by Dwight Okita
“Well, I really don’t. So whatever website copy you come up with, tailor it to the Trib, WBEZ, The Reader, CNN and the Sun-Times.”
Kazu rolls his eyes for the both of us.
“Chartreuse, don’t you think that by responding to the event, we’re drawing attention to it?”
“I think that by not responding to the charges, we’re saying the charges are true. I don’t want to do that, Luke.”
I can picture this woman’s face shrivel into a prune the size of a human head. A prune wearing a snarky smile. I make a note per Char’s instructions, but I have no intention of following up. I am planning to have a memory lapse later today. When I take a look at the crowd out front, I see something I don’t expect: a handful of people carrying signs. The signs say: “NATURE IS THE REAL HOPE STORE.” “NATURAL HOPERS UNITE!” “THE NOPE STORE.” It looks like the Natural Hopers have found us. Of course, I mention none of this to Chartreuse.
“Please get our response on the website right now!”
“Of course. Kazu is –“
“And make sure you run all copy past me before releasing it,” she says.
“Absolutely, Char.”
“And don’t call me Char.” She hangs up.
Kazu makes the sign of the cross with his index fingers…to ward off evil spirits. Lot of good that’ll do. I point to the tiny swarm of protestors moving in a circle on the sidewalk like gnats at a family picnic. Kazu rises and together we just stand there watching. “I think we have a situation on our hands, Husband,” I say.
After huddling with Kazu over various options, we decide it’s best to face our detractors head-on, before any reporters start appearing. The protestors continue to walk in a small circle in front of the store with their placards. I recognize the man who spoke on CNN for the Natural Hopers.
“Good morning,” I say in a welcoming voice. His name escapes me. “I believe I saw you on CNN the other day. My name is Luke Nagano and this here is –“
“—I am well aware who you both are,” he says. He ignores my offer to shake hands.
Kazu steps in. “We would be extremely interested to sit down with you over coffee to better understand your concerns with The Hope Store. Do you have time to get together this week? What day is best for you?”
“How about never?” The man just smiles at us through his horn-rimmed glasses.
I try again. “I know there is resistance in this country to finding answers to life challenges through medication and experimental treatments. These answers were once found mainly through spiritual paths or talk therapy or simple hard work. So along comes The Hope Store and we seem to offer big solutions with none of the effort, and that sounds lazy and wrong somehow.” I am closely watching the man’s face to gauge the impact of my words but he is poker-faced. I picture my words as beams of light, prying open a clenched fist. Ever since my first hope installation five years ago, my hopes have taken on a visual life of their own. “But I promise you that for a hope installation to really take hold, it requires a great deal of engagement and hard work from the individual. We’d love to be able to tell you more about it…if you have the time.”
The Natural Hoper says with a smirk, “My concern with The Hope Store and its ilk goes beyond that fact that you seem to offer easy solutions to very big problems. One concern is that by giving your so-called hope installations -- and I have no idea how effective that treatment is or how safe it is – that you make it unnecessary for people to develop within themselves the ability to hope. Instead you make them dependent on purchasing your services indefinitely.”
I look at Kazu to see if he wants to respond or I should. Kazu extends the palm of his hand toward me. “Well, I’m sorry, what is your name?” I say.
“Robert Chang.”
“Robert, I love your concern that people might forgo developing in themselves the ability to hope,” I say. “But surely you know that some people will never be able to hope on their own, no matter how hard they try, don’t you?”
He hands me his business card. “This is what I acknowledge. I acknowledge that this conversation is way too important and way too complex to take place on a street corner in Andersonville. I’d like to suggest some kind of town hall meeting on the future of hope. You have my card. The ball is in your court. Good day for now.” And the man begins walking north on Clark Street, followed by his colleagues with their placards in tow.
As the Natural Hopers clear out, I am stunned to see Chartreuse Johnson standing on the sidewalk in an olive trench coat. How did she get here so fast? I have no idea how much of this conversation she has heard, but I am sure it is way more than I would’ve liked.
