Learning to Live: Back to Technology

Twenty-two hours off the island…

10:00- 11:00 AM

After I said that, I turned back to Penny and took her further into the kitchen. “You know she’s lying, don’t you?”

Her gaze flickered up to mine as we both peered into the living room again. “Which part? It’s apparent that she’s uncomfortable being here.”

“This might sound strange, but I think we don’t think we should let her leave.”

“Oh, I totally agree. However, it’s not really up to us to decide.”

“I just meant that I know a thing or two about cars. Even if her boyfriend says that he’s going to pick her up, she’s probably still going to need to tow her car somewhere. If I can get a look at it—maybe I can spare her the cost of calling one down here.”

“Perhaps. It’s worth a shot. I’ll put away breakfast and we can eat it later.” Kissing her on the lips we stayed that way until the woman cleared her throat.

“Sorry to interrupt. . . I just wanted to say that I was just on my way out. You both have been so kind, and I don’t even know your names.”

“I’m Penny.” Both nodded politely in greeting.

“Desmond.” As I was about to inquire about taking a look at her car, Claire responded first.

“It’s nice to meet both of you. I’m Claire, and this is my son, Aaron.” Claire chimed in, moving the blanket so we could see his face.

“Aaron.”  Penny mentioned; her expression changing to a familiar glance as she watched him moving around.

“It means strength.” Claire was clearly proud of being a mother as she stroked her son’s cheek. “Well, we should get going. I should probably be feeding him soon.”

Stopping, Penny turned on her heels. “You’re welcome to feed him here.”

I could tell that Claire was about to turn down her offer, but then changed her mind and sat back on the couch. “Thank you.”

“Desmond—could you help me in the kitchen?” Claire glanced over with a smile as she pulled out a blanket from her bag, and then I followed Penny out of the room.

“Do you always have people coming to your door at nine in the morning?” Grabbing my plate I put it in the microwave as she reached into one of the bottom cabinets, while she pulled out a container big enough to put all the eggs in.

She paused for a moment “It’s usually quiet.”

It took me a minute to remember how to work, something as simple as a microwave. I felt a little foolish after seeing technology again—or anything that didn’t have to do with sitting around a fire and cooking my meals.

“This is going to sound crazy, but I don’t remember how to work a microwave.” I gave her a puzzled look, and she only laughed. It must have been quite the picture, with me standing there with the microwave door open. It took only a few minutes to explain and my eggs were heating up.

Giving a sigh of relief, I paused to admire her beauty as scooped the eggs into the container. I knew that while I was away, I missed her so much. Her kindness was astounding and it only made me love her more. And then her expression clicked, just as I found her gazing at me with that half-grin.

“What?” She absently brushed at her lip. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No. You never said how long we were on that boat.”

“Two weeks.” She called back, putting the lid on the food and sticking it into the fridge. Her expression was full of alarm when she turned back around. “Desmond?”

“Hmm?”

She pulled me into what looked like one, very fancy dining room. We stood under a sparkling chandelier—the double doors closing behind us. “Do you remember anything that’s happened in the past month?”

“I remember being on the boat, with you—“The expression on her face fell, as if I had worried her even more. “You mentioned something about a tracking station…you found me on the boat. My boat.”

Penny’s voice echoed as she turned to look out the dining room window. The garden was filled a bed of roses, bushes and luscious green grass. “You took that boat around the world in a boat race, hoping that you would earn your dignity back because of my father.”

My thoughts raced, pulling me back to not so better times. Charles Widmore was a man that I knew very well; his distaste for me had never been hidden. His demeanor was always cold and calculating, and even more so when he had handed me all the collected letters that Penny had written to me while I had been in prison.

A flashback took me to an island of some sort where I was among wreckage. In another, I was back on the platform with a man named Charlie as he closed the metal door with a resounding thud. He held his hand up against the window, and my mind seemed to focus on the words that were written on his hand: Not Penny’s boat.

None of it made sense, other than my conscious was warning me of something— probably the part of my life that had suddenly faded into oblivion.