for someone." "Well, you have found someone now, yes?" Josef joked. The girl's eyes brightened and her mouth turned a wide grin. She pointed at Josef playfully and accusingly. "Ah! Surely! You are Gunnar Svensson's father, yes? His humor is much like that." Josef was perplexed by this. No one had ever come to the shop looking for his son before--at least, not for a good reason. "You are looking for Gunnar?" "Yes," the girl confirmed. She stood up on her toes and gradually scanned the shop for the boy. "He has gone over an hour ago. He has a track meet," Josef explained. Expecting the visitor to leave now that she was aware of her friend's absence, he retrieved his wrench and prepared to descend into the mechanics' pit once more. But the young woman was not ready to leave just yet. The girl pointed to a weathered blue duffel bag on the floor near the office. "That is Gunnar's bag, yes?" she asked. Josef casually turned his head to see it and nodded, hesitating. "Yes. That...is Gunnar's..." The girl pursed her lips and stated matter-of-factly, "My name is Gudrun Nygård and I am Gunnar's friend. And if he is at the track then I must take the bag to him right now." Josef was rather surprised at the straightforwardness of her statement. She had almost demanded to have the bag. The girl looked innocent to him, and seemed nice enough. But it was quite a heavy amount of trust to place in someone he had never met, to allow them to handle his son's bag. But it was only a pair of track shoes--men's shoes, at that. What could she do besides deliver them to his son before he suffered a race without them? Serves him right if he was so absent-minded to forget them, anyway. "Yes... Yes, take it to Gunnar, thanks." Gudrun brightened and--almost too eagerly--ran to grab the bag and hurried out of the shop. "Goodbye, Mr. Svensson!" Mr. Svensson only shook his head and muttered, "Gunnar, what are these friends of yours?" * * * Gunnar lightly cursed when he realized that his bag was missing--in fact, it had not even been at the track today. How could he be so stupid? Granted, he had been in quite a hurry to leave the shop and wash up before the meet. But he had totally forgotten about the bag holding his running spikes. Now, his race was doomed. How could he be so stupid? He had ridden across Karlstad and had not noticed the absence of that familiar case swinging back-and-forth from his shoulder. He had succeeded in calling his sister Kajsa and asking her to fetch his training shoes, and she was to arrive with them any minute now. But he knew that shoes make an impact in a race, and his race was looking dismal at the moment. And that was just the qualifying heat. Gunnar stood tensely near the front of the stadium, waiting for his sister to come sailing in on her bicycle. A little boy with his mother passed by and waved at him. "Hey, Big Gunnar!" Gunnar returned with a very brief smile and equally brief wave. "Hey, Mikael." One of the kids. He almost always loved being around the children, but today was not going to be a fun day to hang with Gunnar Svensson. A bicycle rushed into view and then slowed down very quickly, rubber halting and smearing into the concrete. "Pit stop!" the rider laughed as she flung herself off the vehicle. She hurried over to Gunnar and shoved a pair of red-and-gray shoes into his arms. "Thanks, Kajsa," Gunnar said, not wasting any time in changing shoes. "Big Sister to the rescue, again," Kajsa needled. Gunnar retorted without looking up from tying his training shoes: "Actually, I regard Märta as ‘Big Sister'. She beat you to it." Kajsa poked him. "I am still ‘bigger' than you," she reminded. "Yes, yes. I know. More responsibilities to you." "Ha ha." Gunnar stood back up and handed his sister his pedestrian shoes. "Good luck," Kajsa wished him, taking the shoes with one hand and hugging him with the opposite arm. "No kiss from Mamma?" "No. You can tell Mamma that I will take the kiss after." Gunnar quickly gave her his own one-armed hug and then scampered off into the stadium. * * * Gudrun rushed off the lot and dashed to her bicycle, her friend's duffel bag strapped over her shoulder and bouncing against her hip. She wrenched the bicycle off the fence enclosing the lot and swung herself onto the seat, gripped the handles tightly and bent over them, and with a larking war cry she cranked the pedals and accelerated down the narrow road on her way to downtown Karlstad. She hummed a light tune into the warm summer air as she sped