by Jerry Cole
“With a few mojitos to blur your vision.”
I was shocked when it worked and he actually chuckled. It was a deep and clear sound, like a rumble of thunder over an empty mountain plain. I liked it.
“I’m not really familiar with that end of town. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Umm, well I don’t know if they serve brunch, but there are a few nice restaurants that open mid-morning.” And all of them are pet-friendly. There was sure to be at least one person there with a tiny dog in a purse, eating tapas out of a saucer.
Not that bringing Friendly into any restaurant would be a problem for me. The ADA says that she can accompany me anywhere, but I didn’t want to explain to him that I was walking around with a dog because being social often leaves me curled in the fetal position. Better to be a super committed dog-dad than an agoraphobic nut-job who rescues random strangers.
“Oh great. You pick one and send me the address. I’m free at around ten-thirty. We can meet there and I’ll introduce you to the world of brunch.”
“Sounds great!” And it did. Suddenly there were so many things I wanted to say to him. There was so much I wanted to ask. But it was hardly the right moment and I still had a mountain of work waiting for me. “I, uhm, I just wanted to say I am glad you are okay. I am really looking forward to meeting you...officially.”
“Okay, it’s a date,” he said. “Oh, you never did tell me how to say your name.”
“EE-yen,” I said. “The spelling is a little strange but it’s easy to say.”
“Oh! Okay, Ian, see you on Saturday!”
I hung up the phone and looked at Friendly who was stretched out on her mat under the window. She looked at me and cocked an eyebrow.
“I have a brunch date on Saturday.”
“Does that mean I have to take a bath?”
“Probably.”
“Bathing was not part of the job description.”
I turned my attention back to the panel I was working on. People think that once you become a successful cartoonist the work gets easier. And by successful, I mean able to pay rent and stop grocery shopping at the dollar store. Actually, the work never stops. In fact, in some ways, it gets exponentially harder. When I was just a nobody posting my weird drawings on my unknown website, all I had to think about was putting enough content out to catch somebody’s eye. I live in a very affordable city. I don’t drive, drink, or date. I could focus on the work while picking up side projects for cash. In those days, if I cleared a thousand dollars a month I was satisfied. I knew I would be able to pay rent, feed Friendly and maybe even take my laundry to a coin-operated laundromat instead of washing them in the sink and hanging them out the window to dry.
And then I got fans.
Then there was merch.
Then I published a book.
And now the work has taken the place where my social life should be. I suppose I should be grateful. If I didn’t have my work and my fans to keep me motivated and excited about the future, I might have turned into one of those slobs who spend all day playing video games or being creepy online. Instead, I just draw until I damage the ligaments in my hands and wrists. My therapist says I need more human interaction but I think the occasional live streaming event with the fans is enough. Or at least it was.
The alarm rings after an hour and I know it’s time to take Friendly outside. No dog walker today. My therapist thinks it’s a good idea for me to use her walks as an excuse to leave the house more often. I don’t have to socialize or go to places that are busy or crowded. Just walk for twenty minutes and come home. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited.
What I wanted to say, but would never admit, was that finding Josh that night made me braver. It showed me that I didn’t have to hide from the panic. Even hyperventilating and sweaty I was still able to help somebody else. I was useful. I decided to try to be a little braver. My therapist said that I just needed to remember that I wasn’t stranded and alone. I had Friendly and I could always return home. If things got too overwhelming for me, I just had to remember that this place was still safe and I could always come back to it.
So, with that thought in mind, I put on my shoes. I bought them two years ago and they just now got their first crease across the bridge…you know, the one that says, “somebody wears me regularly”. I grabbed my sweater and Friendly’s leash and we headed out.
“What do you say, Friendly? Once around the block?”
“I’m with you, Ian.”
Chapter Three
Mobile groomers are an amazing invention. Friendly looked like the friendliest pit bull in the world, and I wasn’t doing too bad myself. I’d been building myself up for this meeting, doing everything I needed to do to avoid triggers and keep my anxiety low. I was really looking forward to seeing Josh again, or was it for the first time?
We’d only spoken once more since the first phone call. It went well. Mostly we talked about Friendly. I explained that we went everywhere together. Love me, love my dog; but she was extremely well-trained. I told him about how she and her litter mates were abandoned by a backyard breeder before they were all picked up by an animal rescue. I left out the part where she spent a year training to be a service dog. But I promised to bring her along. I was a lot more comfortable telling people about my crazy dog and her life story than about my own. People generally seemed more interested in her, anyway.
Thinking back on that night, all I really knew about the guy was that he was taller than I was and had hazel eyes. I chose a cafe that had fruit bowls, cocktails, and sandwich wraps on the menu. It also had outdoor tables, just in case the dining room was too crowded for me to handle. Friendly and I got out of the taxi a block away and walked up to the cafe on the opposite side of the street. I wanted to spot him before he had a chance to spot me.
