I had been skeptical when Elizabeth first suggested that helping the other guest would help me, but of course she had been right. Dwelling on Kyoko and her lack of self not only helped me see that I lacked some of that myself, but also helped me see who I am behind the suits and busy schedules. Turns out Isaiah Bradley is lost and lonely.

Without a clear sense of purpose, I flounder, and having seen the deep and wholesome love Kyoko shared with others, it’s become clear to me that I have never known anything but loneliness.

  I try not to despair; information is power after all and armed with it… I get nowhere. I was really hoping I’d have an epiphany, but night comes and goes without any of the answers I was looking for. I admit to feeling powerfully discouraged. My beautiful breakfast of buttery scones and fresh fruit feels tedious and unappetizing and not even my steaming cup of French press coffee can turn my mood around. I’m prepared to sulk for the foreseeable future.

My phone rings and expecting Elizabeth I answer right away.

“Issac!” Eddie’s voice booms in my ear, “How are you man?!”

“Isaiah, but I’m well, thank you for asking.”

“No, man,” he laughs, “It’s Eddie.”

“No, I know, I meant that my name is Isaiah.”

“isn’t that what I said?”

“No, you-” shaking my head even though Eddie can’t see me, “Never mind. What can I do for you Eddie?”

“Right, well, I got two tickets to the match tomorrow and I thought to myself ‘who just died and doesn’t know anybody here yet and might like to catch a game?’ You! So, what do you think? I’ll even pick you up since you get lost or whatever. You still get lost, or did you figure that whole deal out?”

“No,” I sigh, “unfortunately I still haven’t gotten my bearings.”

“’Gotten my bearings’,” Eddie echoes with a laugh, “Man, why do you talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you got a stick up your ass or something!”

I sputter, outraged for a moment before I realize Eddie is not intending to insult me but genuinely asking, “Um, well,” attempting to contain my irritation and answer the question with the same genuine intent it was asked, “appearances are very important, I will not be mistaken for a hooligan if I speak eloquently.”

“Huh, well, I can safely say that no one is mistaking you for a hooligan my man, have you seen yourself? You can relax! But anyway, what about the match tomorrow?”

Eddie may be, well, Eddie, but I find his commentary oddly freeing. He may not have been my first choice of friend, but he is making the overtures and maybe a more ‘relaxed’ person could be good for me, “What sort of match?” I inquire wearily.

“Oh, duh! You wouldn’t know, silly me,” Eddie laughs to himself, “The game’s called Pallone col Bracciale, it’s some Italian thing, I don’t know, but the game’s more popular than football around here, they’ve been playing it forever from what I hear. Kinda like tennis but with spikes, and walls, it’s crazy. So yeah, you wanna come or what?”

“I did enjoy tennis in my younger days,” I muse aloud.

“Perfect! I’ll pick you up with plenty of time to get beers before the match starts, see you tomorrow!”

The phone clicks and I rub my hands down my face. “What on earth have I gotten myself into.”  I may no longer be sulking, but my future still looks questionable.

Elizabeth rings a few moments later, asking if I’m up to helping her with a problem today and my worries for tomorrow evaporate.

Elizabeth looks impeccable as always; and ready for the day with clipboard in hand and her pen tucked behind her ear.

“What’s on the agenda?” I ask as I lock my door while trying to juggle my to-go cup of coffee.

She takes the coffee out of the crook of my arm and heaves a sigh, “Settling a dispute between guests. The Keepers don’t really take things like personality, social or belief constraints into consideration when assigning rooms and in this case, it’s caused two guests to be neighbors that would really prefer not to be.”

Already drawing up battle plans in my head, “What’s the dispute over?” I ask.

“Well, the young woman who just recently joined us is a modern Wiccan, and the gentleman she is roomed next to, led witch hunts in Medieval Europe,”

Finished with the lock, I allow my back to straighten with concern, “Is she in danger?”

“Oh, no!” she quickly waves off, “Claude knows better than to be violent with another guest.” Her expression turned frighteningly serious, “Keepers get involved when people get violent. No one wants that. Still,” she inclines her head down the hall and passes me back my coffee, “As soon as they discovered one another, neither was pleased.” Without a second glance at me, she forges the way ahead and I am left to follow.

“Understandable.” I puff out as I jog a few steps to keep up with her purposeful stride. Somehow, I find even struggling to keep up with her a pleasure. I catch up just in time to witness her wrinkle her nose in frustration. Genuinely grateful I didn’t miss that.

“The problem wouldn’t even exist if the keepers would just listen to my suggestions and not room incompatible guests so close to each other!” she says in explanation for the look of annoyance. “They know everything about us, it would be easy, but they always claim my concerns are ‘trivial’! Trivial!” she repeats with indignation.

After a moment and a calming breath, “They don’t understand the human condition in the slightest.” She mutters. “This is why it’s so important we have a manager.”