along, weaving off the main commercial streets in central Karlstad to avoid heavier traffic. With a whoosh, she swung about a corner and zoomed parallel to the sidewalks on Kungsgatan. She came to the point where Västra Torggatan crossed Kungsgatan, and the little girl she almost hit glared at her and convinced her to slow down. The bicycle path along Sandbäcksgatan gave her a little more freedom with her speed, and she took the opportunity to pedal as fast as she could gleefully. She was no longer humming--her breath was needed otherwise. She hoped she could make it in time. But how would she get the shoes to her friend? * * * Just when things seem like they could get no worse, they do. And the fact that the starting blocks were not set right at all annoyed Gunnar. The shot was fired, and the runners were off. Gunnar could feel that the usually superb traction on his feet was not existent, and the shoes were much heavier as well. He nearly slipped off the start and had to work to regain a straight profile then. He placed third in the 100 meters heat with a time that was harsh-sounding to him. It was enough to advance to the day's final round, but things did not look good. He felt the same after the 200 meters heat and was not confident that he would leave the stadium without embarrassing himself. Kajsa met with him while the other events took place before the final sprints. They had a ‘conference' with one of his IF Göta coaches who tried to work with him on his starts. It helped a bit, but it was still discouraging that he even required the coaching. The 100 meters final was announced, and Gunnar was sweating coldly as he and his competition prepared to line up. He decided to try to shrug it off and just give it his best shot. Was that not what he always did? He looked into the stands and grimly waved at his family--his mother Brita, sister Kajsa; sister Märta and her husband Danjel, and their four-year-old daughter Annika; even Kajsa's fiance, Jensen, had just arrived. Those who were looking his way at the moment waved back excitedly. Kajsa shouted something at him and laughed--reading her lips, he deciphered it had something to do with her driving the car over him if he lost--with Jensen looking at her strangely. Märta jumped up from her seat and nudged their mother, vigorously pointing at an area of the track near Gunnar. Brita Svensson leaned forward to see what it was. Gunnar turned to follow their gaze. A bit of a commotion was developing track-side. Some girl had pushed her way out onto the track and was heading toward the runners. "Get off the track! Athletes and coaches, only," an official called out, chasing after her. Gudrun...? She turned around to face her pursuer. "I must take these to someone--Gunnar Svensson." Gunnar strode out of the grid to see what crazy thing his friend was doing. "Gudrun? What is it?" Gudrun twirled around to make eye contact with Gunnar. She held up a pair of blue-and-yellow shoes. "Gunnar, what were you thinking?!" she teased. The track official was now at Gudrun's side, not amused, and berating her about how she was delaying the race. "You are causing a scene, and you are disrupting the athletes' competition here. What is the problem?" "No problem," Gudrun stated. "These are Gunnar's shoes, and he needs them. I am his spikskor tjej. ** " The official shook his head in disbelief. Gunnar was rather shocked by her boldness himself. He quickly retrieved the shoes by the strings from his friend's grasp and began to change his shoes like he was to set a world record. He was blushing. Why wasn't she? "Thanks," he whispered to her, then cringed under the gaze of the other sprinters as he made his way back to his block. He looked back and was bewildered to see Gudrun walking candidly off the track and smiling back at him--like it was a Swedish pastime to interrupt a race and go talk to a friend on the track. "Sorry," Gunnar apologized to his competitors. He exhaled nervously and quickly knelt down in front of the blocks to feel them now that he wore proper shoes. He pushed off for a practice start and noticed how much more fluid it was. Now it was time for a good run. The sprinters were called to their marks and all knelt down. Gunnar began to worry that he had adapted to a bad running form in the other shoes. His mind flooded with thoughts of how he would need to alter his steps back to his normal stride. He was even concerned about causing a muscle strain. Then he thought of Gudrun, and started to awkwardly