Frankenstein

With the class reading of Frankenstein complete, I felt compelled to revisit a short essay I wrote for my application into a four year institution. The prompt asked "If you could take a figure in history or fiction to a place that holds deep meaning for you, where would you take them and why?"
Here is my answer:

There is a spot in New York City where one can turn to the left and see the buzzing blitz of the busy city. Turning to the right leaves one to gaze upon a series of quiet and calm parks, those being Goodwill Park, Socrates Sculpture Park and Rainey Park. Looking straight ahead reveals the distant lights of the Robert D. Kennedy Bridge, better known as the Triboro Bridge. An about face would leave one standing at the foot of a tall octagonal tower, constructed in stone and standing at approximately 50 feet in height. This structure is known as the Roosevelt Island Lighthouse, and the location is the Lighthouse Park. This is my spot. It is where I go to get away, and still feel a part of something. It is where I can be alone with my thoughts and simultaneously surrounded with the brilliance of this city. It is where I retreated to the day I buried my sister Brenda a decade ago. That day I sat on the outer stone barrier that separates the park from the East River. In my black suit I looked out onto the water, hoping to get some measure of closure or strength to allow myself a return to my family. Sitting there with my leather shoes dangling from my toes, threatening to fall and disappear into the water, I found myself wishing to sit next to someone who might feel as I felt. A year later I found this person in a book. His name was Victor Frankenstein.

Some time before my sister’s death, she sat with me on the floor of her room and asked me to promise her something. It was a simple request. “Promise me you’ll be in my hospital room when I go, ok?” The fact that she was terminal was not a secret in my family. We knew she had little time to live, but like many other sicknesses, AIDS does not provide one with a timetable. Every other month that passed, my sister was rushed to the hospital, cared for, and returned. It had become a fairly predictable cycle and I had become complacent to it. I focused my attention on my own interests, but unlike Victor Frankenstein immersing himself in science, I immersed myself in arrogance and a search for affection. I missed the call to rush to the hospital and with that, I broke a promise.

The Lighthouse Park is where I first opened the novel by Mary Shelley. I sympathized with Victor for his obsession, and his desire to attain the impossible, and eventually his tremendous guilt. This book was merely a work of fiction, but it helped put into perspective my own thoughts and the guilt I carried. If it were at all possible, I would bring Victor Frankenstein to this spot in New York City, and share with him the experiences of my life. My hope would be that I could help him the way he helped me.