Jeff Strand - Dweller

“I don’t know it.”

“We’ve been around for about a year, and our hits are going up every single month. It’s all original content. Right off the bat I want to say that we can’t pay, yet, but it’s great exposure and Kirk Hart who does our strip Wheelies just got a major syndication deal.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“It’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard. I supplement my income by reading slush, and I was clearing out boxes of stuff from years and years and years ago that they were going to throw away. My job was just to make sure that they didn’t have some old strip by Gary Larson or something that could be valuable. So I was looking through some of it, and I found Rusty amp; Pugg, and there’s this weirdness to it that I really tapped into. It’s not laugh-out-loud funny, and I don’t even get all of the punch lines, but it’s got this odd, enchanting charm.”

“You want to publish Rusty amp; Pugg?”

“Yes. Online.”

“Every day?”

“It doesn’t have to be every day, but some sort of regular schedule. Fleece is weekly, and Crush Manhattan is three times a week, but Wheelies and most of our other strips are daily, although Wheelies is the only one that does a Sunday strip.”

“I’m in.”

“May I ask how old you are?”

“Sixty-one.”

“See, no offense, but you’ll never get a major syndicate to pick you up. Me, I think that’s awesome. I’m going to use that as a selling point.”

When the conversation ended, Toby slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to Owen. “Three Window Giggle Fits. What a shitty name.”

Yes.

“But people are going to read my strip!”

Toby went out that afternoon and bought a computer. The salesperson, a girl in her early twenties, thought that it was unbearably cute that such an old man wanted to learn how to use a computer. He was pretty sure she sold him features that he didn’t need, but the whole thing was gibberish and he pretty much just handed over his credit card.

The next week, he began taking classes.

Kirk told him that Rusty amp; Pugg was getting 700 hits a day.

“Is that a lot?”

“Third highest-rated strip on the site.”

Toby had yet to receive a single check, but quite honestly he didn’t care.

Kirk sent him links to some online discussions about the strip, and Toby didn’t care much about those, either. He’d started to register for the first site, decided they wanted too much personal information, and didn’t bother completing the process.

He was happy just to write and draw the strip and know that it was out there.

Owen was happy for him, too. Toby had the software to draw the strip directly onto his computer, but he stuck with paper and ink and a scanner, and mostly drew the comic while spending time with the monster.

Kirk called him to let him know that he was shutting down the website, effective immediately. It wasn’t a decision that came easily, but advertising had never really picked up the way he’d expected, and the site was one big time sink for him.

However, he had a friend who was looking for original content for his own website, and he’d already expressed interest in Rusty amp; Pugg.

Toby was fine with the switch. One month in, he was told that the hit count for the strip’s new home was “through the roof,” though the actual number meant nothing to him.

Still no check, but he didn’t care.

His hands hurt, all the time, and he didn’t care.

He could feel that something was wrong inside of him, but he didn’t go to the doctor. He knew what it was. They’d give him chemotherapy or radiation treatment and he’d be too sick to draw. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He had an audience to make happy. A faceless audience, but still an audience.

He introduced a hairy monster into the cast, and apparently it was a big hit with readers, especially when it ate a couple of bullies named Larry and Nick.

A car pulled up in front of his house after dark.

Toby cursed. He was soaking his hands in warm water to ease the pain, and didn’t feel like being bothered so that some inconsiderate jerk could ask him if he believed that he would be ascending to the kingdom of heaven.

He looked through the peephole, and then opened the door. A twenty-two-year-old boy stood there and gave him a nervous smile.

“Hi, Dad.”

2010. 65 years old.

“I wish you’d called first,” said Toby. “When someone’s reunited with their son for the first time in twelve or thirteen years, it’s nice to be able to shave and clean up the house.”

“I thought about it, but I don’t know, I thought it would be weird. I’m not a phone person, I guess.”

“You look good.” Toby was telling the truth. Garrett had grown into a handsome, healthy young man. Opposite of his dad, that was for sure. He wore a nice watch and a wedding ring.

“Thanks.”

“How’s Hannah?”

“She’s fine. Got into some trouble but worked through it.”

“And your mom?”

“She’s fine, too. You know she got remarried, right?”

“Haven’t heard a word from her. But that would make sense. It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah. She’s actually been married for quite a while now, but, you know, it’s not important.”

Toby nodded. “So why’d you decide to pay me a visit?”

“I hate the way things ended. The way we left you alone like that.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You were just a kid.”

“I’m not a kid now, though. Marianne and me…here, let me show you a picture.” Garrett handed Toby his cell phone, which had a photograph of a lovely brunette girl. “We’ve been married three years already-”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“Was she pregnant?”

“Nope. We just ‘got’ each other, I guess, and didn’t see any reason to keep shopping around. But we had a really long talk last weekend, and we decided to start trying to have a kid.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I mean, we haven’t succeeded yet, as far as I know, but we want to do this. The fringe benefits are definitely nice. But a decision like this is the kind of thing that makes you evaluate your whole life, and I look back at the day I got hurt and think, ‘I can’t leave things like that.’” He pulled up his sleeve and showed Toby his arm. “Look at that scar. That’s how I met Marianne. I told her I was in a knife fight.”

“You ever tell her the truth?”

“Oh, yeah, she called me on my bullshit in about three seconds. That’s when I knew I wanted to marry her. I mean, I just told her that I broke through some wood, not about, you know…”

“Owen.”

“Is he still alive?”

Toby grinned. “Sure is. Chatty as ever.”

“Still in the same shack?”

“Yep.”

“Can we…” Garrett looked as if he were going to cry. “Can we go out there and…fix the place up? I know it sounds like a stupid reason for me to make a six-hour drive, but…”

“It doesn’t sound stupid at all.” Toby got up off the couch. “We should go now. He’ll love to see you.”

“Well, we don’t have to go right now. It’s dark out.”

“But we should. Don’t worry about the dark-I’ve got a great new lantern. He’ll be thrilled. There aren’t any repairs to do, but I’ve meant to paint it for a long time.”

“I wanted to talk about your comic strip first.”

“Oh, you heard about that?”

“I’ve been following it. Marianne found it, actually.”

“I still have all of the originals except for a couple that Owen ruined. I’m going to give them all to you before you leave. You can keep them or sell them or do whatever you want with them, but I’d like you to have them.”