A Quick Note Before I Begin . . .
Some time ago, at the start of the year, an idea for a Mary Poppins oneshot sprang to mind. In the weeks that followed its' inception, the originally planned eight hundred words or so decided to put down roots and blossomed into a full-fledged story. Over the past six months it has grown into what begins below.
I had originally wanted to wait to post this story until it was written in its entirety. I have, however, become very keen to start things along. I was recently halted by technical difficulties that prevented me from getting a fanfiction account, but a kind friend of mine who knew of my interests and whose own account long lay dormant allowed me to take over hers, and so I am able to begin. I do assure you that things are for the most part mapped out and I do promise to continue at a steady pace should there be interest out there for a continuing Mary Poppins fic. I appreciate anyone who has read thus far, and would certainly be grateful of anyone who followed the story along. I will not leave you hanging if I am able to help it.
As a side note of sorts, I would just like to mention again that this fic is based entirely on the Walt Disney film, what with my knowledge of the play as limited as it is. I am in general rather new at this fic business, so I do ask for pardon in advance. Things may seem odd and confusing at first, but hopefully as Mary Poppins' past unravels, things will become clearer. I will do my absolute best, and hopefully an obsession with this movie will help me through. Thank you very much! I hope you enjoy!
-Margo Duncan
Disclaimer: I am not the owner of the Walt Disney film Mary Poppins. Characters of said film used below are not used as part of any profitable venture. No infringement is intended.
"Is there a reason you're out here in the middle of night and storm?" The green parrot inquired.
"Not particularly," Mary answered, tightening her grasp on the handle of her umbrella. There was a reason she was standing in the frigid air, numerous reasons in fact, and in her mind they were all very good. But she had no desire to voice her thoughts, especially when she was aware that the bird on the end of her umbrella already knew what was on her mind. After a long moment of deep, painful recollection, however, Mary found herself speaking out - addressing no one in particular - to spite herself. "We came terribly close at the Banks' residence, didn't we?"
"Indeed, Mary Poppins. Indeed. What had been said? 'It's no wonder that it's Mary that we love?' 'You're our favorite person?' Dreadfully close, to be sure."
"And that's not close en-" The woman had tried to direct a question to the parrot, but he interrupted her before it could be properly asked.
"No," he answered. "I am sure you are familiar by now with what is acceptable and what isn't. Long ago you were informed that a direct 'I love you' is required, from anyone, so long as it is truly intended and no affectation or provocation on your part induces it. You know the allotted time period that was given. Nothing has changed since then, except the amount of time you have to complete the task - there's not much of that left."
"It's not as simple as you seem to think, you know. After weighing me down with your presence for so long, I was sure you would be familiar with that by now." Mary Poppins had always tried to be as patient as possible with her domineering overseer, but as time went by it became more difficult to mollify him. Every passing day weakened her, and the decline would only continue until there was nothing left of the practically perfect nanny. That time seemed much closer than Mary had ever imagined, and "practically perfect" was not as easy to come by as it had once been. It was this thought, the concealed inner grief, and the agonizing realizations of what could have been - what had come so close to becoming hers only to ultimately elude her - that sent her out onto her little balcony amidst the vicious pounding of unnumbered raindrops.
"I never meant to say that it was," the parrot insisted, "merely that - oh, how would you phrase it? 'People who get their feet wet must learn to take their medicine.' That medicine isn't always rum punch-flavored, Mary Poppins."
"There's still a chance," Mary insisted, trying to believe it for herself. "There is still this little boy, there's still- hope. My time hasn't expired yet."
"Ah, but I am not the one in pursuit of being convinced," he explained. That was all Mary could tolerate to hear.
"Oh, would you please stop your squawking? You're bound to wake someone." With no further thought, she pressed his beak shut - in a fashion much gentler than she would have liked to - and sighed. How could one possibly waste hours on sleeping when they had so few left? It was a necessary evil, Mary relented, and hastily collapsed the umbrella before scurrying back into her room as quietly as was possible, managing to stay remotely dry. Before retiring, she peeked in the adjoining room. Gilbert, her latest charge, was still sound asleep, unaffected by the rain the fell violently to the roof. She couldn't help but smile as she turned away. He seemed to have the potential to be taught, to understand, and to return the favor of being aided. Mary had entertained the same idea countless of times over the years, though, with everyone she had encountered. Everyone had appeared to be at least a bit loving, but it had never showed through any of them entirely.
