Halfway Hotel

Six

My dreams that night are not dreams so much as a string of long untouched memories. Snapshots of my picturesque childhood, or what I had always imagined as my picturesque childhood. My time spent with Kyoko has me reviewing these memories with new eyes. My parents worked hard. Harder than most given the obstacles they faced and then even harder, as if they had to prove that the obstacles couldn't stop them, as if no wall put in front of them was one they couldn't scale, as if they had to scale it, just because it was placed in their path. And they did. They leveled the playing field and paved a way for others like us to follow. So, I grew up with every opportunity and every expectation. With them behind me, I rose to even higher heights. I have always been grateful for everything they did, everything they sacrificed, but we sacrificed a lot.

Building our social status and reputation was everything, appearances always came first. I'm not even sure they loved each other. I know for a fact they married based upon mutual benefit and worked as a perfect team to achieve their goals, but in none of my memories are they gazing at each other with the love I saw in Kyoko's eyes yesterday when she reminisced on thoughts of her husband. With or without love, it worked for them, they remained amicably married until the end. I don't fault them for choosing a political marriage, far from it. I respect that choice and had always somewhat assumed I would do the same one day, but now, I'm starting to notice that same love missing from their eyes when they looked at me. I saw pride quite often, hope, satisfaction, the sort of look one gets in their eyes gazing at a job well done. I guess I am just realizing for the first time that my parents were simply not affectionate people, and I was not an exception. My glowing childhood is starting to resemble more of a glowing checklist for a college application. It's disconcerting.

I brew over those thoughts as my coffee brews, working my mild jealousy into admiration. I do not resent my own childhood, I was cared for, protected, and never went without, but I get the feeling Kyoko would be horrified if I told her how I grew up.

I can't help but wonder if we're attempting to tackle Kyoko's problem with the right strategy. Is it really right to expect Kyoko to let go of the wonderful love and closeness she is holding on to? Is she better for focusing entirely on herself and moving completely away from the connections she spent her whole life nurturing?

When Elizabeth knocks on my door I find I spent more time thinking than enjoying my coffee. The sight of her manages to clear my head almost as much as it muddles it. I leave my mostly full paper cup on my nightstand, trying to leave my worries along with it as I follow Elizabeth to the hotel's main cafeteria. We agreed to meet up with Kyoko over breakfast to brainstorm more avenues for her self-discovery.

Elizabeth is in full problem-solving mode this morning. I am probably imagining the slightly dark circles under her eyes, like she stayed up all night creating and compiling the array of paperwork she's brought with her. Her clipboard is organized but loaded down with post-it notes, lists with clear bullet point breakdowns, neat scribbles in all the margins, and plenty of purposely clear space for jotting down any new ideas. She's got on sensible shoes and a utilitarian pant suit that screams 'ready for anything'. There is nothing more attractive than a woman with a plan. The silly 'schoolboy with a crush' feelings I'm having are obviously unrelated and more likely admiration for her dedication and preparedness.

Being so distracted by her has its advantages though, one being that I hear every word of her purposeful chatter. She's bouncing ideas off me as we walk and filling me in on her plans regarding Kyoko. I am very well informed, though still uncertain, when we reach the table.

Kyoko shows no traces of yesterday's despair as Elizabeth explains her plan to move away from family centered or especially social activities and focus more on solitary hobbies and introspection. I do my best to ignore my nagging concerns and dedicate myself to the course.

Around us the breakfast crowd thins to a few sparse brunchers, Keepers in ill-fitting aprons clean tables and reset the buffet for lunch. I don't ponder the effect having wings or fur has on food handling guidelines. I suppose that all of the guests being already dead lowers concerns about foodborne illness.

I can only guess that hours have passed and yet I feel that our conversation has not actually gone anywhere. On the surface everything appears to be going well. Kyoko has been receptive to ideas and an active participant, but the businessman in me is sure that we haven't closed the deal. I know the look someone gets when presented with a foolproof plan to get them where they need to go, but it doesn't look at all like Kyoko wants to get to anywhere these plans are leading her, like the trip sounds like fun but the destination leaves much to be desired.

"This is never going to work," I inject, much to the surprise of all of us. The women blink at me as my statement registers. Elizabeth frowns and Kyoko tilts her head thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asks as she glances down at all her hard work. I worry I've offended, but she scans her papers like a puzzle she's just noticed it's quite fitting together.

People are delicate and group projects doubly so, but keeping one on track is something I can do. I straighten in my seat and look Kyoko in the eye, "All of this is pointless if this isn't really what you want." I begin decisively and wave a hand over the spread of papers on the table, "I think we are approaching the problem all wrong, or more so, that we are using the right approach for the wrong problem." The women look at each other and then at me with a humoring sort of curiosity.

"Kyoko, you came here to find who you are, isn't that correct?"

Leaning in, she nods, and I know I've got her hooked.

"Well somehow, along the way, we've turned that into forgetting who you were."

I give that a moment to sink in and have the pleasure of seeing the moment Elizabeth's eyes spark with recognition. A silent exchange passes between us, and I happily relinquish the reins to her.

My head is buzzing on the same sort of adrenaline rush I used to get in boardrooms before closing million dollar deals as Elizabeth scoots her chair closer to Kyoko and takes her hands.

"Kyoko," Elizabeth starts. I can hear the excitement she's trying to contain on her voice, "your love and dedication to your family is a part of you, you don't have to leave it behind, it's not something we have to scoop out to make room for anything else, it all fits together to make you who you are. We can stop looking for that elusive 'one more piece', you've had it all along."

Tears collect in the corners of Kyoko's eyes and the girls share a breathy laugh.

That's the one, the look I was after, the deal is closed, and Kyoko couldn't be happier.

Checking a guest out is both extremely simple and next to impossible. Kyoko had not been a solitary member of this strange community. The goodbyes were plentiful and difficult. The love that pours out of this woman was clear in every parting, both the sorrow and the joy. It took hours and was emotionally draining, at least it was too me, Elizabeth and Kyoko both seemed to thrive on the high of it all.

The technical side of checkout was almost too easy. Elizabeth found the right page in the ledger and Kyoko penned her name.

She gave us a little wave as she pushed through the revolving doors. The gold and glass continued to spin but Kyoko never reappeared.