by Dwight Okita
He powers down his Kindle and puts it on the bed table, rubs his face with one hand as if to wipe away his weariness. “And you could’ve messed things up between us.”
“So…tell me, why aren’t you still mad at me?” I ask.
Kazu’s face is close enough to kiss, but I restrain myself. “I couldn’t sleep last night so at 3 a.m. I got up and emailed a colleague in Amsterdam who I'd worked with. She was my mentor,” he says. “Of course, I pretended it was a hypothetical situation and no names were mentioned.” Kazu walks over to the windows and raises the shades, letting the daylight in. Then he climbs back into bed. “Anyway, I asked her what she would do if a volunteer falsified data as a way to appear more fascinating to her as a researcher, as a way to flirting -- what would she think about that? Before I could go further, she said if I wasn’t absolutely flattered, then I’ve been spending way too much time staring into Petri dishes.”
I lean over and kiss Kazu.
“Just because we have good hope levels doesn’t mean we don’t still have problems, right?” I say. Kazu just smiles.
“Amen to that, brother.” He takes off his sweatshirt and I do likewise. We are shirtless. Our chests are smooth.
I look into Kazu's eyes. "I heard you chanting in the middle of the night."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. I like the sound," I say. "What were you chanting about?"
He looks deep into my eyes…like he could live there…behind my eyes. And I would let him. Oh yes, I would let him. "You," he says. "Us. Everything."
I interlace the fingers of my hand in his.
I press my bare chest against Kazu's back till we are perfect spoons in a drawer. When Kazu talks with his low John Wayne voice, I can feel his whole body vibrate like a drum.
"I hate to admit it, but I think your chanting worked," I say.
"It always does."
Outside I can hear the city is waking up, but I'm not ready to get out of bed. I play with Kazu's nipples which are hard. "I like that chanting is something done out loud," I say.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because I know when you're chanting, you're hoping for something."
When he laughs, his whole chest shakes. "Or maybe I'm like a cat and I'm purring."
"I wish people purred," I say, "so you could tell when they were happy." Kazu does a clumsy impression of a cat purr with his fluttering tongue like he's rolling his R's in Spanish class.
We move closer together for a major cuddling session. And then, as they say, we get busy.
JADA
34. A GOOD MAN
Otis is getting ready to leave. We're not done talking, but close enough. "The bottom line is: You don't appreciate me, Jada,” he says. “You can see all kinds of goddam hallucinations, but you can’t see the good man standing right in front of you. That’s a damn shame. It really is." He starts to walk out. His eyes are tearing. I’ve never seen him cry before. "At first I wanted to end the relationship because I didn’t want to hold you back from all the new people you are surely going to meet. But now I’m leaving because I don't know who you are anymore. I don't think you even care, Jada. You should care. Somebody should care." He continues to move toward the door.
"Otis Franklin, if you know nothing else about me, you should know that I care. I just don't always show it,” I say. “I’ve been in my own little world lately. But I care about you, Otis. I do.”
“I needed to hear that. But you're about five years too late.” He gives a military salute. “Maybe I’ll see you on the boulevard.” He pulls the door closed.
I am tempted to run after him. But I don’t. I just lean my back against the door. And the tears come. Lots of them.
The year is almost over.
A vow is a vow.
I know what I must do.
I cry because I came so close to finding hope. I really did. But close only counts in horseshoes. I sit down on a chair in the middle of the room, in the middle of a millennium, and I weep. I weep for both Jada's – the one I used to be, and the one I am becoming. And for Otis too. For sweet Otis, I weep too.
"In indigenous cultures, if you came to a medicine person complaining of hopelessness or dispiritedness -- they would ask three questions: When did you stop dancing? When did you stop singing? When did you stop hearing the beating of your own heart?"
-- Everyday Shamanism
JADA
35. ENCORE
I had thoroughly researched suicide by bathtub electrocution. I had my heart set on it. I was committed to it. I'd even bought a new hair dryer.
