Behind Locked Glass
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ This is a short story from Peter's mother's POV. I've always felt bad for her, her kid flying away in the middle of the night! Anyway, it's not really long enough to be "Her Story" so I think we'll just call it a short segment.Enjoy! Disclaimer: I don't own Peter Pan, if he could ever really belong to anyone *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
I remember. I remember the day Peter was born! My dear, sweet first born.As soon as I saw him, I knew his name was to be Peter. Peter Pan.a darling name, for my darling child! Oh, how happy I was! How happy that at last I had a child to hold and cuddle, and tenderly keep. A child of my very own. How quickly that happiness was shattered.
That night, Thomas and I stood beyond the quiet night light of Peter's room. Our excitement was barely contained in the whispers that somehow reached Peter's infantile ears. "Perhaps he'll be a lawyer, or a doctor!" I said, squeezing my husband's hand. His smile echoed mine. "Yes, mayhaps he'll be on Parliament and marry a princess of England!" We talked late into the night, of what our dear boy might become, once he shed his childhood and became a man. That's every mother's dream, isn't it? To see her girl become a lady, to see her boy become a gentleman.every mother's dream, isn't it? O! If only I could have known how fatal that dream was!
In the middle of the night, with that intuition all women, but mothers in particular possess, I sprang from my bed and ran to Peter's crib. He was gone. The window was wide open. It took years to even think about having another child.and through those years I kept the window wide open, never locking it or even shutting it. I spent many nights in his room, straightening his blankets or rearranging toys. But gradually both the toys and his blankets grew cold and stony with dust, and I realized he wasn't coming back. Not now, not ever. So I had another.
I wasn't taking any chances with Edward. I barred and locked the window tight, and I made sure all conversations about his future were kept far, far from his small ears. I wouldn't lose this one, I was sure of that. But then, one night.I felt him. Peter. Edward was seven now, and it was eighteen years after Peter's birth and disappearance. With the horrible sense of something amiss, and an almost mocking feeling of déjà vu, I ran from my bed and all but flew into Edward's room.
For a fractionated moment, I was sure I saw him, my first born. He was wearing the oddest clothes, made of skeleton leaves, and he was much older than the baby I had known. But somehow I still knew it was he. Most peculiar of all, perhaps, was the fact that the boy didn't look a day over twelve, instead of the young man he should have been. For some reason, it didn't seem so remarkable that he was flying. But, alas! I saw this all in an instant, for in an instant he was gone. I flung myself to the window and opened it, and all but threw myself out it my haste.
"PETER! Peter, come back! We love you, Peter! COME BACK!!!" It was too late. He was gone. And the window was wide open.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ This is a short story from Peter's mother's POV. I've always felt bad for her, her kid flying away in the middle of the night! Anyway, it's not really long enough to be "Her Story" so I think we'll just call it a short segment.Enjoy! Disclaimer: I don't own Peter Pan, if he could ever really belong to anyone *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
I remember. I remember the day Peter was born! My dear, sweet first born.As soon as I saw him, I knew his name was to be Peter. Peter Pan.a darling name, for my darling child! Oh, how happy I was! How happy that at last I had a child to hold and cuddle, and tenderly keep. A child of my very own. How quickly that happiness was shattered.
That night, Thomas and I stood beyond the quiet night light of Peter's room. Our excitement was barely contained in the whispers that somehow reached Peter's infantile ears. "Perhaps he'll be a lawyer, or a doctor!" I said, squeezing my husband's hand. His smile echoed mine. "Yes, mayhaps he'll be on Parliament and marry a princess of England!" We talked late into the night, of what our dear boy might become, once he shed his childhood and became a man. That's every mother's dream, isn't it? To see her girl become a lady, to see her boy become a gentleman.every mother's dream, isn't it? O! If only I could have known how fatal that dream was!
In the middle of the night, with that intuition all women, but mothers in particular possess, I sprang from my bed and ran to Peter's crib. He was gone. The window was wide open. It took years to even think about having another child.and through those years I kept the window wide open, never locking it or even shutting it. I spent many nights in his room, straightening his blankets or rearranging toys. But gradually both the toys and his blankets grew cold and stony with dust, and I realized he wasn't coming back. Not now, not ever. So I had another.
I wasn't taking any chances with Edward. I barred and locked the window tight, and I made sure all conversations about his future were kept far, far from his small ears. I wouldn't lose this one, I was sure of that. But then, one night.I felt him. Peter. Edward was seven now, and it was eighteen years after Peter's birth and disappearance. With the horrible sense of something amiss, and an almost mocking feeling of déjà vu, I ran from my bed and all but flew into Edward's room.
For a fractionated moment, I was sure I saw him, my first born. He was wearing the oddest clothes, made of skeleton leaves, and he was much older than the baby I had known. But somehow I still knew it was he. Most peculiar of all, perhaps, was the fact that the boy didn't look a day over twelve, instead of the young man he should have been. For some reason, it didn't seem so remarkable that he was flying. But, alas! I saw this all in an instant, for in an instant he was gone. I flung myself to the window and opened it, and all but threw myself out it my haste.
"PETER! Peter, come back! We love you, Peter! COME BACK!!!" It was too late. He was gone. And the window was wide open.