Those few days I was at the Rainbow Gathering, my own mother had hounded me for updates that I was safe, that I hadn’t fallen victim to a murderous hippie cult in the middle of the desert. “You know I’m almost thirty, right?” I’d hissed over the phone before the gathering. “Yes, but you’ll always be my baby,” she replied. The concern that Echo’s mother had for her daughter was not unfamiliar to me, and I considered, for the first time in my career, stepping away from my role as an objective observer and reaching out to her mother to make sure Echo got the help she needed.
