Lost

At the conclusion of Lost I was perusing various Lost information and came across this comment,

"The finale was earnest and hopeful, and like all things that share those qualities, it likely will attract mockery in some places."Robert Bianco

I agree. Watch the ending expecting all questions to be answered and you will be disappointed. Watch it from a scientific viewpoint and you may be disappointed. Watch it from a critical religious perspective and you will be disappointed. Watch it while trying to deconstruct it and you will be disappointed. Watch it like you watched the backyard of your childhood, before you knew better to believe in anything beyond your own island of the mind and you might love it.

I have to admit that I rather loved the ending. I could complain about a cavalcade of unanswered questions, but I think that would be missing the point. The point of the story was character above action in the end. And I have to say that at the end of my life I don't think I'll look back fondly on a crossover dribble or a ninety seven on a reading test, I'll think back on the people that I have loved or not loved well enough. And it's the latter half of that sentence that brings me to the ending. I cried. Not nearly as much as S, but I did. Because who wouldn't want to think that it's going to be that way?

I thought it was both beautiful and sad because I was so caught up in the story telling that I was almost jealous that it had happened for them, and I still had to wait and see and try to believe and doubt and fall short and fail and wake up in the middle of the night and wonder about all this, life: how all the pieces are supposed to fit together, whether I'm doing the right thing day in and day out, wondering I guess about man's search for meaning.

I hope this all makes sense and that you know exactly what I'm talking about. All that I've ever wanted in life is to find something beautiful and share it with you. I've dreamed of a long train ride through the mountains, overlooking the coast, a cup of tea tucked between our warm palms, and talking all afternoon about something that we both love, while the train barrels into the side of a mountain, but we don't even notice the darkness because their is so much we still need to say and the train can roll on forever.

I suppose Lost has all the trappings of good story telling, making me care that much about a fictional world. I think good art can do that. I think it can remind us of what it means to be human.

One Person Away From You
Fiction
When I woke the next morning, I was a proactive person. I lay in bed for ten minutes, counting shadows on the walls. Five. The number of spider webs—long abandoned—moving slowly in the air conditioning. Four. I wondered if the spiders were all dead or gone for only a season, like you. I wondered if you’d all moved out together and were living in a house of silk—filled with the husks of flies. It is a hard business being proactive.

Our neighbor’s alarm clock blared through the walls. She pushed snooze three times before she got out of bed. I rose with her. In the bathroom, I listened for the thin sound of water on tiles before turning the nozzle. We took a shower together. I moved around the apartment with her, waiting for the bang of the cupboard so I would know when to have cereal. She slid open her closet door; it glided smoothly along the rails. Ours got jammed on the carpet, and I frantically tried to slide it back on track. I was afraid she’d leave me behind.

We looked into our closets together. We started to take our clothes off hangers and lay them on the bed. We both chose long skirts because it was too hot for pants. Hers was white, and mine was eggshell. We put on short-sleeved shirts with funny ties around the middle. They were in fashion because you said you liked them. We put on sandals, even though our toenail polish was too chipped to pull it off. I imitated all of her movements. In this way, I got ready for the day with our upstairs neighbor, who you always thought was beautiful.

I waited for her door to open before I stepped into the hallway. I fumbled with the key, and she almost got on the elevator without me. She was wearing a business suit. I looked at her strangely. Somehow, she had forgotten to wear a skirt. “Goodbye Lindsey,” I said, when she got off the elevator at the lobby. She smiled back and nodded. She doesn’t even know my name.