But today I nix the idea. I don't like the idea of my dead body wrinkling like a prune in the tub. Where's the dignity in that? And as intense as the hanging thing can be, it's so much quicker than pills, so much less messy than a gun. Besides, I'm determined to master death's learning curve. This time I have attached the hook to the ceiling with a huge anchor that supports up to two hundred fifty pounds. The helpful hardware man at Ace has assured me this hook would hold, would not give way like the last one.
I turn on the radio of my stereo. On a whim, I make a song request. I ask them to play "What's Going On" for me. The DJ makes a note of it and says he'll play it if he can squeeze it in. I thank him for everything he does for people. The songs, the requests, the encouragement.
I look at my neglected cat Shadow who sits on a window sill staring at me. I try to pet her but Shadow hisses at me. She never hisses. It's as if the cat knows what's going down and feels betrayed. I walk to the kitchen and open the cupboard, reach for a can of cat food and feed her. I reached into my purse and pull out my farewell letter to Otis. I never got around to rewriting it so this one will have to do. Then I grab my trusty can of spray paint and shake it vigorously. My last words. I think about how my sister called me a lifesaver. Nothing could be further from the truth:
I NEVER SAVED ANYONE'S LIFE.
NOT EVEN MY OWN.
Once again I lay down my wallet and keys on a kitchen table. I reach over to pet Shadow. I climb up onto the chair and place the leash around my neck.
The landline rings.
I let the answering machine get it: "Jada. Please pick up," says the voice. It's Otis. "I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. I guess I have my bad days too. My damn company fired me today! Can you believe it? After twenty years of loyalty and devotion? They're gonna do me like that. I really want to talk to you. No, I really need to talk to you. I was taking it out on you and that wasn't right." There is a pause as if he's waiting for a response. I undo the leash and step down from the chair. I walk over and pick up the phone.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi," he says.
"I'm sorry you lost your job, Otis. And I'm sorry about the way I talked to you. You're a good man. There's an important letter here for you. Make sure you read it, okay?" I say.
"Let's read it together. I love to read letters out loud."
"Can't. I've got places to go. People to be. I love you, Otis
"Take care. I've got to go." I hang up and wipe my eyes. I glance up at my masterpiece of graffiti on the wall.
I turn up the stereo in my living room. As I step up onto the chair, the DJ cuts in: "This one goes out to Jada who's having a rough time tonight. Hang in there, sweetheart." And Marvin Gaye croons "What's Going On?" But I don't know what's going on anymore. Maybe I never did. I look at the hook in the ceiling. I pray that it will hold.
I climb up onto the chair and put my neck through the noose.
I hum along with Marvin Gaye.
I step off the chair.
And for one god-awful, terrifying moment, I dangle. I feel my windpipe slowly being crushed. Out of reflex, I kick my legs furiously but I feel life gradually leaving my body. It will all be over in a moment
And then there is the sound of a key jangling in the door.
"Oh my god!" he says. Otis runs to me, grabs my legs to lift me. He climbs up onto the chair and struggles to release the leash from my neck, but it's jammed
. It won't open. With one arm supporting my full weight, he uses the other hand to try to work the leash. Finally, the leash gives and he pulls it from around my neck.
He brings me down and lies me on the sofa. "Jada! It's Otis. Breathe, baby! Hang in there, sweetheart." Nothing. Otis can't believe what's happening. His worst nightmare is coming true.
My body is just an empty container in his arms. I feel my spirit sadly, wearily rise up leaving its earthly container. I look down at Otis as he cradles me in his arms. My former body lies motionless, now without the breath of life.
And then I cough. Uh, that is, I mean my container coughs. I reach for my throat and rub it. "Why, Otis?" I manage to say. "Why did you do that?"
He is overjoyed. For a while, he rocks me gently as if I am a small child.
"I thought I lost you."
I try to speak, but for a moment I can't. It's just as well.
"I don't understand. I thought you were getting better," he says.
