The Hope Store

by Dwight Okita

  He clicks the remote and the screen shows the human brain. It is lit up with many colors. It is beautiful. “Regular MRI, or magnetic resonance imaging, uses a powerful magnetic field and radio waves to give a dimensional view of the organs and tissues of the body. But functional MRI gives us something quite remarkable. It is a view into the blood flow in the brain which captures the magnetic moment of the brain’s activity.” Luke points to the illuminated image. “You see where there are brilliant pools of color? See how the brain seems to light up? That’s where the brain is most engaged. One of the groundbreaking discoveries that Kazu has made is being able to identify what the brain looks like when it is engaged in the act of hoping.”

  “Are you going to be able to show the functional MRI of my own brain today?” I ask.

  “Yes. Now let me warn you not to be alarmed by this image. The activity level is much lower. Here is the scan that we just did of your brain.” Luke clicks the remote and what I see on-screen almost makes me cry. I see the walnut-like outline of my brain, but inside it there is almost perfect darkness, except for a flicker of yellow and blue along the edges.

  The mall is open but nobody’s shopping.

  “Wow,” I say. “If I felt hopeless before coming here today, now I’m beyond hopeless. Thanks a lot!”

  Luke puts his hand gently on my shoulder. “As you can see, very little of your brain is engaged when you try to hope. That’s a problem,” he says. “But, Jada, it’s nothing to be ashamed about. In fact it confirms there is some scientific basis for your hopelessness. Some of the fundamental connections in your brain chemistry have been severed. During the clinical trials, I saw fMRIs much like yours, worse than yours too. But 86% of the volunteers increased their hope capacity from two times to five times their original capacity.”

  I keep looking back and forth at the image of what a normal brain looks like and my own. It makes me angry. It isn’t fair. But the bigger question is: can The Hope Store really increase hope levels in the hopeless? Is there any cheese down this tunnel or is it just another dead end? Luke slips a color screen print of my brain into a cardboard envelope and hands it to me.

  “The last thing we’ll do today is the hope installation itself,” says Luke. “This part ironically is the shortest part of the whole process. Are you ready?”

  “No. But I’m willing.”

  A blue beam of light encircles my head so that it’s blue no matter where I turn. Imagine that I am a very tall lamp and the blue light is a lampshade and you start to get the picture.

  The light radiates a cool temperature.

  Everything beyond the light shimmers like it’s underwater. The walls of the room are wavy. Luke turns my chair around so I’m facing myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the far wall. He opens a small box and throws something into the air over me.

  At first I don’t know what he’s throwing so I duck my head. It appears to be silver confetti. But instead of falling, the confetti hangs there in the air. Then ever so slowly, it begins its descent. I am hypnotized by the silver dots falling in slow-motion around me, and falling in the mirror. I stare at the confetti like a kid watching his first snowfall. Maybe I am that kid.

  "Wow, how did you do that?" I ask.

  Luke smiles. "Kazu and I have many friends who are inventors. This is called 'slow-falling confetti.' It's made out of a substance that falls slower than any other substance known to man. This confetti falls 37 times slower than the standard stuff. Of course they're trying to find more practical, life-improving applications for it too."

  "So this is the hope installation?”

  "Yes, this is it. All will become clear tomorrow when you view the hope orientation film.”

  The slow-falling confetti continues its descent around me. I watch it fall in the mirror. It's really quite pretty. The confetti finally settles to the floor. As each dot of color hits the floor, it makes no sound.

  “That's all for today. Over the coming week, I want you to pay attention to any changes in your hope levels, your thought processes, your emotions. Then I'll see you back here next week.”

  “This has been quite a day. I brought my credit card.” I reach into my purse for my card.

  “Why don’t you settle up with April at the front desk and she can book in your next appointment. We’re running our First Timer Special. That gives you 25% off, so it’s just $750 for the installation.” He points to a sign on the wall which reads: “Enjoy our Halloween Special. Because life without hope is scary!”

  “That’s perfect, Luke.”

