Hullo readers!
Okay, so I know it's been a while, and I'm truly sorry. I promise I am still working on the stupid malfunction that stole my Dark Knight story. But anyways, I am on the Peter Pan kick of the century! (Hurray!) So here is a new version: The year is 2009 (soon to be 2010, seeing as the New Year is just around the corner), and the original setting takes place in the United States of America. The main character is a girl named Ashlyn Wendy (yes, Wendy, as in "Wendy Darling") Burke. The thing that makes it hard to write about Peter Pan is that (in my belief), Peter is on the verge of adulthood. He's not a child by any means - probably fourteen... fifteen years of age - but he's paused right between childhood and adulthood. This is a tricky time to write about. On one hand, I don't by any means want to corrupt this legendary figure by romanticizing him. But on the other hand, there's no doubt he longs for something more, like all adolescents of that age group. So please, comment and enjoy - and criticism is much appreciated! Merry Christmas!
Love,
Lilly
Persuasion is a recently acquired skill for me.
When I was younger, I couldn't convince anyone of anything. I was like the ancient prophetess of Greek mythology, Cassandra – I could be telling the truth, but no matter what I said no one believed me. When I was a kid, that was okay. Things went my way anyways. I was Daddy's little girl, his porcelain doll child. What with my dark-chocolate colored hair, creamy skin and wide, deep blue eyes fringed in the darkest, longest eyelashes you've ever seen, not to mention my pale pink, rosebud lips and bright excited manner, you'd think I was a cherubim. Anything I wanted I got, and right away too. It just simply wasn't done any other way.
Maybe I inherited the persuasion from Dad. Like how you're born with brown eyes because your mom or dad has blue eyes, except yours are slightly darker or deeper – maybe I inherited persuasion from Dad, except his was oral and mine is written.
Dad could make anyone believe anything he wanted them to just by speaking. Every night he used to tuck me into bed and tell me stories about the adventures of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, and I believed every word he said. When we had guests, he would stay up late into the night with them, just talking. I used to eavesdrop on them from the other room, and I'd be proud because no matter what they were discussing – politics, movies, the current economic crises, etc – our guests would always end up agreeing with Dad. Then they would leave the family room in amiable spirits, and find me sleeping on the floor, having dropped off during their conversations. One thing Dad never had to do was agree to disagree.
And then there was me, whom no one believed no matter what I said or did. Dad would always tease me about it. He'd laugh so hard whenever I'd try to convince him to buy me an ice cream or a toy, and then tell me to give it up. Eventually I stopped trying, because as soon as I did give up he'd buy it for me anyways. Then he'd tell me that I would never be the first Lost Girl ever if I didn't learn persuasion, and he'd tell me how Peter Pan had the skill mastered. He'd tell me stories about Peter tricking Smee or one of the other pirates into doing different things because he could mimic voices, and how Hook was the only one who could ever resist Peter. Then I'd tell him that Hook wouldn't be able to resist my dad, and neither could Peter, and Dad would laugh and laugh and I'd just smile because I believed it to be true, and Mom would roll her eyes and ask Dad when he would stop telling me silly fairy tales.
Dad and I were closer than anything. He was my best friend and confident, and Peter Pan was our sort of anthem. We'd say anything was possible if we only had some faith, trust, and pixie dust. We were inseparable, we two, him with his persuasion and me with my angelic innocence and complete failure at logic. Unlike some people, this bond only strengthened with age, even after the horrific events of my thirteenth spring.
That was the year Mom and Dad decided to get divorced.
When they told me, they explained that it would be a good thing. They said that they both would still love me no matter what, and that they'd remain friends so I wouldn't be shuttled between them like a piece of cargo. Even though the custody hearing turned in some unfathomable reason in my mothers' favor, it wasn't horrible. I saw Dad every weekend and sometimes on weekdays, and every time I saw him he'd have a new Peter Pan adventure to tell me. I was a teenager, and my belief in the red-headed, flying boy of Neverland was stronger than ever.
By that time, I'd also come to terms with my inability to convince people of things. Whenever I had to write a persuasive paper in school, my teachers would commend me for my creativity, reasoning, and aptitude to make words and sentences flow in perfect cadence, but every time they'd have to say they maintained the opposite position. I didn't mind, though. Like my papers, my life had the "perfect cadence". I was a divorced kid with nearly the best life ever, and I attributed it all to faith, trust, and – yes, even some pixie dust.
But a little over a year had passed since Mom and Dad's split. The custody rehearing had been scheduled for May 14th. I was secretly looking forward to it, because while Mom was a great woman, she just wasn't Dad. I was missing my best friend. Maybe that's why the week before the rehearing was layered with anticipation for me. I wasn't able to concentrate in class. There was a school dance on the fourteenth, and though three or four boys asked me if I wanted to go, I refused absentmindedly. Change was in the air, I could sense it, and it was making me jittery.