“Wow, guys. Protesters at the opening day of The Hope Store? When were you going to share that one with me?” She gently sets a shopping bag down on the sidewalk.
“Chartreuse, I didn’t expect to see you here today. And so quickly,” I say.
“Well, when you called I was at the Starbucks next door. After I hung up, I was waiting for you to run web copy past me. Then I checked the site to see if you had updated anything. Finally, I decided to just drop in and see if you needed my…assistance.” Char pauses and in this moment I see her gruff exterior soften. “Kazu, Luke, believe me, I do not want to micro-manage. So if you tell me everything is under control and I don’t need to be here, I will turn around and take my butt over to my Pilates class. But I have invested far too much capital in The Hope Store to see it fail because of…carelessness.”
I am surprised to hear Kazu speak first. “We really appreciate your investment and faith in the store, Chartreuse,” he says. “I think everything that needs to happen today, it’s stuff that only Luke and I can do. But I promise if we need your help, we will definitely call you.”
Chartreuse picks up her shopping bag and hands it to me. “Here are flowers for the store. They're violet lotuses. Just fill up the glass bowl with water and let them float. They’ll look stunning at the front desk. We'll meet at the end of the week.”
I take a peek into the shopping bag. “They’re beautiful, Chartreuse. Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”
When I get to my office, I sketch out some marketing ideas for November. Thanksgiving. Images of turkeys, cornucopias and gratitude dance through my head.
LUKE
17. AUDITION
April opens the doors promptly at 9:00 a.m. She's a new hire to work the front desk and she's also a friend of mine. Kazu and I are dumbfounded to see that the protesters have scared away several customers. Somehow the Natural Hoper on CNN didn't stop customers from coming to our store, but a four-color pamphlet did. How weird is that? As I said before, marketing is an inexact science. Chartreuse is going to crucify me. Even though our dismal first day of business has nothing to do with the press coverage, I just know that somehow this is going to be my fault.
The lobby is almost empty. There are just a few brave souls sipping their Dunkin Donuts coffee, reading brochures. I make my way back to my office. I’ve just grabbed a fresh cup of coffee myself when April escorts the first customer to Kazu’s office. From across the hall, I listen in. "Kazu Mori, it's my pleasure to introduce you to Jada Upshaw. Jada, this is –"
Without saying a word, Kazu and the customer collide in an intimate embrace.
"Oh, I see you've already met," she says, smiling. April pulls the door closed. When she sees me watching, she just shrugs her shoulders at me.
Kazu’s office and my office have been intentionally designed so that our desks face each other. This way we can still feel connected, even when our client loads get heavy. Hopefully, we will miss each other less this way. After a few minutes, Kazu’s door opens. I see him walk with his client toward my office. “Luke, I wanted to introduce you to someone, since this lovely human being is actually an old acquaintance of mine and our first customer."
"Any friend of Kazu's…I'm pleased to meet you and welcome to The Hope Store. We don't just instill hope --"
"--you install
it. So I've heard. Catchy slogan," she says.
Kazu steps forward. "Since we're friends, I thought it would be more appropriate if I turn her over to you.”
“Absolutely,” I say. I remember her now. The pretty black woman who was first in line: the Swan Woman.
Kazu pulls the door closed after him.
Jada and I extend our hands toward each other. Beams of sunlight from my window cast a pattern on the floor between us, particles of dust dancing in the light. Our hands seem to take forever to reach each other. And finally, a handshake. Once two people have officially met, it cannot be undone.
Jada takes a seat on the blue sofa. The sound of April's giddy laugh can be heard through the door. I sit in an easy chair opposite her. I have an iPhone upon which to take notes.
"Well, Kazu’s loss is my gain." She seems a bit nervous. I try to break the ice. “How do you and Kazu know each other?”