  We walk back toward the lobby. As I approach the front desk, I am stunned by what I see: a large glass bowl filled with purple lotuses blossoms. “Oh my god,” I say. I can’t take my eyes off the flowers.

  “What is it?” asks Luke. “Is something wrong?”

  “Where did these come from?” I say. “They weren’t here when I came in.”

  April jumps in. "The investor lady dropped them off for the store opening about an hour ago. She had a funny name."

  "Chartreuse?" I say.

  "That's it."

  Luke just smiles.

  “When you were doing my MRI, you asked me to hope for something. This is exactly what I hoped for.” I point to the flowers. “Purple lotuses floating in water in a large round bowl. Do you think this is here because I hoped for it?”

  Luke is beaming at me, but he isn’t gloating as I might have expected. “It’s less important what I think and more important what you think. What you feel. Does it feel like just a coincidence, or does it feel like something else? I’ll see you tomorrow, Jada. Keep your eyes peeled.”

  I don’t know what to say so I say nothing. I take a picture of the lotus blossoms with my smartphone. I pay my bill. When I step out of the store, I look up at the clouds, Clark Street, the pedestrians. The world looks the same. As I walk down the street, every now and then I notice a glimmer out of the corner of my eye. I make a note of it in a small spiral notebook. “Ask Luke about the glimmers.”

  I leave the store with the knowledge that there may be something new inside of me. I hope my body does not reject the hope as a foreign substance. As I stroll down Clark Street past the Swedish Bakery, past the cute coffeehouses, I keep my eyes peeled for whatever comes my way. I am ready to calibrate even the most microscopic changes in my life. But I am also totally prepared for failure, for disappointment on a grand scale.

  "Hope for something, Jada," I whisper to myself. But I am afraid.

  "Okay, I wish to have one nice surprise today! It can be big or small, but it's got to be surprising." That is all I wish for. But in a lifetime sadly lacking in surprises, any surprise would be a big deal.

  Could I ever be a hopeful person? The mere possibility makes my heart beat faster. And then tears appear unexpectedly. I never cry in public. I barely cry in private. What's going on? The Clark 22 arrives and I climb up the stairs.

  The bus driver looks at me with concern. "Are you okay, ma'am?" he asks. And I am aware that I am still crying. I'm embarrassed.

  "Oh!" I say. "I'm sorry." I dab at my eyes and sniffle.

  "Never apologize for having deep feelings. That's a blessing," he says. "I just want to make sure you're all right is all. This is The Happy Bus. As a rider on this bus, you are entitled, no, you are required to have a great ride. Is that okay with you?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me." He clicks on his turn signal.

  A kind CTA bus driver? Could this be the surprise I was hoping for? Or was it just a coincidence?

  "What's your name?" I say. I have never asked a bus driver his name before.

  "Walter McGee. Want my badge number too?"

  Walter," I say. "Thank you for letting me ride The Happy Bus." And then I lean over and kiss the driver on the cheek. The driver is as shocked as I am.

  It's only later after I exit the bus that I realize in all the excitement – I forgot to pay my fare.

  LUKE

  19. CHECK-IN />
  Luckily we have a few more customers for our first day. If things keep up, we might have twenty by the end of the day. But I'm dreading our Skype call to Chartreuse.

  "Maybe we shouldn't Skype her. How about shooting her a quick email?" Kazu suggests.

  "You know she's going to want to talk to us. She'll call us," I say. "We can't pretend to have missed her call. Let's just get it over with. Then we can go have dinner."

  I click on the Skype icon on my laptop. Kazu pulls up a chair. We both finger-comb our hair so we're camera-ready. It's likely that the whole investor board will be on-line. I start the Skype call and I hear the familiar futuristic sound. After a few beeps, I see Char's head looming like a balloon on my screen. I can see some of the investors behind her. "Hi everyone!" I say. Kazu waves his hand.

  "Congratulations, gentlemen, on The Hope Store's first day of operation," she says in an uncharacteristically upbeat tone. The investors burst into spontaneous applause. "So how did it go?" she asks.

