La La Land

I have never been to China but I have been to La La Land, which is farther, and from which you don’t always return. Sometimes La La Land stands for Los Angeles. Sometimes La La Land reaches beyond the heavens. My daughter has gone to La La Land, and this time she will never return. She always loved La La Land. I wonder if she ever realized she’d get stuck there. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. She went there of her own free will this last time, just as she always had. Nowhere else would do. At least I didn’t have to go there with her. For a time I was afraid she’d drag me along. It’s bad enough that I will have to go there if I ever want to visit her. Every day I look into the eyes of my son to see if I can still trust him. If I can, and if he goes with me, then I’ll probably be safe. But still. I worry I’ll be in La La Land for real no matter where else I think I might be. It’s not so crazy, to be worried like this. My daughter, who will spend the rest of her life in La La Land, and who was only too happy to go there, no longer knows exactly where she is. That’s the thing about La La Land, in the end: You know you’re somewhere but where, exactly, you can no longer say. And at that point you no longer care.