The noise of the café surrounds me, boisterous but not unnecessarily loud. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes to better take it all in.

The place is located in the hotel’s inner courtyard. A massive enclosure that hosts an open sky and sense of outdoors without ever having to set foot outside the hotel’s borders. This particular eatery has a very Parisian feel, wonderful coffee and the same strange mix of approximately 30-year-old guests as every other part of this weird hotel. I believe the man seated  next to us is a Scotsman from the Braveheart era. He had a few rather heated words for the British waiter, but they worked it out rather quickly when the waiter mentioned that he himself had died hundreds of years after the altercation the Scottish fellow was upset about. Elizabeth was pleased there was no bloodshed. I chose not to ask the plethora of questions that brought to mind.

 All in all, a nice place to take a break after the insane day we’ve had. When we left my hotel room this morning Elizabeth explained to me that we would be taking another guest around to try out a list of different activities. When we met up with her, the woman, Kyoko, told me that she’d devoted her entire life to her family and that now that she is here, she has realized she has no idea who she is without them. I felt a frustrating pang of camaraderie for her weak sense of self and tried to put it out of my mind while I followed her on her adventure. I can’t say I was successful.

Today Elizabeth had arranged for her to take a computer programming class from a fellow guest, but from what they’ve told me, Kyoko has tried out all kinds of things, from race car driving and basket weaving to the ancient art of playing the Shamisen, and many others. She loved some things and was not fond of others. But today, like every other, my new acquaintance was unable to complete her sense of identity. During the class, which she did not like, and now, while we’ve been chatting over lunch, she has repeatedly made the claim that she feels close to the answer she needs to move on, but that something is still missing, something important.

Kyoko, like the rest of us, has the appearance of a woman in her thirties. Her black hair has been kept neatly in a bun all day, any hair that escapes quickly replaced with movements that are both graceful and well-practiced. It’s those moments that give away her true age. She lived a long full life and died as a very old woman, one who had the pleasure of seeing her great grandchildren grow and build families of their own. She spoke of her family often, not surprising considering her problem, but I had a hard time ignoring the way her eyes would light when she spoke of them, when she told a story of how her granddaughter had tried to teach her to drive or laughed that her eldest son would have been appalled to see her rather comical attempt at rock climbing. It’s clear, even to me with no perspective, that this woman loved those people immensely. I’m having a hard time picturing her as a woman who feels her life was not full. And I can’t help but wonder where that leaves me. If this woman, who had and saw so much, is still lacking, how can I possibly catch up?

“-I suppose I am just feeling discouraged,” Kyoko sighs at the end of a statement I missed most of. I sit up a little straighter, appalled at myself for the lack of attentiveness and reset my focus firmly on the women across from me.

Elizabeth takes Kyoko’s hand in her own and gives her a squeeze, “And that’s alright,” she tells her with such conviction I am also convinced, “we’ve been at this a long time and not made the progress you’d hoped to, but even if you are feeling discouraged today, don’t lose hope! Remember that time doesn’t matter here, and a process is a process. You have made so many discoveries about yourself in your time here, tried and done so many things, just for you. You’ll be ready when you’re ready, there’s no rush.”

Elizabeth wasn’t talking to me but the look of comfort and relief on Kyoko’s face matches the feeling in my chest. Life isn’t a race and it’s foolish of me to have to realize it, but death isn’t either. I can give myself a break and stop fretting about step ten when I haven’t even cleared step one.

Her words soothed my fears, and she didn’t even know them. Elizabeth is remarkable at her job. I hope that there is some sort of satisfaction survey I can request upon check out so I can give this woman a glowing review. She deserves it.

I on the other hand have done nothing to help, I simply followed along and got lost in my thoughts. If I don’t find a way to be more useful, Elizabeth is sure to assign someone else to play tour guide for me and I’ll lose the pleasure of her company.

I’m going to assume the reason I find that thought so distressing is because she clearly gives wonderful advice and has nothing to do with the way she makes me feel when I unexpectedly catch her eyes on me.

Since I rededicated myself to the conversation, I don’t miss the way little tears pool in the edges of Kyoko’s eyes or the way the hope that was in them dims, “You’re right Elizabeth, it’s just hard today, you arranged so many adventures and experiences for me, but my mind still can’t let go of my family, I caught myself thinking about how I would enjoy teaching basket weaving to my granddaughters or that I wished my husband could have seen me drive that ridiculous car, or even now,” she says softly, and pushes forward her little plate with the remains of her sandwich, “I was thinking of how this food reminds me of my sister and the strange, foreign foods she always wanted me to try.”

I find myself feeling mildly jealous of Kyoko, and the natural way she built a family around herself, the ease with which she managed so many, so deep and lasting relationships. I would like to say that I became an active participant in the conversation that followed, that I offered sound advice and helped lift poor Kyoko’s spirits, but that would be a lie. I mostly sat there trying to look sympathetic while Elizabeth handled everything. The woman really is a marvel, she spoke with authority and reason while still considering Kyoko’s feelings and concerns and by the time we returned Kyoko to her room, she had been thoroughly reassured. I’ve been told I can pull off a similar maneuver in a board room or in a negotiation, but the truth is that I feel very lost in conversations that do not include spreadsheets.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful,” I admit on the way back to my own room.

“Don’t be,” Elizabeth admonishes, “you’re still settling in, and I was mostly intending this as a sort of preview of the kind of work I do around here. Kyoko and I have been at this for a while, like I told her, there’s no rush, we’ll find her answers.”

Mention of her work reminds me of an observation I made during our outing, “Elizabeth,” I clear my throat, buying time to finish formulating my thoughts, “You obviously aren’t a Keeper.”

she snorts.

“But you work at the hotel?”

“Lots of people work at the hotel?”

“Right,” I concede, “But in restaurants or gift shops or leading activities, not as more base hotel staff.”

“Oh, well the reason for that is simple. The keepers are the actual wardens of this in-between space, we could all sit around and do nothing, and they would keep people fed and rooms would be cleaned and assigned. But some of us end up staying a really long time and well people get bored, the Keepers will let us do largely whatever we want as long as we don’t bother them too much or get violent, so people do what they like to keep busy. The café we ate at today was actually started by a couple that moved on a long time ago, but people liked it so someone else took up the job when they left.” She mulls over her next words a moment before she continues, “When I arrived, there was no one working as manager, it was a bit… chaotic, and well, Keepers and humans have a hard time understanding one another. We needed a mediator, a go between, an organizer. We all need something to keep from going insane with boredom and I guess I just saw a need and decided I would be the one to fill it.” shrugging her shoulders.

The positive light I already see her in glows a bit brighter. “But that means, in essence, that you’re a guest, just like… me.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles, “I’m glad you noticed.”

I dread to believe that my brain scrambled, and my mouth lost closure, but I fear that’s exactly what occurred.

She laughs and puts a hand on my arm, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Isaiah, your room is right over there.”