The Hope Store Read online

  Kazu and I have been together for three years now. Long enough to feel completely comfortable with each other; not long enough to take each other for granted. Still, with the launch of The Hope Store just days away, all we can do is talk shop. "You said you could tell me stories about unlucky store openings," I say. "I'm all ears."

  "I don't want to scare you," he says looking at me with his soulful, black-as-coal eyes.

  "Try me."

  "Some stories are better left untold," Kazu says. "All I'll say is one incident involved an elevator company, their brand-new slogan, and a very tragic accident. The owner put up the logo of the company in some of his elevators before the company actually opened its doors and boom – tragedy. Very bad luck."

  "Could've been a coincidence." I spear a strawberry with my fork.

  "If it just happened in one elevator, maybe. But the cables snapped in all three elevators bearing the new slogan -- taking the lives of the owner and several board members," he says. "The two elevators without slogans were fine. Needless to say, the company never opened."

  "Here's the weird part for me. How do you reconcile your belief in superstition and your belief in science?"

  Kazu laughs. "First of all, I don't call it superstition. That's an American concept. Growing up in Japan, I learned that the world can be divided into the Knowable World and the Unknowable World. These worlds are not contradictory; they're complementary. Westerners have a hard time with that. Westerners want answers that are either black or white. Easterners accept that sometimes the answer is both black and white."

  "I love it when you get all trippy on me." I lean over and kiss Kazu on his lips which taste of vanilla ice cream. Then I lean over and kiss him again.

  "Two kisses? My argument must have been very persuasive."

  I take our plates and rinse them in the sink. "I'm still not convinced that my banner needed to be destroyed. Besides, does tearing it down stop the bad luck, or is the bad luck already in motion? Like an arrow shooting through time and space?"

  "Time will tell," Kazu says without a hint of irony in his voice. "Let's see how the opening goes before we count our chickens."

  .

  JADA

  7. AN IMAGINARY LIFE

  Living without hope for the past forty-some years is kind of like wandering through a dark cave the size of the Grand Canyon with bats flapping overhead and not having a flashlight to your name. It's a mystery to me how I survived this long, though I'm sure that bravery had nothing to do with it. Last year, I almost didn't. Survive, that is. That was the last time I tried to kill myself.

  It was one of those sunless, winter days Chicago is so famous for. Even the laser beams of my SAD light box could not reach me. I found myself again falling down the rabbit hole. I started to fall behind on my mortgage payments, the collection department kept harassing me, and that’s when I made up my mind: I know what I have to do. I remember laying down my wallet and keys on the kitchen table and breathing a heavy sigh. I would leave a note so people wouldn't have to wonder. A colorful flock of origami paper cranes encircled my belongings on the table, as if paying their last respects. They swam upon a body of water as imaginary as my own life. Where did I find the energy to fold all those paper creatures? I had no idea.

  Every time those collection goons called and left a message on my machine, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as if a piece of fruit was rotting inside me. I was born without that talent for hoping, and now they were coming for the roof over my head. A girl can just give up just so much. I would sooner live in a homeless shelter than feel like an intruder camping on the sofa at Sheila's. But a shelter would probably not allow me the luxury of keeping my cat. What would happen to Shadow? I couldn't give her back to a shelter. That's where I got her in the first place.

  I stood facing the eggshell-white walls of my living room. I would leave a note to the world, but what would I say? I thought and thought and then it came to me:

  NO ONE KILLED ME. I HAD A BAD DAY WHICH TURNED INTO A BAD LIFE.

  I spray-painted my message in midnight blue. That way no one could overlook the note, or let it fall behind the furniture. I stepped up onto a wooden chair and put my head through the noose. Okay, it was a leash really...for my faithful pet of nine years. Not that you could walk a cat on a leash. Shadow perched on the arm of my paisley sofa and watched me with great interest. My cat could not connect the dots of a chair, a noose, and a desperate woman to see that something terrible was about to happen. She just saw her owner playing with a leash...dancing on a wooden chair.

