by Carl Polgar
For the first couple months, he would have to remind himself to sing. When he’d forget, the stress and the anger would overcome him, and things would get ugly for himself and those around him: his wife, his parents and in-laws, his therapist. Eventually, though, it became second-nature – pretty soon, it was rare to be around Eric without hearing him singing, much to the chagrin of his wife, his parents and in-laws, and the therapist who really wished that he would have suggested a different way for Eric to control his stress.
“Doop doop da-doo, ba-da-la bap-bap da.”
He was in the men’s department of a Sears, browsing through a rack of sweaters. The singing assured that he’d be left alone while browsing, which was as he liked it – in the years since his first breakdown, he found himself enjoying solitude more and more.
This time, though, the deterrent effect of his singing didn’t seem to be working, as he could sense that there was someone right by him. He increased his volume in the hopes that the person would go away and leave him in peace to continue his sweater shopping.
“Eric?” asked the person beside him in a familiar voice.
Eric stopped his singing and his browsing, and turned around to see Dan for the first time in almost four years.
“Oh my God – Eric! It’s you.”
Eric displayed the exact opposite of Dan’s sunny countenance. He was surprised to see his former friend in front of him, but didn’t want to show it – he just wanted to keep looking at sweaters.
“Dan,” he finally grumbled, knowing there was no other way out of the situation. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“My little sister’s getting married – you know, Misty. I’m in town for the wedding. She’s registered over at the Nordstrom’s, so I was gonna go grab a present for her, then head back to the house. I’m staying over at Mom’s place right now. You remember Mom’s house, right?”
Eric knew the house perfectly, after spending so much time there during their high school and college days. He chose to say nothing, though.
“In case you’re wondering,” Dan continued, “no – Slash is not invited.” He laughed nervously – Eric failed to react.
“Listen, Eric . . . I tried to get a hold of you after the show started. You wouldn’t answer your phone or reply to my texts, and I guess you deleted that file where we shared ideas, so I couldn’t write anything to you there. And then . . . then, things took off so quickly, and I got swept off to Hollywood to get more episodes made, and . . . Eric, it’s just really nice to see you again. How have you been? How are you and Debbie?”
Eric closed his eyes. He thought of Debbie, of all the fights, of all the counseling, the first miscarriage, the further counseling, the DUI, the further fighting, the office reduced to rubble by his baseball bat, and the tears – oceans and oceans of tears. He needed to sing. He just absolutely needed to sing.
“I’m just trying to find a new sweater,” he finally said in a detached tone after opening his eyes.
“Um,” Dan said, “okay. Okay, man.”
“The past is past,” Eric sighed. “You found out how to be successful. I didn’t. It’s the nature of the business. So now I’m just focusing on getting a new sweater.”
“Okay. Well, honestly, the business isn’t all that fun – all you’re missing out on is a bunch of stress. I’m actually looking to branch out a bit – wind down That’s The Tits! and explore other creative outlets.”
“Sure.”
“Well . . . I guess I’ll leave you to your sweater shopping. It’s really great to see you, Eric. You helped my career so much, man – I’ve never forgotten that.”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself, man. Say hi to Debbie for me. If you ever want to get back in touch, I’ve still got my old email address. Okay?”
Eric nodded – it was all he could muster.
“Okay,” Dan continued. “Bye, Eric.”
Dan walked away, off to the Nordstrom’s. Eric watched him go for a couple seconds, then went back to browsing sweaters while a relieving melody floated from his lips.
6
The singing continued as he made his way to the nearest register stand, was muted while he paid for his new sweater, then started up again while he walked to his car with a shopping bag in one hand.
But it wasn’t working as much as he hoped it would. The sight of Dan had rattled him too much for the singing to be effective – he needed something else to take his mind off things.