Perhaps Mary's greatest upset was her previous assignment at Seventeen Cherry Tree Lane. Jane and Michael Banks had truly suggested that they loved her, but they had never voiced it. And then of course, there was right there with them, Bert.
Mary could think no more about her tumultuous situation. She retreated under the covers of her bed, seeking temporary refuge from the cruel world around her. The agony, however, would continue to follow her, even into her dreams.
"This is entirely your fault! Do you dare to deny it?" The tall man asked, throwing young Mary into the plush velvet of the armchair.
"N-no, father. I'm sorry! I never meant to-"
"I refuse to go, however, without punishing you first. And so it will be dealt accordingly, here and now. Your mother may have thought you to be the most perfect child there was, but I have my doubts. Still, I tend to believe that your mother was a sound judge of character at least most of the time, and so I am giving you a chance to prove yourself. If you can substantiate that you are capable of being loved for who you are, you can live your life fully. You don't know it, Mary, but you've already been enchanted. You've been given all sorts of ridiculous little abilities that can only make you all the more loveable. This is to show that I am not an unreasonable man. Between this generous gift and the nature of your being, if you are half as perfect as your mother insisted you were, then you will be able to live the life she intended you to. But the main point of this spell, Mary, has been to monitor you. Indeed, if no one is able to tell you that they love you before your time runs out, you'll die! And you'll join your mother, who resultantly would have died in vain. This is your only chance to prove to the world that you deserved to live, that you deserved your mother's death! Am I clear?"
Little Mary could hardly comprehend. She had been enchanted as a way to meet her fate, though her father quite obviously wished her dead? It was a lot for her ten-year-old mind to take in, and had she not been so afraid to, she would have burst out crying. It hardly seemed liked the time for such, however. There was no time to be confused, either, only to accept it. "H-how long until time runs out?"
"You have the same amount of time your mother had. Not a second more." With that, he rushed out of the room, never to be seen by his little girl again.
On the other side of London, Mary's friend was dreaming, though he was still awake. . .
The hour had grown late indeed, but Bert could not be swayed from his position. He sat propped against a wall of his flat's little alcove, letting the sound of raindrops overhead entrance him as the quill in his hand glided across the notebook's crisp pages. The day before had been tiring, and the day ahead undoubtably would be equally as exhausting. It seemed that no matter what changes altered the course of Bert's life, he was always destined to be a very busy man. But something had been preying on his mind, a story - so many stories, really, and the opportunity to tell them had to be snatched up no matter what hour was chiming. No, Bert couldn't possibly expect to write everything in one evening, but a start was absolutely necessary. If only a beginning could be forged as smoothly as the paper he scribbled across.Unable to organize his thoughts, he released exactly what occupied his thoughts quite simply.
Mary Poppins. I've crossed paths with many a character in my day and I can say that I've never met anyone as perplexing or delightful. She's a charming woman, no doubt, especially what with all of those antics of hers. But, oh! Mary's no magician! She'd be the first to tell you that, and for as skeptical as I might have been at first, I certainly believe her. Over the years I've come to realize she's just as perfectly practical as she is practically perfect. But I'm straying from the point, aren't I? A story is waiting and I'll jolly well try to tell it. Now, while I've been fortunate enough to have dozens of encounters with Mary Poppins over the years, there's just as much that I don't know as I know. I suppose some mysteries are only revealed in her mind, but I'll start from the very beginning, more than ten years ago now.
He sighed inwardly, lifting his pen from the surface. Oh, it all sounded so ridiculous! Certainly Mary Poppins and her tales delighted many, and Bert believed very much that their past was quite an interesting one. But why try to record it all? Who would truly care? And then it dawned on him.
Bert would care. It had all began so very long ago, and though he could recall nearly everything clearly in his mind, Bert wanted to make certain that the memories of his dear friend were retained forever. So many wonderful things had happened over the years. He could never commit such a sin as to forget any of the people, the places, or the situations they had encountered. No matter what, Mary had been far too kind to him for the entirety of their acquaintanceship for him to allow such a thing to happen. But taking a glance back at how the events of their friendship had unfolded, a part of him could only wonder if Mary would care at all either way.
And while Bert may have speculated, Mary Poppins did indeed cherish her friend. She always had and would until the day she died. And as both of them knew well, it was the young woman's kind-heartedness that had brought the them together in the first place a decade before.