  "Goodbye, Shadow," I said. "Don't worry. Otis will look after you when I'm gone." She licked her front paw with utter indifference. She would not participate in her owner's drama. Shadow didn't care that I played solitaire endlessly on my laptop, that most days I was a few tacos short of a complete fiesta platter. All that she cared about was that I fed her when she was hungry, and petted her when she wanted to be petted.

  "Don't eat any more birds. It'll just make you sick again," I said. "Love you, Shadow. You were a great cat. Good-bye." Shadow stopped licking her paw and just stared at me.

  I thought of all the disappointments, large and small, in my life. It puzzled me how my boyfriend Otis Franklin could love me when I couldn't even love myself. I thought how much I hated my last job -- back in the days when I had a job. How bored I was at the prison of my desk. How I resented having to make coffee for the monthly staff meetings. "Make your own damn coffee, people," I wanted to scream, but I never screamed. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have spray-painted my feelings on a wall more often. It might have broken the spell.

  Enough. One last look at Shadow. I had thought there would be tears, but there were no tears. I was all cried out. And with that, I closed my eyes and stepped off the chair.

  And that should've been the end of me.

  The leash cut into my neck like it was going to slice right through. I kicked my legs.

  But something broke above me and I crashed to the floor like a clumsy angel. A tiny shower of plaster rained down on me. I hurt all over.

  I lay there in a tangle of limbs on the coffee-colored rug. For a moment, I just tried to catch my breath. Otis must never know that I came this close, or I'll never hear the end of it. My throat ached. I rubbed it tenderly. I looked in the mirror and saw rope burn marks. I'd have to wear turtlenecks for a week.

  I looked up and saw the new hole in the ceiling.

  If anyone asked, I'd say it was there when I moved in. Yes, that was the ticket. I spent the rest of the afternoon putting my home back in order. The cat leash went back into the kitchen drawer. I moved the wooden chair back to the table, swept up the bits of plaster. Argh. The blasted graffiti on the wall. That would take several coats of paint to cover which required a trip to Home Depot. The smell of wet paint would linger for days. Otis would get suspicious of any spontaneous home decoration. I just wouldn't invite him over for a week.

  So there is a learning curve, even to dying, I thought to myself.

  LUKE

  8. THE EPIDEMIC

  CARELESS WHISPERS

  FROM THE HOPE EPIDEMIC

  My hope-endowed, well-intentioned fellow earthlings often ask me: "Aren't hopelessness and depression the same thing?" To which I snarkily reply: "Aren't you and your sibling basically the same person?"

  Well…not exactly. I mean, sure, there's a familial resemblance, and you come from the same parents -- but I think you'd agree you're hardly the same person. Not identical twins at all, surely not Siamese twins joined at the hip. Fraternal twins maybe.

  So let me make this distinction if I may. If depression is the inability "to feel your life" -- hopelessness is the inability "to do your life." The former has to do with one's emotional repertoire, while the latter has to do with one's behavioral repertoire. Hopeless folks don't have that ambition bird flying in and out of their brains like normal folks. We don't lose a lot of sleep pondering what our true purpose on earth is bec
ause we don't think we have a chance in hell of fulfilling said purpose. We're accidental slackers in the most tragic sense. We're beautiful new cars in the auto showroom with no gas in our tanks.

  It's not that we've all thrown in the towel. Many of us are trying to rise up. It's more like we're wondering what a towel is, and why didn’t we get one. You probably haven't a clue what I'm talking about. Poor hopeful you. At least I appreciate what you were born with, even if you take it for granted.

  As I've grown from a hopeless boy into a hopeless man, I've watched as America's greatest natural resource has all but vanished. I'm not talking fossil fuels here, but the innocent ability to have hope in the face of common sense. I can see it in the blank stares of millennials, in the suicide rates, in the relentless gun violence on American streets. Every show on TV is about forensics…the science of how we kill each other. If life doesn't make doesn't matter -- why should death?

