Sunshine Ten Times Over

content warning: death, abuse, alcoholism, family estrangement

I saw sunshine ten times over last week. It was while I was watching Shrek. I was sitting and watching Shrek and Donkey and the way they conquer the challenges and fall in love with the enemy—then all of a sudden my doorbell rang.

I brought the remote to my chin and pressed off the box with me and Shrek and Donkey and their enemies inside. Around me hung my drapes and my droves of loose cables and dust. I stood and began the walk to Door. I pushed through couches and grapes and Legos and photos. Door stood nervous but strong.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

“It’s the Salesman, Dave,” Door responded. I peeked through the peephole and saw the Salesman who looked drowsy and heavy. He was a skinny man who was drowsy and heavy.

“Hello?” I asked through Door. There was no pressed. She is okay. She’s older now with a boyfriend and a job. A house and a dog also. I rarely see her though. She must be doing okay. I saw her for her birthday—I went and surprised her at her apartment in the city. But that was a few years ago now. Julia didn’t seem to need much of a connection. That is probably best for her. I think that is best for her. Things did get hard for us after Larry passed. At first I thought things must get easier—but I got distant. Julia grew up and I got distant and I rarely see her.

“Dave…don’t,” Door said calmly.

“How’s Julia, Dave?” the Salesman persisted.

“She’s okay.” I remember when Julia was a kid she would make Larry and me cookies. Sometimes they were salty, and sometimes they were chocolatey, and sometimes they tasted of rosemary and time with wind in my hair as a kid on the beach with the warm sand on my hands.

“How old are you now Dave? You’re getting old, aren’t you Dave?” the Salesman prodded.

“Good Dave—keep him out.” Door reassured me.

“I’m 70.” Things have begun to slow down. The long wait seems to be coming to an end. I didn’t want to think of it too much. I did think of it sometimes. All my memories taste so good and salty and wet and aged. I missed Larry and Julia. We used to be so nice and all together. In the warm sun on the ice skating rink in our cozy socks on the bed. In the cold winter months on the sleds in the grass next to the butterflies and the roses in our cozy socks on the bed. And the picnic blanket with my back on it with Larry’s head on my chest and Julia in my arm in our cozy socks on the bed. Watching Shrek in our cozy socks on the bed— response. The Salesman looked up and through the peephole and smiled at me with a wide smile. His eyes were glossed over and wanting. His teeth were yellow and brown. The Salesman picked up his heavy knuckle and knocked on Door. Door stood strong.

“So a few more years left?” the Salesman asked.

“How are things going for you Dave?” the Salesman asked, staring through Door’s peephole.

“Things are fine, thank you,” I responded.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it Dave,” the Salesman continued. “Five years?”

“Don’t let him in, Dave,” Door whispered.

“Five years. Yes.”

“Can I come in?”

“Dave—do not,” Door whispered aggressively.

“Why are you here?” Door was right, I didn’t want the Salesman to come in. He is always up to something.

“I’m here to check in on you Dave.”

“He’s here to sell you something Dave—don’t trust him,” Door said.

“I’m doing fine—thank you.” I am doing fine. I took the dog on a walk yesterday. And I went to the bakery and had a coffee on the porch. And I enjoyed it. I watched the sailboats wander the bay and I was calm. I felt the way it was when the wind and sun went through my hair and on my skin. I glanced at the newspaper and had a coffee on the porch. I am doing fine.

“How have things been since Larry?” the Salesman asked. Door looked at me worried.

“Don’t let him in, Dave,” Door insisted quietly. He knew I would cave if I thought too long about anything.

“Things have been fine—thank you.” Things have been okay. It was hard to fully move on but I usually don’t like to think about it.

“Is your kid doing okay Dave?” the Salesman

“Probably,” I said, with a hint of something sour on my tongue.

“Don’t give in, Dave,” Door said, still calm. Door knew this all. He’d known me so well ever since I was a kid. I remember him helping me with my Legos. He would help me put them together and place them around. When I grew up he would help me organize the cables and sweep the dust. Door was here when I met Larry. Door was here when we had Julia. Door was here when she moved out. Door was here when I would go out onto the porch and watch the sailboats and newspapers with a coffee in hand. Feeling the wind on my skin and the sun in my hair. But Door was also here for tigers all between.

Door was here when Larry grew twisted and began to grumble. He was here when the roars grew too loud and the claws grew too sharp. He was here when Julia grew up and got hurt and cold. He was here when Julia left. He was here when I was alone, on the porch, in the cold. And he would comfort me and tell me about how Larry didn’t mean it.

“You sound upset Dave.”

“You sound fine to me Dave,” Door whispered.

“Do you feel guilty Dave?”

