“What will we fight? Monsters? Supervillains? Dragons? Moose?”
The sky slowly turned pink in front of us, sunlight bleeding into the blue. Kyra stared at the rising dawn, and the wind played with her hair. “Fear,” she said, eventually. “We’ll fight fear itself.”
“How?”
“By embracing it. We must not deny our fear. We have to remember to be afraid. And we have to go on anyway.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“I know.”
She walked to the edge of the strip and perched on a small rock. When she folded in on herself like that, she was all knees and elbows and so much smaller than I knew her to be. “I forget to be afraid sometimes. Brief moments, usually during my manic periods. I forget what it’s like to be different, and I forget to be afraid.”
“Don’t you want to forget?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to be afraid. But I do want to remember myself, who I am.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Being stuck here,” she said, her voice flat. “I’ve told you that before.”
I waited.
“Me,” she continued. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt myself—or others. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” She paused. “And you,” she said. “I’m terrified to lose you.”
“You won’t,” I whispered.
“You can’t promise that.”
“No, I can’t.”
She hugged her knees to her chest. “But most of all, I’m afraid of them. Lost has a code, Cor, and I don’t belong to it. I don’t fit in, and they’d rather push me out. I’m a threat to them, so I can’t stop being afraid, because I know they’re a threat to me.”
I sat down next to her on the still-frozen grass and let her lean against me. The pink sky burned into orange as the first rays of the sun touched the horizon. It lit the white-capped mountains and, inch by inch, the world around us. I’d always preferred the planets and the stars, but there was something to be said for watching the world wake up. It was a quiet wonder.
“We call them hero days,” Kyra said, “because that is when we fight fear itself. And we win.”
Homeward Bound
Roshan takes me to Aaron’s cabin, where we spend the night. I might have managed to sleep; I’m not sure. But Roshan and Aaron stay with me, and at some point, Sam joins us too. Maybe that’s all that matters. Mr. Henderson has the letter he came for, and more. Lost still has its lore, and I am safe.
I cling to my bag in the predawn twilight, as the two of them accompany me to the airstrip. I don’t have my phone. I don’t have most of my clothes. But I have my passport, my memories, and a way out. Part of Kyra will always be in my heart. Part of her will never be free of Lost. She will live on in the histories they tell, the stories they whisper, and the images she left behind.
When the plane touches down, Roshan walks me to it, and I have to ask, “Will you tell Kyra’s story? Will you tell what happened last night?”
Roshan helps me in next to the pilot. He hands me my bag with a sad smile. And I know that, apart from the pieces I take with me, Kyra’s story will never make it out of the borders of Lost. It’ll grow into the legend she never wanted.
“No one would believe me any more than they would believe you. I’m sorry. But even though we failed Kyra, maybe we can honor her by living. And loving. And learning.”
And maybe, I add silently, by not keeping secrets anymore. “Different rules. A different world.”
“We can build our future, Corey. We owe it to her. I do.”
I look toward the horizon, and Aaron lifts his hand from his pocket to wave. Sam stands next to him by the road.
“I told you, when we talked about the mine, Father wants to do this right if he can. So do I.”
I look beyond him, toward Lost, and I know it’s the last time I will see this place I once called home.
“Go to Sam, Roshan. Go home.” I’m going home too.
Roshan steps back, and the plane’s small motor makes a mighty noise. A few minutes later, the captain begins our taxi down the runway. The pine trees on either side of the small plane blur as we pick up speed.
I lock my eyes on the deep blue sky in front of us, and I don’t look back.
All the Lives We Shared
My Kyra was not extraordinary. No more than any of us are—and no less either. She loved toffee and berries. She hated pears and white chocolate. Her favorite color was magenta. She loved rainstorms and snow angels and sitting in the sun with a book about anthropology or literary structure. She was a geek. She was determined. She had long nights and hero days, and she was still a girl, my girl. She was bipolar, and that was not the least of her or the best of her, but it was irrevocably part of her. She was a storyteller. And for all of her visions, she was not a visionary the way Lost wanted her to be. She was not a prophet.
Or at least, I don’t remember her like that.
Instead, I choose to remember her as she was, standing at the airstrip, while Mom and Luke and I were saying our final goodbyes to Lost. She wore a gray T-shirt with pink flowers, and her long hair was tied back in a braid. Her glasses reflected the bright sun.
As we were getting ready to board the plane, she took me aside. “This’ll be a new story,” she said. “And it’s yours to tell. But please don’t leave me out of it, okay?”
I shook my head fervently. “I wouldn’t. I would never.”
“We’ll write. You’ll come visit. And then maybe next year, I can come visit you. I want to see the University of Winnipeg’s Anthropology Museum, in any case. And maybe you can take me to the Royal Astronomical Society.”
She knew me so well. It figured that she’d researched my new hometown better than I had. I’d been reluctant to, because doing so would make our move more real. But there on the airstrip, unable to deny the imminent change, it felt as if someone had opened a door, and now that I stood in front of it, all I wanted to do was see what was on the other side.
“I’ll bring you the world,” I said.
She smiled. And I didn’t know—I never knew—if she was being genuine or if she was faking it to be brave.
“We’ll see each other soon,” I promised.
“I hope so,” she said.
She was the last one standing on the airstrip as we took off. I watched her until she was nothing more than a spot amid the green.
That is how I will remember her. And with every corner I turn, I will still expect to see her. With every constellation I observe, I’ll wonder about stories as well as science. I’ll build a bridge to her. I’ll look for falling stars.
My regrets are not forgiveness. Neither is my dawning understanding. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
This isn’t happily ever after.
But it’s hope. And this is where I start a new story.
Once upon a time…
Author’s Note
Lost is an odd place, but Kyra’s struggles and the abuse she suffers are all too real. If you or someone you know struggles with mental health crises, you deserve to be supported, and you deserve to have access to the help you need. If you’re thinking about suicide, you deserve immediate support. Please know there are people out there who want to provide that help.
If you’re inside the United States, and you have questions about mental health and treatment options, you can reach out to:
?National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) helpline: 1-800-950-NAMI (6264)
?Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) national helpline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357)
If you’re experiencing suicidal thoughts, please reach out to:
?National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
?Trevor Project Lifeline for LGBTQ youth: 1-866-488-7386
?Crisis Text Line: text “home” to 741741