As I walked up, I spotted him. He was definitely tall. Taller than I remembered. And way more muscular than I’d originally thought. He wore khaki pants and a blue shirt, tucked in with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He had whatever the hip equivalent of a military-style haircut was and his eyes were hidden behind aviator glasses. His tan skin and sober demeanor were a little intimidating, to say the least.
He stood on the corner, scanning the street slowly. His hands were shoved in his pockets but his posture was upright and rigid. He was easily the most noticeable man on the busy street.
“That’s him, Friendly.”
When the light changed, we made our way across the street. I was suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious about my hair. It wasn’t messy, but just a bit shaggy. I hadn’t thought to get a trim before meeting him. Somehow his squeaky-clean image made me feel shabby by comparison.
“Good is not the enemy of great,” I said to myself. I wanted to ward off any possible anxiety with as many positive affirmations as I could muster.
As soon as we crossed, he spotted us. The head that had been scanning the street came to an abrupt stop and a smile spread across his face. He had perfect teeth and a wide smile that made him look five years younger instantly.
“Ian?”
“Yeah, you remembered.”
“And this must be Friendly,” he bent down to pet her, which is technically a no-no, but there wasn’t any way to tell him that without outing myself, so I kept silent. “You’re right. She is gorgeous. I can’t imagine how anybody could bear to give her up.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes things just don’t work out,” I craned my neck and took a quick peek at the cafe. “Do you mind if we sit outside. It’s such a nice day and I want to take advantage of these last few days of nice weather.”
“Sure thing,” he smiled again and took his hands out of his pockets. It was a small thing, but it meant that he was loosening up. He was feeling more comfortable around me, which was my first win of the day.
“So, Ian with an E, what made you decide to come to the rescue of a complete stranger?”
I shrugged.
“If I was in trouble, I h
ope somebody would do the same for me. Besides, I have a really troublesome conscience. If I just left you to die, I would have nightmares for weeks.”
He laughed, that same deep rumble that I heard on the phone.
“Die? I don’t think I would’ve died, but I would still be in a world of hurt. I really have to thank you, especially….” the warm smile he’d been wearing slipped for a moment and he looked apprehensive. “Especially for not calling the police.”
“Hey, I don’t know how you ended up there, and you don’t have to tell me. I know how to mind my business. But if you ever decide you want to talk, or tell the police what happened, I…” What? I’ll hold his hand? That sounds weird. Everything was going so well until that moment. I looked up at him, feeling very short all of a sudden. He must have seen the gathering embarrassment on my face and saved us both by changing the subject.
“To be honest, I didn’t really remember what you looked like. I just remembered that somebody held my hand and promised to stay with me until I was safe. That and the dog, although I thought I might have imagined her.”
“That makes sense. I mean, who brings a pit bull into a bar?”
“I still can’t believe that she’s a rescue.”
We talked about Friendly until our drinks arrived, and then we talked about him. He owned a landscaping business.
“I like using my hands and getting dirty. Carpentry is my passion, but landscaping pays the bills.”
He looked over at me, waiting for me to say something. I had been so concentrated on him that I hadn’t once thought about what it was that I did for a living or how to explain it to people.
“I’m a cartoonist. I guess my work is my passion.”
“Really, so you do like Saturday morning cartoons and stuff?” He looked confused. Most people were.
“No, those are animators. I just draw cartoons like the ones you get in the Sunday paper.”
“Really? Anything I would recognize?”
“Umm...I draw Club 602 and I have a book out called Small Town Poets.”
He looked like I’d just kicked him in the balls.
“Are you shitting me right now?”
“Umm…”
“You’re OZ!”
He squirmed in his seat, looking around as if he expected a limo full of attendants to pull up at any moment and hand me my crown and scepter.
“Yeah, I am. You know my work?”
“Yes, I mean yes and no. I got your book from a friend. It was funny as hell, man. I mean it was really sad in some parts but it was just…I wasn’t going to read it at first. I was like, I’m not a kid. I don’t read comics. But she insisted that I read it and after the first chapter I couldn’t put it down. I was up all night reading. I was useless the next day. Oh man, you’re brilliant!”
The more he talked the more excited he became. People started to notice the tall man with the pit bull and how brilliant he was. Two tables over, the ladies tittered amongst themselves and whispered something behind their menus. I knew they probably weren’t paying any attention to me but it FELT like they were. Then the light at the corner turned green and an old car that had been idling there backfired and pulled out with a billow of black smoke.
The sound startled Friendly and everybody else on the block, but it shook me to my core. I felt like I needed to escape but there was nowhere to go. I was already outside. I sat in my seat, not really hearing Josh as he spoke, trying to regain control of my senses.
Okay, what do I know? I know I am outside; the sun is shining, I haven’t been threatened, I am with somebody who would help me if I were in trouble, I am in a public place, Friendly is with me…
I listed things off in my head like this for what seemed like several minutes, hoping that my rational mind would overcome my emotions. Still, I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my system and my heart was racing.