On the thirteenth, I was at home working on some Global Issues homework on my brand new laptop (a gift from my dad, of course) when there was the faint metallic ding that signaled a new email arriving in my inbox. I clicked on the tab and saw it was from my Dad.
From: davidburke
To: firstlostgirl15
Subject: Custody Rehearing
Hey,
Just wanted to remind you that the rehearing is tomorrow. I want you to know that I'll do everything in my power to get custody of you, no matter what that might take. I know you love the new house, and there's this woman at my work place I can't wait for you to meet. Say hi to your mother for me. Remember, we can get through this with some faith, trust, and pixie dust. Hope you had a great day at school and I'll see you tomorrow.
Love, Dad
P.S.
Go take your medicine before you forget.
I stared at the message for a few moments. I could tell Dad was in a rush because normally his email would be about three pages long, chock full of descriptions about that woman he had mentioned, about the mischief his new Labrador puppy Slightly (yes, named after the Lost Boy, thank you very much) had gotten himself into, and also a lot of questions about school and my life in general. With Dad and I, there was never any trouble finding something to talk about. I reread the email a few times until I was positive I could recite them in my sleep if need be (studiously ignoring the part about my medicine, too, I might add), and then clicked reply.
I wanted Dad to win, of course. But it was that second line that bothered me. "I want you to know that I'll do everything in my power to get custody of you, no matter what that might take". If there was one thing I wanted more than being able to live with Dad instead, it was that I wanted the divorce to remain friendly. I couldn't bear the thought of Mom and Dad's friendship being torn apart over me. Like I said, Dad could convince anyone of anything. So when he said, "no matter what that might take" there was no doubting him. I sighed, brushed my bangs out of my eyes nervously, and then typed:
From: firstlostgirl15
To: davidburke
Subject: re:Custody Rehearing
Dad –
Don't fight over me, please. I'm happy here, really. It's not like we'll never see each other again if Mom keeps me. We're still going to England this summer, right? Please just drop it. It would ruin everything.
Love, Ash
P.S.
No.
I hit "send", and leaned back in my desk chair, waiting for the "MESSAGE HAS BEEN SENT" notice. I smiled, proud of myself. I knew Dad would never listen to me, especially since I sucked so badly at persuasion. I felt a tiny twinge of regret that I was happy Dad would be taking me away from Mom, but somehow I could sense Mom wouldn't mind that much. She'd be able to spend some more time out with her new boyfriend, Joel, without worrying about her daughter. I also felt a little bad that I'd just lied to Dad about being happy here. Not that I wasn't – it was just… I would be much happier with him.
But he wouldn't believe me, right? So no harm done.
I turned back to my Global Issues project with disgust, and began researching the GDP per capita of Singapore. Once I was done with that I shut down the laptop, called goodnight to Mom, and brushed my teeth and hair, washed my face, pulled on my PJs, and climbed into bed.
Right before I closed my eyes I felt a pervasive wave of nausea wash over me, bringing with it the uncomfortable premonition that something dark was going to be waiting for me when I woke up tomorrow. I pushed the feeling away sleepily, and drifted into dreams laced with sparkling pixies, lost boys, and fighting evil one-handed pirates back with a sword in my hand, Peter Pan at my side, and the low, steady rumble of my father's laugh in my ear.
The next morning was dark. Storm clouds hovered over my head as I rushed to get my school things together and ran to catch the bus. Fat raindrops plittered against the steel roof of the bus just as I got on, drowning out the sound of the sleepy, half-hearted conversations around me. I slid into seat 15, next to my friend Seri, and leaned my head back against the worn, synthetic leather.
"The hearing's today," observed Seri quietly. Her dark eyes appraised me, intuitive as always. I glanced at her and felt a pang of envy; she had the most gorgeous naturally-platinum-blond hair, and today it was twisted back in a somehow elegant messy bun. There was a streak of hot pink in her side bangs, and she was wearing paint-splattered jeans and a tank with the peace sign on it under a thin hot pink jacket. Seri was an artist – she had dyed her hair herself, and a lot of her clothes were skillfully homemade.
I nodded. "Dad emailed me last night. He said he'd do anything to get me back." I fingered the Peter Pan necklace I always kept tucked under my shirt. Today the tiny painted metal figurine was unbearably cold against my skin, like for some reason it had decided to stop absorbing body heat. It felt like an ice cube.
Seri smiled faintly at me, then turned back to the window. Extending one finger, she traced a blooming rose on the window pane in the condensation. We both watched it change colors for a little while – green from grass, white or yellow from flowered trees, gray from the sky, brilliant fire from the dawn, just peeking out behind the rain…
"I'm starting a new faerie collection just for you." Seri beamed in my direction. "My first project is Tinkerbell."
