The closure of WECU, however temporary, lingered over the community as a harrowing chill. Not everyone was affected by it, but everyone knew someone who was. The impact on individuals ranged from disaster to inconvenience. Lou reminded himself, often, how grateful he should be to have some cash on hand and more income expected. He would get by.
Lou bicycled over to the Daily Herald to give work estimates on their remaining idle typewriters. They hadn’t replied yet about his previous quotes. Lou presumed they were simply waiting for a complete picture. It would be easier for them to issue one work order for the entire job instead of preparing separate requests for each individual machine. That was fine. Lou favored less paperwork. Plus, his up-front payment of fifty percent would be much higher for the whole thing.
He approached Kelly’s desk with a confident smile, his toolbox in hand, and a practiced good mood.
“Good morning, Kelly. How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks. How are you?” Her tone came across as more subdued than when they last spoke. Her smile appeared a little forced, resisting a slight frown.
“I’m doing great. All ready to check out the rest of those typewriters.” Lou held up his little toolbox as proof.
“Yeah. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” She fidgeted with a ball-point pen.
“Sure. What’s going on?”
Kelly’s eyebrows furrowed upwards. “So, the management team decided they want to go a different way with this. They want to bring in personal computers.” Her pitch raised at the end, as if she needed Lou’s permission.
“Oh. Wow. That’s a big change.” Lou was stunned by this unexpected turn. His good mood crumbled.
“I know. I’m sorry. I guess it won’t happen all at once, but they don’t want to do anything with the old typewriters. I’m really sorry.”
Lou couldn’t hide his disappointment. His shoulders slumped. “Okay. Well, thanks for telling me, anyway. Um, not what I was expecting.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I guess we won’t need any more typewriter repair.”
Lou left the Daily Herald in a daze. He suddenly had no plans for the rest of the day, and no expected income for the next month or so. He got on his bicycle and had no place to go.
Lou moped. He moped in the step van, and he moped around the apartment. He went to the Cascadia Market building and moped there. Lou ambled around and considered the tenant organizations. He had no skills in journalism, typesetting, filmmaking, radio, or even clowning. His activism was welcome at ADA. It paid nothing.
Lou considered looking for a straight job. The idea felt repulsive. He contemplated a life of crime, but decided he was too honest to make a career of it. He wondered, at last, about simply being a nobody.
Oh, wait. That job was already taken.
“You have a terrible happy face.”
Lou spent the unproductive day doing nothing at ADA, sipping coffee at the Rise & Shine cafe, and riding aimlessly through the streets of Eugene. He eventually went home and wheeled his bike up the driveway to his step van’s front door. There he stopped. Something felt off.
Lou looked around. Nothing appeared out of place. He closed his eyes and listened. Only the sound of distant motor vehicles were apparent. Lou walked back to the front lawn. The street left and right revealed nothing new. The vet next door was in his chair, hoisting a can of beer. Lou turned around to go back to the step van. Then he saw it.
No curtains.
Lou walked up to one of the windows of the ground-floor ashram and looked in the window. The room was empty. He went to the front door and knocked. Listened. Knocked louder. There was no response.
He went upstairs and found Tomoko and Nobody having a party. Helium-filled balloons kissed the ceiling. Glitter adorned the floor and furniture. An AM radio station played a song by ABBA as the roommates pranced around. Well, Tomoko was prancing. Nobody stood in place, head and arms swaying.
Tomoko filled a glass and rushed up to Lou. “Help celebrate!” She put the drink in Lou’s hand.
“What are we celebrating?” He examined the beverage, which had a thick, milky, slightly yellow appearance. “And what is this?”
“Eggnog!” Tomoko swirled, her hair fanning out behind her.
Lou sniffed it.
Nobody stopped swaying to explain. “Tomoko bought the house. It’s hers. Welcome to the celebration.”
“So eggnog?”
“That’s her kindness to me,” said Nobody. “I stopped drinking alcohol years ago.”
Lou took a sip. Not bad. “Congratulations on the house. Speaking of which, what’s going on downstairs?”
Tomoko kept dancing to the radio.
Nobody answered. “We came home and saw the ashram people loading all their belongings into a couple of converted school buses.”
“You’re saying they moved? Everybody?”
“Yes, it appears so. I don’t blame them. I think they had enough hounding by authorities and decided to call it quits.”
Lou sat down and sighed. “How could so much change in one day?”
“You don’t seem much in the mood for a party, Lou. To be honest, I’m surprised you’re not happier for Tomoko. This is a big deal for her.”
“Yeah, no. I know. I’m sorry. I’m really happy for you, Tomoko.”
She plopped down on the sofa next to Lou and put a hand under his chin.
“You have a terrible happy face.”
“Sorry. I’m still bummed out about WECU. Also, this big job I was counting on fell through. Now I’m really broke and have no income.”
“You could move in with us! There’s no driveway, but there are extra rooms. They just need some work.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, thanks. But I kind of like the step van.”
“You should think about it. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
“We’ll see. I’ll think I’ll just find new roommates. There’s not really a good reason to leave here. Not yet.”