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"Carnivals were never my favorite thing as a kid," Trip said as he and Malcolm wandered down the empty midway, the lights and noises from the games and rides surrounding them. "I mean, I liked 'em and stuff, but they're more my sister's thing. She loves them." He turned back, still walking, and stared up at the unmanned ferris wheel whirling high above him. "But I did always want to go to one that was empty."

"Why?" Malcolm said.

"No lines," Trip replied. "Too bad Lizzie isn't here, though. She loves this stuff." His smile fell away as he stared up at the ferris wheel spinning above him. He shook his head and said, softly, "Maybe next time."

Malcolm laughed. "So what was your favorite?"

"Hmm?" Trip said vaguely, still staring up at the ride whirling above him. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly chilled in the warm night air. Something was missing. He felt like he'd forgotten something important, and -

"If not carnivals, then what was your favorite?"

Trip spun around, facing forward again. "Football," he said, miming a pass to be sure that Malcolm understood which "football" he was referring to. "Playing it, watching it, I loved it all." He spied a cotton candy stand and strode to it, helping himself to a paper cone, which he then stuck down into the sugary pink floss spinning below him. He wound himself a huge ball and held it up proudly. "Want some?" Malcolm simply shook his head, and Trip took a bite, crunching the sweet fluff between his teeth and sucking on it as it melted away. "What was your favorite thing?" he asked around his sticky mouthful.

"Cricket."

Trip hesitated a second as he pondered the best way to respond. Finally, he admitted, "I never really got that game."

"It's brilliant."

Trip grimaced. "Doubt that," he said, taking another bite before he pitched the still-full cone into the nearest trash bin.

Malcolm sighed. "Listen, have you ever actually played?"

"Cricket? You mean, the game?"

"Yes, I mean the game. Cricket, the game."

Trip hesitated a moment, then finally said, "You know I'm American, right?"

"What does that have to do with..."

Trip shifted, then tried to explain. "It's not like cricket is actually something we played growing up. I mean, I know it has something to do with..." He glanced away, then back to Malcolm again. "Bats?" At Malcolm's incredulous look, he tried again. "Guys in white sweaters running back and forth," he said, making frantic side-to-side movements with his hands.

"You are kidding."

Trip simply shook his head. "I just don't think it's an American thing."

"It's not as if it's genetic," Malcolm said with puzzled sarcasm. "We played it in San Francisco. I mean, there was a whole league. There were even Americans on my side."

"There were? Like who?"

"Rajit Gupta, for one. Alex Ramjattan, Clayton Mitchell, Nassir Muhammad..."

"Weren't most of those guys of Indian decent?"

"Nassir's father was from Pakistan."

"And Clay, wasn't he originally from Guyana?"

"Yes, but..."

"My point is, unless you're born into it..."

"Listen, it's really not that hard," Malcolm said, seeming a bit exasperated. "Someone once told me it has similarities to baseball." Then he arched an eyebrow. "In fact, I have a match on vid. You could stop by sometime and..."

Trip shook his head, thinking about the last baseball game he'd seen. He'd been sick-to-death from boredom, just from baseball - watching cricket would probably kill him. "You know I'd do anything for you," he said, placing a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "But..." he let his voice trail away as the images streamed - cricket players moved on the field, their actions seemingly random. Occasionally someone would run back and forth between two posts. But both the pitching and the batting was all wrong, and...He shook his head in exasperation and he blinked, hard, pulling Malcolm's face into focus before him. His friend seemed to be rapt as he stood there, completely focused on the activity on the field before them.

Field? Trip thought, turning full-around in a sudden flash of clarity. Where had this field come from? Where had the carnival gone? His heart hammered in his chest as he turned back to the game, staring at the players.

Hadn't he just been at a carnival? And a carnival, how had that...why would there be...he stared as the players shifted on the field, one man in white leaning on something almost but not entirely unlike a baseball bat. There was something wrong, something he'd forgotten, something important - he thought there had been a ship, and -

Trip's focus snapped back to the game as the field erupted into a loud chorus of "Hoooowwwzaaaattt". He blinked and straightened, watching everyone on the field turn towards what must be the umpire, throwing their arms in the air as they continued the sound.