  "Well, when Kazu and I arrived at the store, there were dozens of customers lined up at our door! Actually, the line went down Clark Street."

  "That's terrific," says one of the investors.

  Kazu jumps in. "We asked them if they'd seen any of the CNN coverage of the store. Many had seen it and weren't bothered by the Natural Hoper comments." I nod vigorously.

  "How many customers bought hope installations today?" Chartreuse asks.

  "Uh, well, let me start by saying we have some good news and some bad news," I say. "The not-so-great news is that the Natural Hopers staged a pretty effective protest outside the store this morning. They handed out very corporate-looking brochures touting natural and inexpensive methods of increasing hope. They also did a good job convincing people that The Hope Store was out to exploit the hopeless and that our treatment was highly experimental and reckless."

  "How did that go over?" asks one of the other investors.'

  "Unfortunately it went over much better than we would have thought," Kazu says.

  "Bottom line," I say, "nineteen clients paid for hope installations today. At $750 per, that comes to $14,250 total. It's not great but it's a start."

  Chartreuse looks like a balloon on the verge of exploding. "Didn't I tell you, Luke, that we had to do damage control. What part of that did you not understand?"

  "Chartreuse, Kazu and I think this is a temporary setback. We have had enough phone calls and emails to book us solid for the rest of the week. Which brings me to the great news."

  "And what would that be?" she asks.

  "Well, nothing is definite," I say, "but I got a phone call today from Psychology Tomorrow. They're considering running a piece on The Hope Store. But they want to wait and see what kind of results we get first."

  "Well, let's give them some Super-Responder to write about! Do you have any promising candidates?"

  I think for a moment. "There is one that comes to mind. Jada Upshaw has been chronically hope-deprived most of her life. If she has a good response, she could be very inspiring."

  "I like that," Chartreuse says. "Keep us in the loop, fellas." She ends the Skype call with the usual Skype bleep.

  JADA

  20. WEEK OF WONDERS

  I am monitoring myself these weeks for any changes in perception, in behavior. But now I just have to clean my neglected house. Generally, I start out with good intentions and wind up playing solitaire on the computer.

  But today I pick up a mop and fill a bucket with soap and water. I attack the kitchen floor with an energy that startles me. And that growing pile of dirty dishes that has towered in the sink? Those dishes are now clean and drying in the rack. I even throw in a few loads of laundry while I'm at it. All day I watch my hands move like propellers. It is as if they are not my own. My legs too are in on the conspiracy, taking me on errands to places I've never been. When I'm done, I return home, ease back in the recliner and drink a frosty glass of Diet Dr. Pepper. It hits the spot. The bubbles tickle my nose. For weeks I haven't been able to eat a proper meal at the kitchen table as it's covered with a jigsaw puzzle depicting a city of the future. The puzzle spills over with laser beams and translucent buildings and hovercrafts.

  I wanted to take a picture of the future before I dismantled it.

  But who has time for such frivolity when you're on a mission? I put the puzzle pieces back into the box and reclaim the kitchen table.

  After my house cleaning, I go over to crash at Otis' place. I give him the latest scoop. "So The Hope Store party was very cool. I wish you came along," I say. "CNN was there. Oh, but when we were leaving the party, we saw someone had vandalized the store sign."

  "What'd they do to it?"

  "Well, the store sign is made out of these powder-blue neon letters that spell THE HOPE STORE. Someone covered the "O" with a "Y" so it read THE HYPE STORE!"

  "How rude," says Otis.

  He is watching some football on TV. But when there is a break in the action, he continues. "So how did you get into the party without an invite?"

  "I batted my lashes and pretended to be a dumb blond. Which is a stretch for me, let me tell ya. But it worked like a charm." He laughs. "I was really determined to get some hope juice, Otis. So I got my installation yesterday."

  He rubs his temples. "Really? Are you feeling anything?"

  "I really don't," I say. "If the whole thing turns out to be scammy as I think it might be, there's a friend who wants to write up my experience for the papers."

  "So…" he says.

  "What?"