Eric unlocked his car, got in, and placed the shopping bag on the front passenger seat. After starting the car, he turned the radio on and pressed one of the preset buttons. He hadn’t listened to the car radio in ages, so he had no idea what was going to turn up when he pressed the button. It was a Top 40 station, playing some pablum that he’d never in a million years listen to. This time, though, the pablum was dumb enough to tune out any unwanted thoughts.
It was nearing the end of the afternoon. Eric opened the glove compartment and pulled out his sunglass case. The song ended as he took his sunglasses out of the case, and was followed by a brief, station identification bug. After, the station’s DJ started talking.
“Hey guys and gals, we’ve got ourselves a Q102 exclusive. You surely know this artist from his starring role in the smash hit TV show, That’s The Tits!”
Eric froze. The deejay continued.
“But he’s got all sorts of other talents, as you’re about to hear. From the genius mind of Dan Louis, here’s the world premiere of ‘Doop Doop Da-Doo’. You’re going to love this one, folks!”
There was a millisecond of silence, followed by Dan’s voice – just Dan’s voice, a capella.
“Doop doop da-doo, ba-da-la bap-bap da.”
The same syllables. The same melody. They were repeated again, at which point a bass drum started, and a dance beat followed.
“No,” Eric said as he started to tremble. “No!”
And Dan’s voice returned after a couple bars, singing the same wordless melody over and over again.
“SON OF A BITCH!”
7
It was Thursday night, the last calm evening at the Louis household before a whirlwind of activity would commence, leading up to a Sunday wedding for the youngest of three siblings, Misty Louis. Other members of the family – in particular, the oldest brother and the widowed sister-in-law of Dan’s mother – would be staying at the house for the weekend, but none would be arriving until Friday, which made the sound of the doorbell chime all the more unexpected.
Dan’s mother came down the stairs and cautiously looked into the peephole, where she saw a familiar face that she hadn’t encountered in a very long time. She opened the door and happily let Eric – in a new, gray sweater with a white stripe running across the chest – inside.
“Hello, Mrs. Louis,” Eric said respectfully, though slightly forlorn, as he entered.
“Eric Boyle? My goodness, it’s been years! How have you been?”
“I’ve been good. Dan told me Misty’s getting married soon.”
“Yes – this weekend.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. So . . .” she began, clearly aware of at least some of what had transpired, “you’ve talked to Dan?”
“Yes. We ran into each other earlier today. That’s why I’m here, and forgive me for coming unannounced. Is he around?”
“There’s no need to apologize, son. He’s in his old room right now. You remember where his old room is, right?”
“Of course,” Eric said, smiling.
8
Dan was hunched over at his computer desk, typing into his laptop in slow, irregular pecks. When he heard the knock on his door, he stood up and turned around while adjusting the new, gray sweater with a white stripe running across the chest that he was wearing.
After he knocked on the half-open door, Eric let himself inside.
“Eric?” Dan as
ked, surprised, “What are you doing here? Heh, are we starting the Thursday meet-ups again?”
“I need to talk to you,” Eric said while closing the door.
“Um . . . okay. What’s up?”
Eric said nothing for an uncomfortably long time. It seemed like he was about to lose his composure.
“You ruined my life, man,” he finally said.
“Dude, I—”
“No, no – you did. You did. You’ve shown me how low people can sink for the sake of personal gain. You’ve shown me that good ideas aren’t worth having because someone else is just going to take them from you without asking.”
“Eric. Eric, I’m sorry, man.” Dan stammered, not knowing exactly what Eric wanted him to say. “Did you . . . I mean . . . if you want, I can give you some of the money.”
“I don’t want any money. I don’t want anything. You keep on doing what you do. If you’ve kept your conscience clean through all these years, then keep on doing it. Enjoy your success.”
“Then . . . what—”
“I came here to say goodbye, Dan.” Eric took a breath and looked straight at Dan. “I can’t do this anymore. I’ve gotten the short end of the stick for too long. So . . . when I leave here, I’m going to go home, open up a bottle of whiskey, write a quick apology to Debbie . . . and I’m going to shoot myself.”