After close to a minute of this, Trip finally said, "Um, Malcolm?"

"Hmm?" Malcolm replied, still focused on the match.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked over the chorus. When Malcolm turned to him, he said, "I know you love this game, but..."

Malcolm's brow wrinkled, and then he seemed to have a brainstorm. "You follow baseball, yes?" he asked.

Trip shook his head. "Not so much."

"You understand the game, though?"

Trip nodded.

"Good." Malcolm nodded sagely. "Cricket is similar to baseball, but where baseball is mostly about power, cricket is more about finesse."

"Right," Trip said hesitantly.

"Hold on," Malcolm said, and he turned and rummaged through his satchel - Satchel? Trip thought briefly. That was odd - he could have sworn that the bag wasn't there a second ago. As Malcolm pulled out some paper and a pen, which also seemed kind of odd, Trip frowned, trying to figure out what, exactly, was wrong. It was kind of like he'd forgotten something, something important, but damned if he knew what that was.

Malcolm sat on the grass, facing Trip, the pad between them. Trip shrugged and sat down.

"In cricket, there are two teams, with eleven players each, instead of baseball's nine." When Trip nodded, Malcolm smiled, then began to draw. "Instead of four bases, there are only two, in the middle of the field, sixty-six feet apart. All running is between these two bases..."

Malcolm continued to explain the action as they watched, each time trying to equate what was happening to baseball, occasionally drawing something on the pad to demonstrate. Trip, surprised, found that he actually understood - well, certainly not all of it, but some.

In fact, as they continued to watch, Trip found himself oddly fascinated. It was sort of like watching baseball, if you put baseball on sedatives, but more intricate, and less boring for that.

As the game - no, wait - match, Trip corrected himself. As the match progressed, he found himself understanding more and more. Even some of the terms that Malcolm was using were becoming clearer, although much of it was still gibberish.

After one such dialogue, Trip said, "So, to say 'Smith bowled seven overs', is saying..."

Malcolm smiled a bit, but didn't give the answer.

Trip thought a moment, then said, "Smith threw 42 pitches, in sets of six?" At Malcolm's answering nod, Trip leaned back in his chair. "I am a cricket master!" he said. Then he smiled at Malcolm. "I think my favorite bits are the tea breaks."

"Well, it's not as if they're actually having tea," Malcolm said. "More of a snack break."

"Beer?"

Malcolm nodded. "Sometimes."

"Good game," Trip said, nodding sagely.

x-x

The match ended and Trip, still sitting next to Malcolm, watched as first the players disappeared, then the pitch itself faded into grey fog, leaving only him, Malcolm, and their patch of grass. Trip thought that maybe that should worry him, because that certainly didn't seem normal, but he didn't mind - the sun, although he couldn't actually see it through fog, was warm and comfortable.

Although it was not quite fog, more of a grey not-there-ness, and that should also worry him. But the grass below him smelled nice, like fresh-cut grass should, and he ruffled his fingers through it, pulling up a few blades. He liked it here. Wherever here was.

And Malcolm - Malcolm puzzled him. He wasn't quite sure how he knew the man. Certainly weren't any Brits that he knew from around Panama City, but he obviously knew this one from somewhere, and really well for that. But he couldn't remember from where, or why, and in the end, he supposed it didn't really matter. More important was to address the issue at hand, the one question that had been nagging at him for some time - "How do you know so much about baseball?" he finally asked.

After a moment of hesitation, Malcolm answered. "I'm not entirely sure."

"Have you ever watched it?"

"No."

"Odd."

"Hmm," Malcolm replied.

"My sister is a huge baseball fan. Huge."

"I'd like to meet her sometime."

"Yeah," Trip said vaguely. He looked at Malcolm. "I feel like I'm forgetting something. Something important."

Malcolm nodded and turned his face to the sky, his eyes shutting. "Sun's nice."

Trip turned his own face up, soaking in the warmth, and he closed his eyes. "Only thing missing is the ocean," he said softly.

"The Irish Sea," Malcolm whispered from beside him.

"Nah," Trip replied. "Too cold. Gulf of Mexico."

Trip heard waves in the distance, and the calls of gulls, and he smelled the salt on the air, and he smiled.

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