“I’m fine.” The Salesman came to me five years ago presumably when he had heard of my troubles with Larry. Five years ago I was drunk and I was tired. And angry most of all. It was the first time I had seen him since I had been a teen. When he knocked I was drunk and tired. Door was asleep. I let him in and he had me get a new product he was selling—he called it The Stroke. I wasn’t sure what it was but he said it would fix all my problems. I was drunk and tired and angry. And the tigers all between were roaring. Larry was asleep in our bed that I so rarely slept in. I so rarely slept.

The next day, the doctors said, “It seems he had a stroke while he slept. I am sorry for your loss.”

I told them I was sorry—for the scratches and the bite marks, for the torn limbs and the bones everywhere. I told them I was drunk and tired and that Door was asleep. I told them I was sorry and that I didn’t mean it.

“Strokes can happen to anyone at any time.” The doctors reassured me it wasn’t my fault. Door reassured me it wasn’t my fault—he said I was drunk and I was tired and he said that if he were awake he would have stayed closed.

I called Julia to tell her what had happened. I said he had a stroke and I said there was nothing I could have done and I said I was sorry and that I was tired and angry.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. She was always too young.

For a moment I thought my problems would go away and that things must get easier. But I got sober and I got sleep. Things got lonely. I grew distant. Julia grew up.

“You’re fine Dave. You are fine,” Door reassured. It felt good that Door was so always reassuring.

“Your problems have a solution Dave.”

“I don’t have problems.” I don’t have problems. I don’t have a job, I don’t have a wife, I don’t have a husband. I don’t have problems. I have a house and a porch and a coffee cup. I have a nice view of the sailboats and the newspaper. I also have Door. I really do not have problems.

“It’s a new thing they are calling a Heart Attack, Dave. Patent pending. Results are beyond belief.” Of course the Salesman was here to sell something. He can’t help himself.

“No thank you, I don’t have any money.” I did think about it for a minute. If it were free I might try it out. It couldn’t hurt. But it probably wasn’t free.

“Don’t trust him,” Door said to me.

“You really should take a look at these charts Dave. They have great numbers on them—it shows nothing but the unprecedented success of the Heart Attack. Patent pending.” Numbers are irrefutable. The last time I saw numbers was this morning when I was making myself a bowl of oatmeal. Door read the box and told me how much water and oats to pour in and how long to heat up the bowl. The numbers were irrefutable. The oatmeal was delicious. “It is free, Dave. The Heart Attack doesn’t cost a penny.”

“Take a look at these charts with numbers on them.” The Salesman slid the charts with numbers on them under the door. I looked at the numbers. I couldn’t understand what was good about them. I looked at Door and whispered.

“I can’t tell if they’re good.”

“What do you mean? Let me see,” he whispered back. I turned the charts toward Door. He looked at the charts with a skeptical eye. He looked through them scrupulously. He was probably looking at the way they go up as time continues on. He was probably looking at how nearly all of them showed drastic improvements to dire problems. He was probably reading the key and the title and the axis. He was running calculations and analyzing the variables. After thinking about it for a long time he looked back at me. He stood strong but nervous.

“Those are good numbers. Dave these are good numbers,” Door reassured.

Door swung open to reveal the Salesman. Grinning as always with a package now in his hand. There you are Dave. You look so old Dave. Here take the package. Take the package.

I reached out my hand and through Door’s frame and into the cold outside air. I looked past the Salesman and into the water and sailboats beyond. Into the world of the Salesman where nobody forgives you for anything ever. Not even Dave. My hand shuddered a bit as I reached toward the package containing the Heart Attack Patent pending.

“How is it free?” I inquired.

“You really must look at these charts.”

There was silence as I stepped a bit away from Door. I saw his face and he looked worried.

“What?” I whispered to Door. He looked worried.

“Don’t cave Dave.” Door was worried.

“Do you know what it is?”

“It doesn’t matter what it is. Just stay closed,” Door said to me, even though that was his job. He seemed to know what it was. Most of me knew not to. Part of me knew. But a growing most of me wanted it. It was free after all.

“What does it do?” I asked the Salesman.

My stomach thudded. The tigers roared. As I touched the package my heart threw itself into my lungs. I could feel teeth dig into my organs and I felt the claws tear at my limbs.

I tasted the coffee and the sailboats. I saw Shrek and Donkey on their adventures with the enemy. I saw Larry cold alone on our bed. The tigers roared. I saw Julia beside my body, wondering where I went. I saw Door.

Door looked at me. We always knew we would share this moment at last with calm and peace and pain finally ending forever with Door and Dave at the frame of the world as a dusty pine tear dripped down his face. For one last time I held his hand and I closed my eyes and I saw sunshine ten times over.

JESSE GALLANT B’24 is just one great idea away from breaking even.