She laughed. I don’t think there’s a person who could tell whether it was my joke she was laughing at or herself once again being more capable than anyone else to entertain herself.

  “I guess your train of thought kept running through the night,” she giggled after.

  She’s like a shot of espresso.

  I couldn’t help but give her as much of a smile as I could. “Well, I don’t know about that. But you reminded me. Speaking of reminders, do you know what’s going on today?” I asked.

  “Is that rhetorical or accusatory?” She replied deadpan.

  “Descriptive. No, prophetic. Actually, copasetic. I don’t know, I actually don’t know what’s going on today,” I said.

  “I don’t know how to rhyme,” she laughed, then continued: “Maybe you should ask Anna,” She said, then looked, wide-eyed, at her snuggly warm, very-much-passed out friend.

  I took a moment. “She’s like an open book,” I said in a hush-hushed voice. Anna was, of course, holding a book open as she slept.

  I noticed we were the only two awake. I scanned the room, only to see harsh expressions, nothing exactly reassuring they were getting effective sleep. Anna might’ve looked the most peaceful from the process of elimination.

  “You should probably get dressed,” she said.

  I was about to play-argue, but I felt like it wouldn’t have been cute enough of me. So as I held my breath for a moment, I sucked my response back in and got up. She pointed me to a closet.

  Undershirt, turquoise button-up, black slacks, black belt, black socks, and pointy dress shoes. I changed alone, by instinct. She took longer than me, as one would expect, with extra layers and doing a smidge of makeup.

  She had a cable-knit charcoal cardigan with poofy red sleeves nearly going over her hands. The pocket lines were red, as well. She had a white Peter-pan blouse sticking out from an otherwise pink jumper skirt. The pattern, or I guess the theme, primarily had fiery arrows piercing apples, with carousel horses running around the hemline. Striped socks, of course. Cherry-red mary-janes: flashy. I was outclassed. As I took a quick moment to analyze, I noticed I really was outclassed: she had more pockets than I did, and her dress’s crinoline left her mobile enough…for open areas. I can’t comment on tight quarters.

  We evacuated the snooze-fest. I leaned against one of the walls while she gripped onto her purse.

  “So you don’t know the schedule, that’s okay. Did you get any sleep then? Like, time, having time, versus how much you had to suffer not being at this venue?” I asked, overpronouncing words as I went on.

  “No time. Wait, yes time. I’ll probably be groggier today- thank you for asking,” Her tone slided from dramatically choppy to silky sincerity. She did a shuffle to go with it.

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  I’m thinking. Maybe I could give her a ‘let me know if there’s anything I can do,’ no. It feels patronizing. ‘I’m here if you need me,’ no. Reminding her I exist is pointless and makes me feel like a crutch.

  “Maybe I don’t know exactly how you feel, but I have had to recover from a restless night. I can relate, and I-” I was cut off.

  “Okay, Dad,” she spat out her tongue for a moment, “But thank you. I’ll let you know if I need anything,” she concluded.

  We had a moment of peace. Whatever volume and tone she’s had, I was able to match. I wasn’t fighting for attention, nor was I being forced to pick up slack and be put on a pedestal. I felt like equals.

  …

  It was a guy, taller than me with curly charcoal hair, who joined us first. He commented on how long it's been since he saw Rebecca. Boilerplate conversations; he looked more tired than either of us were anyway. No rings under eyes, but he was expressionally blank. She gave an even quicker spiel about her adventures yesterday. I noticed she also cut him off by saying “Yeah,” “Right,” and “Yeah!” more often, like trying to skip forward in their interaction. I felt compelled to engage, but I concluded I would’ve been in the line of fire. I don’t think I’m like him; I don’t want to be shot down with a dismissive ‘Yeah.’

  Anna’s friends trickled through at randomly random intervals. It took a few tries, however, one random face who I don’t recall had broken the barrier in awkwardness.

  “Spirit-fest?” said her in a sing-songy way while approaching Rebecca like she was a cat.

  “I know, right? Don’t you want to just throw yourself onto a smoke pit covered in pomegranates as blood comes out of your eyes and the shrieks of the unknown consume your mind?”

  “Yeah,” Anna’s friend faltered for a moment just to process what horror came out of Rebecca’s mouth, “I, too, want to get grilled to death.”

  “I’m excited,” She gave the toothiest grin ever seen, “King, by the way, we’re going to find that booth,” of course, turning towards me.

  “Oh, I had no idea,” I said as loud as a bright red brick wall.

  Rebecca snickered. “Imagine if they haven’t even shown up yet,” she said at the pace of a typewriter.

  It was a rate I could easily replicate. “Yeah, like, we get there, you’ve been raving about it the entire day: they have the set, the booth, and the merch but no spokesperson, no one to facilitate the main event,” I responded.

  “Do you even know what Spirit-Fest is?” Anna’s friend asked.

  Before I could think what my angle would be, Rebecca covered me. “I don’t think I know what anything is,” She said, then promptly laughed. “But no, I know you’re new here, King- I can explain anything that might not be clear.”

  “Okay, like wh-” I nearly respond.

  Rebecca continues: “It comes down to representing four spirits. Some people, I can’t imagine who, are interested in finding patterns that tend to show up. It’s hard to really pinpoint what the basic structure of these patterns are, but some people have been noticing,” she paused for a moment. “It’s been in decline. It’s still a new movement, but there’s only been a short surge in its popularity. You get a lot of free-riders interested in the vibes and not for the sake of the special interest. As you can guess, those who are actually fixated on researching get disheartened.”

  “Are you like, just describing yourself or describing people who are more than just you?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m the last true Spirit-head. No, don’t worry; there are still quite a few people who devote a lot of time to finding new aspects of those patterns. You’ll learn more there, I’m sure. I could talk all day about it, though,” She shrugged and smiled.

  Another one of Anna’s friends, a slim man with curly hair, popped his head out and into the conversation. “Spirit Fest?”

  The few of them mirrored in their response. The newest arrival was caught up to speed. They talked in jargon: a language I don’t understand, not to say I’m very good with new languages otherwise. They spoke technical until the rest of the group arrived, and then we vacated towards getting breakfast.

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