Skyler, 24 — Seoul (South Korea) :
Back in university I lived with my three roommates, a dysfunctional couple and my best friend, Daniel. There were many instances of tension in our small three-bedroom duplex household, everything from whose turn it was to do the dishes, pay the bills, or take out the trash, to friendly debates over religion or politics that escalated into full-blown raging arguments. Lost was always there however, and was a constant that seemed the extinguish all current feuding in our lives.
On May 29th, 2008, we and millions of other Lost fans sat down to watch the Season 4 finale “There’s No Place Like Home”. Everything had been planned weeks in advance; snacks, food, beers. We all huddled around the television eagerly awaiting the rescue of the Oceanic 6 and the revelation of who laid in the coffin.
I remember Benjamin Linus, clad in his DHARMA parka, in that cold, unseen room with what would soon be known worldwide simply as “the frozen donkey wheel”. He huffed and puffed, feet slipping yearning from traction as he slowly inched the wheel round. My eyes began to well up with tears, overcome by the emotions of the struggling Linus on the television screen in front of me. “I hope you’re happy now, Jacob“, Linus spoke, right as out television flicked once and went black.
Initially, I thought this was some sort of Sopranos-esque play, an attempt to capture the audience, as Lost typically did, in equal parts wonder and frustration, but we collectively realized the lights on our satellite box had began flashing an unknown sequence of lights.
Accusations began flying over who had, or rather hadn’t mailed off the satellite bill, but it was quickly agreed upon that the bill had in fact been mailed as it was supposed to have been. Together we began scrambling, one person resetting the satellite box, one checking the upstairs television to see if it was encountering the same problem, one person on the phone calling various other Lost fan around our small little university town to see if they too had lost service.
We were the only ones.
It seemed like an eternity before the television flickered and Lost appeared again on our screen, Ben Linus now in the Hoffs-Drawlar Funeral Parlor speaking to an emotional Jack, hunched over the coffin. We all breathed a sigh of relief, before we had our breath taken away, seeing John Locke, dead in the coffin.
The next day we caught up on the fifteen or so minutes we had missed the night before. Just as we did the night prior, this time with a laptop, we all came together, as a household, as friends, as fan to watch the Island move.
We’ve all since moved on now and out of that duplex. The four of us have all graduated from university, the couple is set to be married in September, my best friend has a solid job in this ever so shaky economy, and I am currently teaching English in Seoul, South Korea. The four of us still talk Lost whenever possible, showing that Lost, like the Island itself, has a way a bringing people together despite the situation.