“Hey, are you okay?” Josh reached across the table and covered my hand with his.
I jumped at the contact but forced myself not to pull away. He was being normal. It was me who was being weird.
“I, uh…”
“The car, right?”
“I, umm….”
His face became soft somehow. He looked me in the eye and leaned forward a little bit.
“Most of the men in my family served in the military at some point. My Uncle Dexter loves NASCAR but he can’t watch it live anymore. Something about the roar of the engines does him in every time. You know what I’m saying?”
I nodded slowly.
“You want to take a walk?”
“Yeah,” I choked out. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay,” Josh stood and dropped a few bills on the table.
“No, I should—” I dug into my pocket for my wallet but he blocked me from the table and shook his head.
“It’s my treat. I’m thanking you for helping me, remember?”
“Oh.”
I followed him out, feeling relieved and humiliated at the same time. I was a sweating mess and we never even got to have brunch.
“Sorry, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled at me again. “I just wanted to meet the man who helped me in my hour of need.”
“Too bad he turned out to be a loser who runs away at the sound of car engines,” I added.
“Nah, my Uncle Dexter is one of the bravest men I know. He’s a good guy too. He got PTSD after doing three tours. He saw and did things I don’t think I could’ve coped with. I don’t know how you ended up this way, but I do know that you must have crawled through some kind of hell to end up here. And you still took the time to help a stranger. To me, that makes you more of a hero, not less.”
“Hero, huh?” I shook my head. I wasn’t sure if I believed it, but it was certainly nice of him to say. It didn’t make it any less embarrassing, though.
“Yeah, my personal hero,” he nudged me with his shoulder and stuck his hands back into his pockets as we walked along.
We didn’t really talk after that. We mostly just walked until we came to a park and then we bought ice cream from a cart and let Friendly run free for a while. The trees muffled the sound of the street and the open fields were calming. Despite the rough start, I was actually enjoying myself.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, is Friendly a pet or….?”
“A service dog,” I admitted.
He nodded as if he suspected all along.
“So, is all of that stuff about her being a rescue…?”
“Absolutely true. I adopted her as a puppy, having her around helped me a lot. Somebody suggested having her trained as a service animal, so I found a school where they train dogs for people with diabetes, seizures, anxiety, and PTSD. I just don’t like putting the vest on her.”
“You don’t want everybody to know,” he said.
I nodded.
“I can understand that.”
I looked at his calm face and decided that I believed him. He really did understand and as far as I could tell, he wasn’t judging me.
“So, do you want to try brunch again or do you want to try something else?”
“This is actually really nice,” I lifted the ice cream cone for him to see. “You really don’t have to do anything more. I’m having a great time.”
“Me too,” he smiled at me and I smiled back, feeling more relaxed in the presence of another person than I have since...ever. “We should do this again.”
“Again?” I wasn’t sure I was hearing him right. I’d long held the belief that anybody who volunteered to hang out with me once they realized how damaged I was, was obviously a conman or something.
“Yeah, we should hang out. I mean, maybe not in a place where there are crowds and loud noises, but this is cool.”
Friendly came running over as if she heard him and wanted to accept his invitation on my behalf. She obviously didn’t think he was a sketchy character, but then again, she licks her own butthole.
I don’t know why I did. Maybe the isolation was getting to me. Maybe all of those twenty-minute walks were making me think that maybe having a friend wouldn’t be so bad. I couldn’t tell you why but I turned to him and said, “That’s fine.”
He crouched down and stroked Friendly, who quickly turned over and let him rub her belly. He complied and I decided that since I was being braver these days, I would accept her judgment as sound and attempt to be his friend.
Chapter Four
Josh
It was another late night. Being a business owner often meant that I got home just in time to shower and fall into bed for a few hours before crawling back to the daily grind. However, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. There were a few things I knew about myself very early on.
The first was that I wasn’t like other boys. I liked other boys. The second was that I wasn’t the kind of person who could take orders from anybody. I was a decent employee as a teenager, but I knew then that I was never going to be a salaryman. I couldn’t build a career around making money for somebody else.
That’s how I knew that I wouldn’t be able to follow my father into the military. He thought I needed more structure, that learning how to follow instructions and self-discipline would make a man out of me.
Unfortunately, I could not comply.
If he could see me now, he would be surprised. I may have avoided the military but I still ended up with all of the structure and demands that he envisioned for me. I was bone-weary after a particularly long day. I had several big contracts in the area and my staff was stretched thin. To meet the demand, I even had to pick up a few day laborers. I was never one to sit on my ass and sip lemonade while somebody else did all the work, so I found myself helping out as the day drew to a close.
I stank. I was dirty. I was hungry. I was tired.
And then a movement in the bushes caught my attention. My body was on high alert, poised to meet any attacker who was dumb enough to follow me to my home. I’d been assaulted twice in my life and did not intend to repeat the experience. If I was going down, I wasn’t going down without a fight.