Title: Never Grow Up
Author: ObsidianEbony
Genre: Angst/General
Summary: Why does Peter Pan never want to grow up?
Published on: 12/12/08
Along my many years, I have met many people of different shapes, sizes and backgrounds. I have encountered countless men and women who often find me a very stupid or obnoxious little boy.
I have been called idiot, moron, even 'bastard'. Even my band of followers, who always leave me in the end, have said that I was a "bloody moron".
Why would they say this you ask?
It's because of my mask. The mask I wear to hide my feelings, my emotions. In their place, I have carefully cultivated naivete and ignorance. I put on my mask so that none will be able to see the cracks I have, the flaws.
The little ones call me a 'hero'. The older ones dub me an 'immature boy'. Words such as these describe me with such shalloweness. I am not heroic, yet I have a deeply rooted sense of compassion to those who share my beliefs, and I will do anything to make them happy. I am not immature, but to the world, I act as if I care nothing for adults and their tiring lives.
Why do I do this, you say? Let's start from the beginning, shall we?
"Peter! Peter!" Mum was calling for supper once more.
"Well, gents!" The child bowed with a flourish to his captivated audience. "It's been a right pleasure to see all your lovely faces. I'll be here tomorrow with more of my adventures."
Skipping happily along the cobblestones of London, Peter went home to his dear mother, hoping for his favorite meal of fish.
"Hello Mum," he piped.
"Hello darling," she said as she swooped down to wipe his cheek. "Have you been playing in the mud again?"
"No Mum," he replied with a very serious face.
"Hmmm, what's this I see here?" She bent down, as if she were a scientist, studying a newfound specimen. "Aha! The great Peter has some of the terrible Muds on his clean trousers!"
No! It couldn't be! Could the terrible Muds have crawled on his pant legs when he was skipping?
"It's not Muds, Mum. It's chocolate!"
"Chocolate you say?" she frowned teasingly. "Now where would you get chocolate from?"
"Mrs. Tupp's Sweet Shop from five blocks away," he answered, once again showing complete innocence.
"Where did you get the money for Mrs. Tupp's?"
"I got it from Bill."
"Bill?"
"The boy who lives just two blocks away."
"Ah Bill," his mother exclaimed, as if remembering an old school friend. "Yes, dear Bill. Well, I think Bill's mother would like to know where her money is going, don't you?"
The game was up. "Aw Mum. I was just having a bit of fun with you. It's mud!"
"Is that so? Well, I suppose this young man should have a hot bath ready for him then."
"Nooooo!" Peter tried to run away, but his mother grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the torture weapon known far and wide as the Tin Tub.
That night at dinner, Peter disgustedly looked at a plate of vegetables, Brussel sprouts and all.
"Peter, eat your dinner dear."
"But Mum," he whined, "It looks disgusting!"
"It's Brussel sprouts boy! Of course it looks disgusting!" his father bellowed. His father was always a loud sort of man.
"But-"
"No buts. You'll eat your dinner, Peter Pandel, or you'll go hungry for a week!" His father was also the type who believed in corporeal punishment.
"Yes Father," he muttered resentfully.
One week later...
"Mum? Mum? What's wrong?" Peter tried to get the attention of his sobbing mother. "Mum?"
He looked at her bewilderedly. What had gone wrong?
"Father? Father?" Though he may have disliked the man, he knew his father would be the one to help him. Running through the house, he searched high and low for any sign of his father. "Father, where are you?" Try as he might, he could not find his father. It was as if the man had completely disappeared!
After that day, Mum changed. Once a bright, happy woman, she now grew bitter and tense, as if like a rubber band ready to snap at any moment.
"Boy! Is that mud on your clothes?" she demanded.
"No Mum!" His heart filled with hope. Maybe this was a sign that things were returning to normal.
"Don't lie to me you stupid boy! I can see mud all over you! Now get inside and clean yourself up!" She dragged him by the ear to the tub, which was filled with ice-cold water.
"Wash!"
"But-"
"Don't talk back to me!"
"Yes Mum," he murmured. He had been wrong yet again. She was still the same.
Dinner was hard cold gruel once more. He picked at it boredly, staring at the fly who had decided to take a swim in it.
"Eat your dinner!"
"Yes Mum."
"And sit straight up! I don't want a slouching boy in the house!"
"Yes Mum."
"And keep away from that beggar downstairs! He's trouble, I'm sure of it!"
"Yes Mum," he replied weakly. No more Joseph and his wonderful tales about the sea?
"And I don't want you associating with any of that riffraff down on Hunt Street anymore! From now on, you go to school and come back immediately!"
"Y-yes Mum," he sniffled, feeling his heart break. No more Henry or Tom? No more adventures?
"Stop being such a weakling. You'll be a man soon. Later, you'll have to make important decisions like this for your children too! You have to grow up soon!"
Peter lay dreaming fitfully on his bed, tossing and turning, reliving the day that his father had left them. He shook awake, gasping for air.
To grow up...to grow up...His mother's words echoed in his mind.
"If this is what it means, then I never want to grow up!"
Writing a carefully penned letter and leaving his only shilling, he slipped out of the window and into the night.
Later, when a ship hired him, they asked, "What's your name, sonny?"
"Peter...Peter Pan."
I wear my mask to smother my growing feelings, feelings of love, of true anger. I wear a facade to prevent myself from growing up, from feeling heartbreak once more.
To never grow up, that is my true purpose in life. Though the Lost Boys have left me one by one, I know that there will always be those who also wish to never grow up, however short a time that belief may last.
I was Peter Pandel, the boy who grew up and left the streets of London. I am Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up and never will.