The Lorax

Lia, Peter and I. We’re headed west to the ocean.
The two hitchhikers, Steph and Thomas, we pick up on the way need to be dropped off in Eugene.


“What we’re you doing in the woods?” one of us asks, when they tell us they’ve been camping for about ten days.


At the base of the trees lived rats, they were looking for signs of their nests. The Northern Spotted Owl feeds off of these rats and the Northern Spotted Owl is a protected species. The owl needs these rats and the rats need the trees so the area around trees are protected. This is why, they tell us. They were finding ways to protect the forest.


In Eugene our small black truck rumbles into a narrow alley. Bikes rest against the brick. Stencil spray paint of bike wheels with pentagram emblems and anarchy symbols ornament the walls. Maybe there’s a compost pile or some vegetables growing. Young people are watching us from a doorway. I wave. They wave back.


“This is the Lorax,” one of them says. “Students from the college live here.”


We drive away but return when I noticed a whittled staff left by one of our hikers in the bed of the pick-up.


On our return, Thomas gives us a tour of the house.


The Lorax is a student co-operative founded sometime ago. Thomas shows us the expansive community kitchen where residents cook vegan food from around the region for everyone in the house. The living room looks set up for a performance with two old pianos off to the side. Illustrations are painted or sharpied directly onto the walls. Tapestries hang over the windows and it’s dark. Thomas tells us people at the Lorax have meetings and work stuff out. It’s a communist model. There are 25 or so college students living here at any given time.


Four or five floors up we climb a wooden ladder leaning onto an open hole and we’re outside on the roof. Lia is probably smoking a cigarette standing too close to the edge. Peter is probably inspecting bottles of alcohol for anything salvageable.


Thomas is talking to us. He tells us, one time, he saw a sunset in the west and a double-rainbow in the east and he just wanted to keep spinning around so he could see it all.
“Almost a triple rainbow?” I jest. “Yes,” he says with a smile.
The view is spectacular save for some grey clouds. Looking into the horizon where Thomas was facing to watch the sunset I itch the old doubt.


“How does it work?” I ask Thomas. “How does the house work?”


The question is rhetorical and he knows this because he doesn’t say much in response.


“You just have to believe in people,” he doesn‘t say.

The frustrated little misanthrope inside me is pacing circles around his office. Banging on the desk. Making the secretary nervous.


“It just can’t work” he mumbles. “A group of humans working together in peace. Everyone following the rules and respecting each other and being harmonious. BAH! RUBBISH! What about the dishes? Who does the dishes? What if someone doesn‘t pay their bill? What if someone pees on the ground? What if someone sleeps with someone‘s lover?!” Grinding his teeth. Wringing his hands.


I turn to look for the triple rainbow. Why is it I can’t see it?
It’s been awhile since I opened my arms and fell backwards from the picnic table. Since I trusted in another person’s ability to catch me.
Thomas and Steph hitchhiking, maybe they considered for a second that a car wouldn’t stop for them. Maybe some people at the Lorax wonder how the human web has held together for years and years being simply young people coming and going. Maybe they wonder, but then a ride comes and things work out somehow.
It works because in a very real form, a house, proves it does. Proves humans can get along. Because they hold the faith.
“It just works.” Thomas doesn’t tell me. "It's not always easy. It's a working love."
Human connection is the heart expanding. My hand is covers my heart, the misanthrope speaks for me, protects me from the possibility of disappointment. From the pain of unrequited love. I have a hard time letting go.
Lia and Peter pack ourselves back into the black truck. We set off.
“I trust these people,” I acknowledge to myself, sending a memo to the misanthrope. It's a start.
We are driving to the coast. To the ocean. Everything is fine.

Standing on the picnic table, I open my arms and fall.