We made our way downstairs after what must have been an hour of tiptoeing through history and in the back of the basement there was a long bookshelf on the backwall, with about five or six typewriter cases stacked haphazardly around eachother. My pulse quickened, i held my breath and my fingers went cold in anticipation of discovering each and every one of them. I unzipped case after case, gently testing the keys, watching the hammers, guaging the condition of each one, secretly mourning those that were in bad shape. The last one that i opened, from the bottom of the stack, was in a case labeled simply: Hasting, took my breath away at first glance. As I pressed each key and heard the soft clack of the hammers against it's well-preserved spool, I fell in love. It was the most perfectly preserved piece of machinery of its kind that I had encountered. The elation, however, soon subsided and became panic. I was unable to afford it and did not know when I might be able to. I had to hide it. I had to make sure that no other geeky-freak would stumble upon my typewriter and buy it before I had the chance. I quickly zipped it back up in its case and placed it on the bottom shelf and proceeded to stack all the other typewriters on top and around it. That would have to be good enough. Reluctantly, after one last glance at the embossed Hasting on the case, I turned and joined Jonathon and the JenJen in browsing through the rest of the spoils, never fully taking my mind off of that typewriter.
Needless to say, over the course of the next couple months I thought less and less of this typewriter in the basement. I was beginning to file it away as yet another item I thought was lost to me forever. But then Christmas came and Jonathon informed me that he was going on a secret mission to purchase a very important item and that I was not allowed to go along.
I will not recant all of the, now absurd, gueses that ran through my head. Let's just say that the very last present I opened on Christmas Day, the big box beneath the tree that had captured my curiousity since the day Jonathon placed it under the tree, was the last thing I was expecting. After everyone had opened their presents that big box still sat underneath the tree, me sitting there, afraid to open it.
When Jonathon grabbed the box and brought it to me, everyone stopped what they were doing and watched. Nerve-racking, to say the least. I turned the box on its end, because it was heavy and the box was too bulky to fit in my lap. After slowly removing the paper from the box I lay it back down on the ground and opened the box. There, amidst white packing popcorn was a familiar black typewriter case. I couldn't breathe. The front of the case was embossed with one simple word: Hasting. Hands shaking, I lifted the case into my lap and reached around for the zipper. As I lifted the lid I felt an overwhelming feeling of gratitude and love. I began sobbing before I even had it open all the way. My crying was so uncontrollable that I had to cover my face as the whole room looked on.
Now, I have heard the expression "tears of joy", yet I had never experienced it like this. This was "rivers of tears of joy". I felt ridiculous and embarassed but most of all elatedly speechless. And that is why Hasting will always mean so much to me and Jonathon had accomplished something I've never before experienced so intensely in my life before. I wonder if he knew when he bought it, how much it would mean to me and what kind of absurdly emotional reaction I would have. I will forever be grateful. And this is just one of the many reasons why I love my picasso-face. Thanks for sitting in on story-time and I hope to see you again real soon. Ciao.