  I remember a Buddhist buddy giving me some friendly advice in a coffeehouse as we sipped our iced chai lattes: "Luke, it's really as simple as this. Chant for the wisdom to know what to do with your life, and for the courage to act on the wisdom." And though the words were powerful, they fell on deaf ears. Mine.

  I only blog when I have something to say or when something unusual happens. Which is to say, I am not a daily or even weekly blogger. I'm sporadic at best. Re-reading this blog brings back a memory.

  Kazu told me how his obsession with brain confusion began. He met a doctor in Baltimore at a neurology conference. The woman was doing a radical new procedure she had stumbled upon which proved extremely effective in the treatment of morbid obesity. She had a morbidly obese patient who was actually being treated for brain seizures at the time. The surgeon opened up the man's skull and was delicately touching different parts of the brain with a probe to see if she could duplicate the seizures. The wide-awake patient mentioned that he suddenly felt his ever-present appetite subside for the first time in years. He felt strangely full and sated. After the surgery, when the patient was tempted to overeat, he would again feel full and was no longer hungry. Kazu wondered how else the human brain could be fooled.

  "Science is about finding solutions to problems," Kazu said during my clinical trials at LiveWell. "There’s a growing epidemic of hopelessness right outside our doors." After some years of exploration, he felt he was finally onto something big. It was a way to trick the brain using magnetic fields into creating more dopamine which, in turn, generated more hope in a patient's brain. It, in fact, created a hope reservoir. That's why this clinical study was on a fast track at LiveWell and why he was excited about the project.

  JADA

  9. PARTY CRASHER

  It’s Sunday. I decide to go over to Otis' apartment and hang out with him.

  Otis opens the door, and we hug. These days I am more of a hugger than a kisser. "New turtleneck?" he asks.

  "Oh, this old thing? I had it lying at the bottom of my closet," I say. The last time I wore it was last year when I tried to hang myself and had to camouflage my purple and black and yellow bruisings around my neck. Ah, memories! This is our Sunday ritual: the newspaper, coffee, maybe something sweet or savory. Today it is savory: sunny-side-up eggs and hash browns. We sit on the sofa reading the Sunday paper, drinking our Orange Cappuccino International Coffee.

  "Oh my god," I say without looking up from my section of the paper.

  "What?"

  "That doesn't make any sense. That sounds too good to be true." I hold the newspaper closer to my face, too lazy get my glasses.

  "What sounds too good to be true?" Otis asks.

  "There's this new store opening up in Andersonville -- are you ready for this? -- that supposedly sells hope over the counter! Is that the biggest crock of nonsense –"

  "Wow. Sounds pretty cool to me. Wonder how it works."

  "You wonder how it works? Otis, you think this is for real?" After all these years, Otis' trusting nature still surprises me. "You don't think it's some kind of, uh, uh, you know what I mean, uh, a scam?"

  "They're making scientific breakthroughs all the time, Jada. Miracles happen every day!"

  I just stare at Otis in disbelief. "Yeah, like who wouldn't want to slap down a couple bills and pick up an extra dose of hope? In fact, we might as well load up the Mini Cooper with a year's supply of the stuff while we're at it because I'd probably go through it like I go through a case of Diet Dr. Pepper in a day. And besides, it's what they call, uh, uh, what do they call it? -- when both sides win. Anyway, that thing. At least that's what I'd say if I were normal. But I'm not. I'm hopeless."

  Now it's Otis' turn to stare at me so he does. Then he goes back to reading the paper. I can be so darned cynical sometimes. Otis and I, in some ways, are a horrible fit. We are so different in our basic views of the world. When we first met, I found Otis' can-do attitude oddly attractive. And Otis found in me a lost girl who needed to be found. When I read about this Hope Store and other magic bullets for hopelessness, I just get angry. How much money have I spent on cures that cured me only of my money? Why are these Young Frankensteins profiting off the hopeless and clueless? Where are the consumer advocates that are supposed to be protecting us?