“Oh, it was a long time ago,” she says. “Kazu was teaching a class at the Learning Annex. He’s an excellent teacher.”
“He is. He’s thinking of holding seminars on hope enhancement at the store once things get settled. And we want to start a support group for Hopers Transitioning.”
“Sign me up. I would like that.” I allow more time for chit-chat before we get started. Jada just looks around my office, taking everything in. “I can’t wait to see the hope contraption thingy,” she finally says. I smile. Jada reaches into her purse. “Oh, those nutty protesters were handing out pamphlets. I got one for you guys.” She hands it to me.
“Thanks!” I say.
The title on the front of the pamphlet reads: 10 REASONS TO BOYCOTT THE HOPE STORE. A quick glance reveals their manifesto. They present a list of low-cost strategies to increase one's hope naturally: health clubs to boost one's endorphins, cognitive therapy to correct flawed thinking, herbal remedies to enhance positive moods. The pamphlet gives a host of websites and services available as alternatives to our store. The brochure is no grassroots photocopy job. It is glossy, four-color printing on card stock. The Natural Hopers must have money. Someone has money.
But all I say to Jada is, "I’m sure it will make for lively bedtime reading tonight.” I tuck the pamphlet into my bag. "Well, I'm happy to say you're my first client, Jada Upshaw. No pressure." She fidgets in her seat. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you weren’t scared off by the protesters.”
“Oh,” Jada says. “I had made up my mind I was going to get my installation. Those people didn't scare me.”
“I know Kazu appreciates the support of an old friend,” I say.
“It’s nothing. So I'd like to talk about why I’m here today. Ever since I was young I knew I was different. I knew I was missing something."
“Absolutely. I think I know what you mean.”
“People think I’m exaggerating when I say I haven’t had a hopeful day in my whole life,” she explain. “But who can speak to that better than me, right?”
“You have a point,” I say.
“I’ve always been the quiet girl. The Disappearing Girl. But give me a chance to warm up, and I might actually come across as almost-lively," Jada says. "Though no one has ever outright accused me of being, uh, uh, what you call it when..." She is panicking. A word has escaped and she's got to find it. "...you know, when someone is..." There is a pause for a moment. A little sadness peeks out from behind her facade. She has failed.
"An extrovert?" I ask.
"That's it! An extrovert." She sighs. "I used to have such a vocabulary, you wouldn't believe it. I used to win spelling bees in school. I don't know where those words have gone to...but I don't think they're coming back any time soon. Do you?"
"If they're important words, I think they come back to you. Tell me, Jada. What do you think hope is?"
"I never really thought about it. Hope is...believing things are going to get better. Believing that you're put here on this earth...for a reason. Most of all, hope is what other people have. That magic juice."
I jot a few notes in my tablet.
"So I guess this is my audition?" she asks.
"Audition? That's an interesting word. What do you mean?"
"When I first wanted to try anti-depressants, I told my doctor I felt like I was auditioning for Prozac. This where I'm supposed to sing for my supper, plead my case so I can be green-lighted for treatment, right?"
"Ah. Well, I'm not a doctor or a therapist --"
She continues: "I have tried medication, talk therapy, holistic remedies, self-help books, acupuncture and hypnosis. Nothing has helped. My depression is better, but my hopelessness is not. It hurts too much to try to hope anymore. I don't have it in me. So it's all on you, Luke, because I am dying here. I am disintegrating before your very eyes." For the first time I see the vulnerable woman sitting before me, a woman in unimaginable pain. I will do everything in my power to save her.
“Well then, what do you say we begin?” I rise from my chair. “Today, we’ll do a brain scan of your current hope levels. Then I’ll install your new hope. And tomorrow, I’ll show you a short film about hope. Over the next four weeks, you’ll get to experience your new hope levels firsthand. We’ll have check-ins here every Friday. How does that sound?”
Jada rises from the sofa. “I have to tell you…” She stops.
“What?”
She looks up at me. “I don’t know what I’m getting myself into.”
