Walking Toupeed Locke is moseying to his car after work and removing a Lost Dog flyer from under his windshield wiper, when he spies Swoosie Kurtz watching him again. So he runs after her, and she takes off, and I can't help but think that the only thing that this show has really needed up to this point is a footrace between Terry O'Quinn and Swoosie Kurtz in a giant fur coat. Before he can catch her, though, he goes ass-over-teakettle over the trunk of a car that's backing out, in the first of a few "oh, here's where he loses the use of his legs" fake-outs this episode. Nope, he's fine, and he gets up and looks around for Swoosie. Can't see her, can't see her, can't see her...there she is! Get the feeling she's not trying super-hard to get away? "Why are you following me?" he asks, and she apologizes, and he asks who she is. Say it with her, now: "I'm your mother." She had Locke when she was what, six years old? Seven?
Over coffee, Locke tells Swoosie that he's not sure why she thinks he's her son or how she found him, and she brightly asks if he wasn't adopted. No, actually, says Locke, quietly telling her that he grew up in a succession of foster homes. She seems genuinely surprised and dismayed by this. "Look, I don't mean to be rude. What do you want from me?" She says that she wanted to tell him that he's special. Very special. Echoes of Walt. "You're part of a design. You do realize that, don't you?" She tells him that their meeting is a sign of great things to come. Man, I can't imagine being given up for adoption and being found by my birth mom many years later, only to find out she's batshit crazy. ["There's a 'some of our batshit-crazy birth moms just up and kept us' joke here, but I'm tired, so y'all can sort it out yourselves." -- Sars] Locke asks about his father. "Is he still alive?" "Still alive?" asks Swoosie, confused. "Don't you understand? You don't have a father! You were immaculately conceived!" Locke's quiet, pondering delicate ways to inquire about the hereditary likelihood of batshit craziness.
Back on the island, Sawyer stomps up to Sun, who's tending her garden. He's holding two varieties of leaf. "Which one?" he yells. How nice that, even after everyone knows she speaks English, Sawyer still feels the need to shout at the Asian woman to make himself understood. She points at one of the leaves, and he asks if she's sure, because that's the one he's using and he's getting no results. Try rolling them a little tighter, Sawyer. "I'm sorry it's not helping," says Sun. "What's not helping?" says the island's nosiest bank robber, Kate. Sawyer gruffly says that nothing's the matter, then thanks Sun anyway, compliments her garden, and stalks off. Having already been told once that it's none of her business, Kate decides to try again, this time asking Sun what Sawyer's deal is. Sun, perhaps thrilled that she can babble away in English whenever she wants now, shoots her mouth off and says that Sawyer's having headaches. Kate asks if Sawyer doesn't have a truckload of aspirin stashed somewhere. "He says aspirin didn't help," says Sun. Kate thinks about how she can use this to her best meddling advantage.