Requiem [COMPLETED]

I find religion-again-this time a better one (here's hoping?)

While I was gone, worrying about what Sven would get into in my absense, it may have actually catalyzed him to finally allow someone in, if only out of sheer loneliness. Of course, he didn't relate the full tale to me until months later, but it actually seemed legit when he finally divulged the story; I didn't get the feeling he was holding out on me, like usual.

Sven had suffered from insomnia off and on for most of his life; the summer I had field school he'd rarely gotten a full night's rest. Generally if he couldn't sleep he ended up walking. It didn't matter where as long as it was outdoors so that Ranger could keep him company, tail wagging at him now and then, looking to him as if continually checking that he was still there. At night Sven could let him run off leash because no one was out, and other dogs were inside kennels or houses or yards. When they walked residential neighborhoods Ranger kept close, but as soon as they got to open fields or the parks which ran all through the city along the river, he would dash out into the night gleefully catching ground squirrels and crashing through undergrowth or alfalfa, long ears waving in the wind, mouth open in a dog-smile, tongue lolling out.

If it was late—or early enough, rather—and he knew I'd be awake for the day already a couple times he called me seemingly to talk about nothing, which is how I learned about his worsening insomnia. Both times he didn't have much to say but didn't seem in a hurry to get off the phone so I knew he must be lonely; he sounded sober then but I heard from Chuck about a few of his binges. At other times, no one had seen him for days. That was why Chuck called me, to say he was worried; the few times he'd stopped by our apartment Sven was shitfaced or hungover and passed out entirely.

* * *

Charlie he kept in touch with mainly by phone. In person the tension between them, the nonverbal irritation and awkwardness, always ended in bickering; a disembodied voice seemed to make conversations easier and more natural. They spoke mostly about things which neither felt strongly about: other friends, people from back home they'd run into, what Sigrid's latest letter consisted of. Charlie had a real affection for Sven's younger sister and it was one of the few intimate parts of his life he felt comfortable sharing with his best friend lately, so this was often emphasized in conversation when one or both of them longed for closeness.

Charlie didn't speak of 'Gabriel' except mentioning things in passing, like being out of town on a weekend or being busy a certain night, and after awhile Sven lacked the courage to ask for anything more; any details of Charlie's occupied affections gave him too much pain.

Since his reversal from courting popularity with Charlie's friends to avoiding their idle gossip, he spent the summer hanging out with the straight majority at house parties; or rather, going to parties and trying to not be miserable. This only served to make him feel worse when he couldn't even cheer himself up; then he'd try to drink into forgetfulness. Usually, his moodiness was seen as mysterious by the female population and he was pursued by many of the fair sex who thought he'd make a fine specimen of a boyfriend. His dark side, for me, abrogates any more of his appeal. Maybe for other females who understood him less, it made him seem sexy and dangerous.

By the end of the evening, he'd be on a beaten up couch in a dark corner of a living room, making out with a girl he couldn't recognize, squashed by surrounding college students of varying levels of desperation who clung to the party as well even as many disappeared with potential mates or stumbled home alone. These last torch bearers of the college experience would sing along to the stereo or token guitar-playing wannabe, while Sven and said accomplice tried to pretend they were alone and that their interlude was more romantic than the odd dozen or so cheap beers that counted the length of their acquaintance.