"I was better. I was great. But there were… complications," I say. "And right now I'm just sooo tired. You know what I mean, jelly bean? So if I don't see you again, I want you to find a woman and make a good life with her. Find someone normal."
Otis looks right into my eyes. "I don't want someone normal. I want you."
And that touches me deeper than I can say. "Otis, Sweetheart, you can't have me. There's nothing left to have."
LUKE
36. PORTAL
Kazu and I take turns checking up on Jada. But in the days after her last suicide attempt, Otis reports she has mostly remained in bed sleeping at his place. This can’t be a good sign. I call him once more. “Hi, Otis. How’s sleeping beauty doing?”
“This is very weird but when I got home from work today, she wasn’t in bed. She wasn’t at my place at all,” Otis says. “I hope she’s not outside somewhere sleepwalking in rush hour traffic on Lakeshore Drive.”
“Did you try calling her cell?” I ask.
“I did. She left her cell at my place. That’s not like her.”
A few days later, I get a call from her sister. Jada’s turned up on Sheila’s doorstep. She insists on keeping all the shades down so the reporters don’t find her. “She’s having disturbing nightmares,” Sheila reports. “In the dreams, she says she enters a parallel world,” says Sheila. “Her goal is to find the portal to the parallel world. She said Kazu would understand. Does any of this make sense to you?”
“Please tell her that these are only dreams and that she can wake up from them at any time. And tell her I am coming to see her right now,” I say.
“Luke, this probably isn’t the best time to say this but I’ve joined the Natural Hopers group. Robert Chang’s not a bad guy.”
“Sheila, you haven’t.”
“After seeing what my sister’s gone through, -- I had to join. How is all this science helping her be a happier person? Every day she gets worse.”
It’s hard to hear this. “Don’t give up hope. Once Jada hits bottom, there’ll be nowhere to go but up. Kazu and I are exploring supplementary treatment. We’re sifting through the clinical trial data for anything that might help your sister.”
I am halfway to Sheila’s house when my cell rings. It’s Sheila. “Don’t bother coming. She’s disappeared again.” And it's too late to search for Jada anyway. The town hall meeting is tomorrow. Kazu and I are going to practice posing questions to each other tonight over chicken teriyaki and bean pockets. And Chartreuse wants to do a conference call to make sure the investors have their say.
LUKE
37. A TOUGH ROOM
From the stage, I peer into the audience. So many people. The stage is appropriately festive with wreathes and twinkling lights, but not overly Christmassy. The energy tonight is both thrilling and terrifying. It’s clear that the Natural Hopers will be well-represented in the audience and at the microphone. Local journalist Blair Matters who has been critical of our store will be on-hand as well. And with Jada missing again, there's no telling whether she'll make an appearance or not. That has me and Kazu on edge. Chartreuse was totally against her participating in any way. She was terrified the topic of her side effects would come up and that the Natural Hopers would jump on that band wagon. But Kazu and I didn’t feel it was right to ask her not to come either. Surely there are other clients who can testify in support of the store. I doodle possible ideas for a December promotion as we wait for things to get underway,.
From somewhere just outside the auditorium, there is a commotion. I see footage of the disturbance on the huge video screens that surround us on stage. A chorus of protesters chants: "What do we want? HOPE! When do we want it? NOW!"'
And then there is another chorus of voices which replies with: "The Hope Store…is the Hype Store! The Hope Store…is the Nope Store. Natural Hopers Unite!"
Andrew asks the various speakers to take our places on stage. I’m glad that Kazu is beside me. I always feel safer when he’s around. From time to time, friends wave to us from the auditorium and that relaxes me a bit. I imagine the rivers of dopamine coursing through the brains of all the “enhanced hopers” in the audience.
Andrew nods to us and moves to the podium. A tiny netbook rests on the podium. As the doors to the theatre close, the CNN logo appears on the huge TV monitor behind us. Then the title fades in with evocative music: "CNN PRESENTS: A TOWN HALL MEETING ON HOPE." People applaud jubilantly. Above the stage is a large garland trimmed with holiday lights and ornaments. Tis the season.
