The final invoice: “No Charge”.

I took my ailing Olympia Compact 2 to Star Office Machines to have Pedro look at it one more time.

‘”Something’s wrong with the carriage, ” I told Ermanno, who doesn’t usually look at such lowlife.

“Right here,” Ermanno pointed.  “It should be catching.  Pressure’s off.”

He was right of course.  It took less than two seconds to diagnose.

He took out a familiar form.  Founded in 1969, I saw in the corner.  Closed in 2015.  36 years of sales, service, supplies, rentals.  Gone.

“Come on Friday,” he said.  The place was already almost empty.  I wondered what would be left.

When I returned, a few days later, the machine was waiting.  The shop was even more cleared out, and now some stranger was pawing through white plastic drawers, scavenging with Ermanno’s permission.  “Here’s some unused envelopes,” the guy screeched, holding up a big untouched box of supplies.

I sighed.  It wasn’t my place to comment how this hurt, like how I felt when the PSA air disaster happened when I worked in CBS Newsroom, and vultures — people — rushed around the dead bodies on the ground to pick through their pockets.

It felt ugly.  I bit my lip.

“How much?” I squeaked, trying to act like this was any other day.  Like any other transaction.  Only I knew it wasn’t.  It was the last… ever.

“No charge,” Ermanno said.  With a red pen, he made a dramatic slash through the “TOTAL” line.  N/C.

“Let me pay,” I insisted, but my voice was weak and we both knew I had no game.

The phone rang and Ermanno ran back to get it.

I carted the machine into the street where my car was, and tried to slide it  into the back of my cream-colored MINI.

As I struggled, Ermanno walked out.

“Let me,” he said, and he eased it into the blackness.  “There.”

“Thank you,” I said, and although I wanted to cry and scream and weep, there was nothing more to say.

We gave each other a hug and as he walked back into the dust and detritus, I drove off with my baby in the back, pretending it was a normal day, knowing it was not.  It felt like when my grandmother Nano died and I had left the funeral and gone back into the world, knowing she would never be with us again and wondering how everyone else could drive around and act like nothing had happened, when my world would never be the same.