  "So how do you get the hope juice inside your brain?"

  "Well, if you'd come to the party, you'd be an expert like me by now."

  "Are you feeling more hopeful today than you felt yesterday?"

  "It's too soon to say," I tell him. "I'll keep you posted."

  The next night, Otis crashes at my place. I have to feed Shadow and keep her company or she'll start acting weird. We are getting ready for bed when I see the glimmer again. What is that? Otis climbs into bed. He has such a nice body, so lean and wiry. And his manner is so gentle. Why do I always take him for granted? Truth is we haven't had sex in years. Usually, this is where I set the alarm and we turn away from each other and fall asleep. But tonight is different. Tonight is spicy. I put my hand gently on Otis' strong shoulder. I spoon my body against Otis' back side. I grip his muscular chest with one hand and bite his ear lobe. And we proceed to have the most ferocious sex we've had in years. [G1]

  Afterward, we just lie back and catch our breaths. "Wow," is all he can say. "You don't know how long I've waited for you to make love to me like that."

  "I know, right?" I say. "I don't know where that came from."

  "Don't apologize," says Otis.

  Suddenly I turn to him and say, "Otis, do you want to have a baby?"

  And it really is a dumb question as Otis has always wanted to have kids while I have not.

  He blinks. Then he says, "Who are you?" He carefully examines the front and back of my hands. "Are you some kind of alien? What have you done with my girlfriend?"

  And in that moment, the temperature in the room changes. The sparks of sexual passion mutate into suspicion. I have become the Girlfriend from the Other Planet. I'm pretty sure I'm not an alien. But I don't quite feel like myself either. And what was so great about the Old Jada anyway?

  Sheila's home is decorated with cornucopia galore and gourds of all shapes and colors. Construction paper turkeys haunt the living room windows. One cannot enter this house without remembering that Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Sheila has some of her special sweet potato pie baking in the oven. All I have to do is pull it out of the oven. Once again I am inspired to tell my niece and nephew something true, something useful. Now that I have had my hope installation, I'm curious what my message will be. Actually, I'm nervous what my message will be.

  "Kids, I'm no fortune teller. Will your life stories have a happy ending? I couldn't tell you. I hope so. But that's p
retty much up to you. Hope is the engine to get you where you want to go, but you're still driving the car. You're still the one behind the steering wheel, filling up the tank, listening to the GPS. But if you have hope, you're halfway home. Does that make sense?"

  Willis looks unconvinced. "Mom said that you were born without hope. How did that happen?"

  "That's a good question, Willis. I'm not really sure," I say. "But since I got my hope installation…" And now I'm at a loss for words. I'm getting choked up.

  "Are you okay, Auntie," says Angie. "Do you need some Kleenex?"

  "I'm fine. Since I got my new hope, my whole life feels new." I call up and order pizza and salads for the three of us. The food will arrive soon.

  "At The Hope Store, there are these two cool guys named Kazu and Luke," I say. "They're partners. They love each other, just like your mom and dad Maybe you'll meet them one day. Why don't you watch TV till the food comes?"

  When the doorbell rings, everyone is excited.

  I lift the pizza slices onto paper plates, pour soda for the three of us.

  "Did you know that some people are born with natural talents and some are born without? When Kazu and Luke aren't at the store, they're in the laboratory trying to figure out how to trick the brain into doing more than if can now."

  "I know how to make people smile, Aunt Jada," says the little one. "Is that a talent?"

  "That is a very special talent."

  It's been a week since my installation and tonight I'm going to The Hope Store to debrief. As I approach the store it's as if I'm seeing it for the first time. How did I not notice the dazzling beacon of light over the store's entrance, winking at passersby? The light is so bright it could [G2]guide ships to safety.

  The inside of the store strikes me as a not-unpleasing cross between a health spa and a movie theatre multiplex, with blue votive candles illuminating the perimeter of the main floor. Along the walls are screening rooms with little movies playing on monitors, are they scenes from their lives? The customer and facilitator speak gently to each other. Are they praying or finalizing sales transactions?