"Good evening, everyone. My name is Andrew Konstant. As the holidays are upon us, CNN wanted to bring you something a little different: 'A Town Hall Meeting on Hope.' We're coming to you live tonight from the hallowed halls of University of Chicago Medical Center, which has received several Nobel Prizes for their scientific discoveries. Thank you all for joining us."
Kazu and I give our opening remarks about the purpose of The Hope Store and the improved hope levels of our customers during our first three months since our doors opened. But Blair's remarks are less predictable, more combative. This is a town hall, but he’s acting like it’s a debate. Oh well.
"And now we'd like to open up the floor to the true stars of this town hall meeting: you, the audience," Andrew announces. “Let’s bring up the house lights if we could.” The house lights rise on the auditorium. “And what a good-looking audience you are,” he says getting an easy laugh from the spectators. "We ask you to keep your questions brief and focused. Please give at least your name and also your affiliation if you wish. And don't be nervous. It's just the world watching.” He smiles a winning smile. “Our first question comes from Ivan Fiddler who is a pastry chef. Welcome, sir, and please step up to the microphone."
A pleasant looking man in his thirties with buzzed black hair leans into the mic. At the same moment, his face also appears on the monitors. "Hello, I don't represent any big, fancy organization. I'm just a regular guy.” Andrew says, "We like regular guys. Welcome, Ivan."
"Yes, well, in general, I like the idea of a Hope Store. I do. And I probably need to go there really soon myself." He laughs and the audience joins in too. "My question is this. How do you know hope installations really work? What if it’s a placebo effect?"
“I’d like to take a stab at that if I may," I say. "There are three ways we measure improvement in our clients. Through anecdotal proof, behavioral proof, and scientific proof. Anecdotal proof is what clients tell us about what they experience, like if they feel more hopeful or empowered. Behavioral proof tracks new behaviors that clients achieve after treatment. And scientific proof is shown through a functional MRI which can actually track increases in dopamine levels in the brain which empower us to hope for things.”
"I see you've avoided the hardest part of his question, about the placebo effect,” says Blair Matters. “Isn’t it true that in your clinical trials those who got true hope installations and those who got placebos both experienced relief from hopelessness?"
Kazu leans for
ward into the mic. "First, I'd like to acknowledge that Blair has recently done some excellent investigative reporting on The Hope Store. Here’s the funny thing about placebos. The fact that people experience relief from a placebo is not proof that hope installations don't work. It simply proves that placebos do work. To avoid the placebo effect, we do MRI scanning of our clinical trial volunteers to quantify the dopamine levels. Only those with true hope installations show neurological enhancement."
"Wow, fascinating stuff," the moderator exclaims. "That deserves a town hall meeting of its own --"
Just then, the auditorium door opens and a handful of protestors carrying signs enter. The signs say, "NATURAL HOPERS UNITED." They are chanting different slogans: "The Hope Store is the The Hype Store." And "The mind is a terrible thing to medicate." "Nothing in life is free. The side effects are coming." Security guards converge on the group and usher them out. One agitator throws his posterboard sign high into the air above the audience. One man in the audience manages to catch the sign with one hand.
Andrew Konstant just shakes his head. "Well, all right then. We appreciate everyone's passion but this is live TV. Let’s keep things moving. The next question comes from Tom Moseby who is a high school student at Our Lady Gate of Heaven."
A young man steps forward. He seems very poised for his age and the situation. "Hi, I’m Tom. As you can probably tell from my accent, I hail from the south. I wanted to come here today because I'm a Christian and I've heard a lot of religious leaders condemning The Hope Store." He laughs nervously. “I’m not used to public speaking.”
"You're among friends,” says Andrew. “And you're bringing a perspective to this national conversation we haven't heard yet. We have yet to hear from someone from the spiritual community."