“Eric, no. No . . . please don’t—”
“Stop. Just stop. Don’t worry about me. You’ve done that pretty well for a while now, so don’t bother starting. For all the pain you’ve caused me, I want you to enjoy your life. Be happy, keep making the world happy, make your mom and family happy. Okay?”
Dan, clearly distressed, couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Goodbye, Dan.” Eric opened the door and left, leaving a confounded Dan alone in the middle of the room.
9
At the bottom of the stairs, Eric was again greeted by Dan’s mom.
“It was really great to see you again, Mrs. Louis,” Eric said with a warm, loving smile.
“Thank you, Eric. It was really good—”
Her parting words were interrupted by the sound of a gunshot. She instinctually ducked down while letting out a yell. Eric stood stock-still, then turned his head in the direction of Dan’s room.
“What was . . .” a shaken Mrs. Louis said as the panic grew on her face. “Danny?” She, too, looked over towards Dan’s room. “Danny?”
She started up the stairs, tripping slightly while trying to increase her pace. Eric kept looking up for another couple seconds. A smile – far removed from warmth or love – returned to his face. He made for the stairs, too, rushing past Dan’s mom until he reached the door of Dan’s room.
10
Dan’s body was slumped on the floor by the computer desk. A large pool of blood was collecting on the floor, moving slowly from Dan’s body to a gun that was laying nearby. On the computer desk, by the laptop, was a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a piece of paper with some words scribbled on it.
The screams of Dan’s mom grew louder as she neared the room.
Eric was already inside, scanning the scene as his eyes moved from Dan’s body to the whiskey to the note to the gun and back to Dan’s body. He beamed and trembled slightly, trying to hold back emotion before realizing there was no need to.
“HA!” he yelled as he pointed at Dan’s body. “HA!” He pumped his fist. “YES!”
Dan’s mom made it to the room, and crumpled to the floor as soon as she saw her son’s body.
“DANNY!” she screamed. “NO!!!”
She started bawling as she crawled over to Dan, yelling out his name between sobs. Eric started jumping up and down joyously, as if the delight that he failed to feel in the prior years came back all at once. With each jump, he would point at Dan – eventually, he just let his arms flail uncontrollably.
“I KNEW IT!” he yelled out. “YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU STUPID, UNORIGINAL SON OF A BITCH!!”
Dan’s mom was by the body, rocking him back and forth. “My son,” she said before letting out a horrific gurgling sound.
Dan’s little sister, Misty, had been in the back patio, talking to her future husband on the phone, reminding him not to get too rowdy as his bachelor party commenced. When the gunshot went off, she paused for a moment, unsure as to what exactly she had just heard, before heading inside. Upon hearing the first of her mom’s screams, she rushed up the stairs and followed the combined sound of the scream and a vaguely-familiar, exuberant voice towards Dan’s room.
“Mom,” she started, “what is going o—”
She saw her mother, the blood, her brother. She barely noticed Eric jumping up and down.
“Dan?” she asked as she began to shake uncontrollably. “No. NO!!”
Misty dropped her phone – her fiancé had remained on the line the whole time. She fell to the floor just like her mother and crawled over to Dan’s body, just like her mother. She kept repeating, “No!”, in between sobs.
Eric just kept jumping up and down. He couldn’t help it – didn’t want to help it, as he couldn’t remember a time in which he was so happy.
“YES! YES!! DOOP-DOOP-DA-DOO!! WOO!!”
He gathered control of his right arm and pumped his fist upwards.
“YEAH!!!!!”
About The Author:
Carl Polgar currently spends half the year traveling for work. The other half is spent at his home in Nashville, Tennessee. He writes and posts photographs of his travels at his blog, Polgar Across America. While at home, he writes and records music as Paris Street. His first book, Mid-Thirties Angst: A Short Novel, was published in 2012. Along with traveling and writing, he also runs Lambright Press with friend and fellow author Casey Mensing.