I laugh. “There’s something about the unknown that’s a little bit scary, but a little bit irresistible too, don’t you think?” I say. “But nothing will come up that you can’t handle. I promise.” I lead her toward the door. “And now I’ll take you to the Installation Suite.”
JADA
18. THE MAGNETIC MOMENT
Luke’s manner is so damn comforting and kind that when he says, “Nothing will come up that you can’t handle,” I can’t help but believe him, though my first impulse is to argue with him, throw myself to the floor kicking and screaming, tell him about all the times I’ve been led down roads like this only to be screwed over. But I decide to bite my tongue. Luke’s voice is smooth and silky. I’m sure he missed his calling as a radio personality. There is a decorative water fountain on one corner of his desk. The water cascades endlessly over a small chunk of marble. Between the sound of the water and the sound of Luke’s voice, I wonder if I am being hypnotized. And then I wonder if I care. No, not really. Anything is better than this imaginary life I am living. That I am not living.
Together, this Japanese American man and I walk down a corridor. As we walk further, I notice it starts to feel colder and the hallway gets darker.
Until finally we disappear.
“Luke?”
“Shh, we’re almost there.”
“Where? We’re almost where?”
“Give me your hand. “Let me guide you a bit. We’ve almost reached the Installation Suite.”
I give him my hand.
“I mean, it’s not like I’m afraid of the dark, but, uh, uh…”
“I promise there’ll be light soon,” he says. “The darkness helps to separate your old life from your new one. We’re wiping the slate clean. And we need to do a scan of you.”
I stop walking for a moment. “What will you be scanning, pray tell?”
“Your brain.”
I didn’t see that one coming. Images from The Bride of Frankenstein flash through my mind, lightning bolts shooting through a beehive hairdo. “Wait, no one told me about this,” I protest.
“It’s perfectly safe. A regular MRI takes a picture of your body. A functional MRI kind of takes a snapshot of your brain activity and turns it into a pretty light show,” he says. It feels warmer, the room grows brighter. Luke and I are restored. “It’s a powerful record that you can take with you today. The before-and-after shots document changes in your hope capacity, and of course you’ll have lots of anecdotal experiences. Shall we continue?”
I hesitate but I’ve come too far to turn ba
ck now. I can’t wait to tell Blair Matters about all this science stuff mixed up with the new age stuff and to show him the protester pamphlet. I took some photos of the protest demonstration too.
“Will you let me know when we get to the actual hope installation?”
“Absolutely.”
As we walk toward the Installation Suite, everything becomes warmer and brighter. The place looks exactly like a beauty parlor from the 1950s. The retro-style signs could have been stolen from beauty shops and barber shops of the past. The six adjustable chairs look vintage. I must admit the playful décor relaxes me. Good on them, the designer folks. Luke guides me to a seat.
“Is this going to hurt, Luke?”
“Not at all. It might tickle a bit. Just lean back against the headrest and hold as still as you can for about five minutes. And as you sit there, I want you to hope for something. And just keep hoping for that one specific thing as we wait for the picture to develop. Okay?”
“Okay, I guess.”
Luke flips a switch. “Now hold still…and hope for something. Keep that one thing in your mind for the next five minutes.” I hear the purr of a machine, a motor sound. It sounds much more intense than I expected. I close my eyes. I decide to hope for something unusual. I hope for lotus blossoms. In my mind’s eye, I see…a clear glass bowl filled with purple lotus blossoms floating on water. It’s not even something I want or like. But for the sake of the experiment, I will hope for it. It’s not my birthday so I have a better chance being struck by lightning than receiving flowers.
“Are you hoping for something, Jada?” Luke asks?
“Yes, I am.”
“Good. Just hold still for a few more minutes as I take the fMRI.”
Finally Luke says I can relax. “Let me direct you now to the screen in front of you. On the left, is a functional MRI of what the average human brain looks like when it is in the process of hoping for something.”