  I should do something. In my mind, I hatch a plan. I will to go to The Hope Store and buy whatever they're selling. I will be living proof that their miracle cure won't work, and then I'll tell the world. Till then, this will be my little secret.

  I continue to read the article. "Says the creators of the store are Luke Nagano and Kazu Mori," I say. "Kazu Mori. Oh my god, I think I know that guy!"

  Otis is barely listening. "We could always check out a matinee at the Davis if you like..."

  What I fail to mention to Otis is how I know Kazu Mori, if indeed it is the same Kazu Mori. The Kazu I know taught a class on parallel worlds several years ago. Back then, I had a bad afro and never said a peep in class. I had a slight crush on the guy. It's unlikely Kazu would even remember me. I will definitely make a visit to The Hope Store.

  "There's a private party for the opening of the store Monday night at 7:00, and the store opens to the public on Wednesday," I announce. "Want to go?

  "You just said it's a private party. And besides, you hate parties."

  "I don't want to go because it's a party. I want to go because I've never been to a Hope Store. Have you?"

  "Fine. Go crash the party and tell me all about it."

  I turn to face him. "I'd rather go with you, Otis."

  He gives me a look."I'm not going to get thrown in jail just to satisfy your --"

  "Maybe we'll even get a reality show out of it. Like those folks that crashed the White House. What were their names? The Martini's. The Zamboni's? I can never remember names."

  "The Salahi's," he says.

  "The Salahi's! You have such a good memory, Otis. You should get on a game show and win us a lot of money. I'll just call them the Salami's. If I can eat it, I can remember it."

  “You’re talking about food and here we just ate.”

  “I need to use your computer. There’s something I want to check.” I power up Otis’ laptop and google Kazu Mori. It is indeed the same man who taught that terrific class for the Learning Annex on parallel universes a decade ago. I am happy he has done so well for himself. But I'm sad for me that I have so little to show for my own decade.

  “According to the Small Business Administration, a third of all new businesses shut their doors in the first two years of operation. In our current wretched economy, however, that time frame is closer to six months to a year.”

  -- On the Money magazine

  LUKE

  10. TSUNAMI

  Tonight is the soft opening for The Hope Store. The media are invited but the public is not.

  My hope levels have never been higher. My cup runneth over; my synapses are snapping. The investors decided that Monday is the best night for the press opening; Wednesday is the best day for the opening to the general public. I am at the top of m
y game tonight. The store looks great. When you walk in, what takes your breath away is the floor-to-ceiling water fountain that forms a gentle parenthesis behind the front desk. It is a simple effect with water flowing in a sheet over clear glass. Kazu and I wanted it to suggest the abundance of hope available to people. In the freshly painted walls, one will note the overall color theme is aqua blue and chocolate brown. And once you are in the heart of the store, there is the beautiful vinyl banner which bears our slogan.

  Kazu is stationed at the front desk amidst the gently rushing water to greet our guests. He looks handsome in his purple shirt with a Koi fish swimming across the front. Everyone who is anyone is there. Everyone who hopes to be someone is here too. I favor the latter group, not just because I count myself among them, but because they are the underdogs, and because they are our future customers. The store was created for them: people who had yet to fully arrive in this world. Yet here they are, plain as day, as if Kazu and I had hoped them into existence.

  I can't remember the last time I've seen so many people trying to look effortlessly hip in one place. The women with their dangly earrings and hieroglyphic tattoos. The men with their gelled hair that creates the illusion of little tsunami waves throughout the room. But beneath the shiny surfaces beat matching shiny hearts. They are friends, future customers, members of the media. They are here to bear witness to history in the making. For my part, I wear a simple black dress shirt that has these words silk-screened in silver across the back: Ask me about hope.

  Though there is much levity in the air, there is pressure as well. The store's investors have made it abundantly clear that in three short months, The Hope Store needs to show dramatic signs of profit and viability or it will be history. All the more reason I’ll be thrilled if CNN really does show up. CNN would be a major coup.