The Typewriter

      I recently relocated from Southern California to Las Vegas in between the fall and spring semester and needed to find a roommate. I was temporarily staying at an extended stay hotel in the meantime. I was browsing Roomates.com and came across an ad from a student at UNLV who was looking for one roommate. Most of the ads were posted by students who were looking for an additional housemate to add to their pre-existing roommates, but I was looking to only have one other person to share a place with, so when I came across this ad, I decided to take a chance and respond. I called and spoke with Stacey and she seemed down-to-earth, so I made an appointment to meet her and check out the house. She seemed friendly and tolerable to live with. She had no pets, no significant other, and was a self-proclaimed bookworm who spends a lot of her time maintaining her 4.0 GPA. She wanted a quiet roommate like herself to help her pay the rent. We both shared what we were studying, she was studying English and I was studying Biology. She shared that she writes a lot of stories as her focus is creative writing and she was already writing her first book on top of being dedicated to her studies. With all of the terminology involved in Biology and my long-term career goal of being a doctor, I felt that this living arrangement would be ideal as it appears that neither one of us care about a social life and are very focused on our end goals. 

          Soon enough the decision is made and it’s move-in day. My two older brothers were visiting from out of town and helped me move all of my stuff from storage into my new place. Stacey saw that I had all the help I needed and locked herself away in her room for a few hours, presumably studying or working on her novel.  A few hours later my brothers and I got everything moved in and organized and everything in its place. We decided to go and grab a quick bite to eat to celebrate the move and to recover from a busy day, so a couple of hours had gone by before I hugged my brothers goodbye as they began their road trip back to California. I return home and by now it’s starting to get dark and I walk into the house and it’s quiet. I could tell that Stacey was still in her room because her door was closed but I could see that the light was on through the gap below the door. I sat my keys down on the table by the door and headed down the hallway to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. The kitchen faced the living room area and the TV remote happened to be on the kitchen counter, so I stood there and surfed through the channels looking for something interesting to watch while I sipped on my water. As I was watching the tv, I heard an odd noise but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. At first, I thought it must have been in the background of the programming I was watching. I then thought it must be coming from outside, but I didn’t see any birds tapping on the window or anything that could be making a tapping sound. It almost sounded like a cash register after a few successions of tapping sounds. I decided to stop investigating the sound and turned the TV off and went to my room to relax for the night. As I passed by Stacey’s room, I heard the noise again and still couldn’t understand what it could be. I shrugged my shoulders and walked into my room thinking, “it sounds like a cash register but why would she have one in her room?” I closed my bedroom door behind me and got ready for bed. I was pretty exhausted from the move, so I passed out pretty early. 

          I woke up the next morning after managing to sleep through the whole night. I could hear the TV in the living room from down the hall and could tell that Stacey was in the kitchen. I could smell breakfast and I felt instantly hungry. It was a calm Saturday morning, so I got up and took a quick shower before walking out of my room to go greet her. She was eating breakfast at the kitchen counter while watching TV. She made eye contact with me, smiled, and said, “Good morning, Brenda, how’d you sleep?” I responded, “I slept very well. Didn’t wake up once. That move must have worn me out.” “I can imagine so! You guys were working very hard. I made us some breakfast and coffee. Please, help yourself.” I was amazed by how thoughtful she was, so I smiled and said, “Wow, that’s very nice of you. Thank you!” “My pleasure,” she said. We both sat there and ate breakfast together while watching re-runs of Charmed on the Pop channel. We both bonded on how much we liked this show and mentioned that both my aunt and her big sister used to watch this show all the time growing up. We watched a few episodes and she told me she usually spends the weekend in front of the TV while she writes, the TV mostly being background noise. She mentioned I was welcome to join her and change the channel at any time. I noticed her laptop on the coffee table across the room and after a couple of episodes, she said she will be right back and needed to grab something. She headed to her room and when she started back down the hall she stopped and realized she forgot something, so she walked into her room and left the door open. She was in there for a few minutes and by that time I was heading toward my room which was diagonally across from hers. I turned and looked into her room before I entered mine and saw a typewriter sitting on her desk. I almost didn’t believe what I saw. I was sure the last typewriter to ever exist was long gone by now. Her back was to me as she was standing in her closet. I was confused and frowned in wonder and proceeded to my room with so many questions. 

          We both have en-suite bathrooms, so I stepped into my bathroom to brush my teeth again after eating and heard her footsteps heading back to the living room. I grabbed my calendar and syllabi and headed to the living room to join her and by then she had placed the typewriter on the kitchen table where we were just having breakfast moments before. She poured herself another cup of coffee before sitting at the table in front of the archaic piece of history that I thought was tightly sealed in a time capsule long ago. My face must have been in obvious shock as I stared at it. She said, “I know it’s totally archaic but there is nothing like writing a new story on a typewriter.” I glanced over at the laptop on the coffee table and back at the typewriter again and asked her, “Is that your laptop?” “Yep, but I prefer to use my typewriter when writing stories. I use my laptop for research and virtual window shopping, but I spend most of my time on the typewriter.” I was baffled. I finally asked her, “I didn’t even know they still made those once they started making computers. Where did you happen to find one?” “Oh, it was a random find at a thrift shop one day and I knew I had to have it.” She began to tap away and then paused, “I hope the sound doesn’t bother you. Feel free to turn the TV volume up if you need to. I have my routine of sitting here at the kitchen table while typing. There is something about the ambiance of the TV and the open windows bringing the sunshine in that makes this the best spot in the house to be creative.” “More power to you,” I said, and she continued typing while I proceeded to find something good to watch on TV while planning for my school week ahead. Hours later, she was still typing away, deeply in a zone, and I still couldn’t believe my eyes. It made me wonder about the origination of that particular typewriter. Who owned it before and how long did they have it? It had obvious wear and tear on it, and it was well used and now here we are in 2021 and my roommate, who is all of 21 years old, is typing away on a typewriter as if it were nothing. The first computer was made back in 1984 and my fellow millennial is lost in her imagination while using a typewriter. I can imagine her in 40 years, typing away on that same typewriter while her cats play at her feet.