grin. "‘Spikskor tjej'..." he chuckled. Not a bad idea at all. He took a deep breath to regain his composure when it was time to set. He grit his teeth and produced a wicked smile. It was time to win in Karlstad. The gun fired, and he was off with a fury. He had something to prove--to his competition, to his town, and to his amazing friend. He dashed through the warm air and pumped ever faster as he progressed atop the clay-top. He knew he had first place as soon as he crossed the line. As he slowed down, his first thought was to find Gudrun. He located her at the lower level of the bleachers and gave her the ‘V' for victory. She rolled her eyes and motioned to herself, implying that all the glory was hers to have. The run had felt so much better. He breathed in deep, smiled to everyone, and thought how he never would take the shoes for granted. He then looked at the board for his winning time. 10.32 seconds. Not bad. It was going to be a good day after all. Thanks, Gudrun. * * * "I thought that we were to meet along the riverway today," Gudrun teased. "I forgot about Götagalan. It never occurred to me that you would be running in it." "Haha. Funny," Gunnar answered sarcastically. "Why did you not figure it faster? I almost lost the day because you were late." Gudrun elbowed him. "It is your own fault you forgot your bag. Maybe I will not fetch it for you next time. Lose your one hundred and two hundred meters." Gunnar strategically did not remind her that he had indeed lost the two hundred meters dash. A second-place finish was still not a win. Mikael, the young boy who had waved at Gunnar before the meet, came up to him and tugged at his shirt. "I knew you would win today, Big Gunnar! You are the fastest!" Gunnar laughed at the boy's innocent flattery and gave him ‘five'. "Too bad I missed the Olympic Games, yes?" "You would have won!" Mikael said. Gunnar chuckled and patted him on the head before Mikael's mother caught up with her son to take him home. "Good job, Mr. Svensson," she congratulated. "Thanks so much," Gunnar replied. As Mikael and his mother left, Gudrun nudged him. "I think you need to be more careful about your friends, Gunnar. They will have a bad influence on you." Gunnar laughed once more while he packed his running spikes into his bag. He then handed the bag to Gudrun. "Here you have, ‘spikskor tjej'." He winked. Gudrun looked at the bag and back up at her friend. "Olympic Games, is that so? I think we can make it there." Gunnar nodded. "Yes. We." * * * Josef Svensson drove the family's station wagon back home after another tiring day at the shop. As he steered down Fryksdalsgatan, nearing their apartment building, he looked up and out the window and halfway waved at one of the apartment windows. No one ever really waved back at him, but he liked doing it just the same and imagining someone actually was. Except, this time he did not imagine Annika, Märta, or even her husband Danjel waving back. Why was that? Of course. It was the Götagalan track event just across one of the delta waterways. All the Svensson family and the married Svensson daughter's were probably there now. He sighed. Running would not get his son anywhere. He could not understand how the young man could devote his life to that. Gunnar was certainly a very fast runner, but he should be preparing for a solid career, one like Josef had found and was about to capitalize on. They could be in business together. Quality time. Quality time... Josef frowned. His son had been working with him for the past year at the mechanics shop, much for the sake of quality time. And yet he could not give up one workday to see his son becoming whatever the person he was becoming? You are a sorry man, Josef Axel. Really, he didn't even know who Gunnar's friends were--like that Gudrun who showed up today. He wondered now if she had gotten the shoes to Gunnar in time. He rolled down the window and heard the faint sound of the cheers coming from the IF Göta stadium. He was almost certainly too late for his son's performance. Josef Svensson turned the wheel once more in the direction of the parking area. Easily finding an empty space, he soon shut the car down and closed the door behind him. It was late in the day, and it sounded like the annual Grand Prix in Karlstad was calming down. He vowed to not miss the next one. * Sjutton också! is a light curse, literally meaning "Seventeen also!" ** Spikskor tjej loosely means "running shoes girl", more literally, "spike-shoes lass".