I grinned back at her. That was one of the best things about Seri: she never questioned anything, and she had this weird part of her that always knew what I felt like – she always knew whether to continue pursuing a topic, or to just let me be. "Too bad you're the artist," I teased her. "You could be the model."
Seri wrinkled her nose at me, but her lips curved upwards anyways. "Nuh-uh. I'd have to have blue eyes."
"Two words for you: colored contacts." I rolled my eyes at her as if this were dreadfully obvious. Before she could answer, the bus pulled to a stop in front of the high school. I stood up, hoisted my bag onto my shoulder, and stepped off the bus into the gentle downpour. Seri was right behind me as I threw up my hands in protest to the rain and ran for cover. We were giggling hysterically by the time we were through the front doors, but I stifled my laughing quickly and assumed a slightly nauseous look as I realized that the day in front of me determined how I was to spend the rest of my teenage life.
"Don't look like that," said Seri. "You're going to get through this one way or another, and worrying won't help anything."
I shot my friend a grateful look as I headed off for my first period class. Seri was right. The only thing I could do was have faith and trust that it would all work out in the end. As I set my bag down next to my chair and prepared for another lecture about integers and proper graphs, I sent up a silent prayer that Dad would win the hearing and Mom wouldn't give him any reason to fight dirty.
"So, let's review all the components of a proper graph," began Mr. Anders the moment the bell rang. I sighed and rested my head on my desk.
The day passed slowly from that moment on. I felt like I wasn't all there and like I couldn't concentrate at all. A few of my teachers noticed and attributed it to the fact that today was Friday and that I couldn't wait to get home and do my homework. I let them go with it. Hey, whatever floats your boat, right?
Seri didn't even attempt to talk to me on the ride home, but she gave me an encouraging smile as she hopped off the bus stop before mine. It took me a moment to return the smile, but by then she had gotten off the bus. I clutched the Peter Pan figurine tightly, but no matter what I did I couldn't impart any warmth into it. Eventually the coldness sank into my skin. I was shivering as I walked into my house.
"Hello?" I called, not really expecting an answer since Mom said the hearing would probably keep her out for an hour or so after I got home. I headed upstairs and was pulling on a thin sweatshirt, annoyed that I needed it in the nearly-summer heat, when I heard the front door open and close.
"Ash?" Mom called.
I thundered down the stairs. "How did the hearing go?" I felt worried that she was home so early. Was this good or bad?
Mom's mouth curved. "Hi, honey. I'm good, thank you for asking. And yes, my day went well. Lovely to hear you are enjoying freshman year so much. Please, don't feel compelled to share any more details."
I rolled my eyes at her. "Hi, Mom," I intoned quickly. Then I repeated, "How did the hearing go?"
Mom set her purse on the counter. She took out a movie from RedBox and examined it meticulously for scratches. She set it down and swept some crumbs from breakfast off the counter and brushed them into the trash. Then she sat down in a kitchen chair and looked out the window before replying. "Well… It went good…"
"Dad wasn't being difficult?" I asked, confused by her manner.
Mom's mouth curved again, but this time it was a mocking ghost of her normal smile. "Um. No. Dave was difficult... but not in the way you're thinking…" She sighed, then turned so her side was to me. "Honey, the hearing was over nearly as soon as it began. Custody remains as it was before."
I stared at her profile, uncomprehending. "Wait – what?"
"You're stuck with me, I'm afraid, darling." She peeked at my face, and I could tell she wasn't saying it in a bitter tone, but more of a complacent one. She was sorry I was unhappy.
"How?" I wondered aloud. "Yesterday Dad promised me he would do anything to get me back." Something tugged at the edges of my mind, nagging for my attention. Something about an email reply… I shoved that idea away. No, the email had nothing to do with it. It couldn't. Dad knew me well enough that he would have seen through the emailed façade.
Seemingly relieved that I wasn't entirely crushed at the prospect of spending four more years with her, Mom turned to face me again. She plucked some lint off the front of her sweater. "Well, sweetie, Dave said you wanted it this way." She glanced sideways at me. "He said he wanted to 'respect your wishes'. He also sends his love, since he's busy tonight with Natalie, whoever that is."
I stared at her. Natalie? Vaguely I remembered Dad mentioning a new lady in the last email. I almost laughed, though, that he was using her as a shield. My Dad was a coward; he wouldn't even tell me that he didn't want me anymore to my face. He'd made Mom a medium. Maybe he had hoped I would shoot the messenger instead of him.
I hated him.
But… I just couldn't figure it out. Why would he have believed me now? After all these years? And… more importantly, what had made him stop loving me? I bit my lip. Was I that terrible of a daughter? A strange itching ached behind my eyes quite suddenly. I blinked back tears.
Mom's face twisted, her eyebrows knotting over her brilliant azure eyes in concern. She was so beautiful, with curly blond hair that was sprinkled with silver at the edges prematurely, ivory skin, and tiny, fragile frame. Kind of like Seri – not at all like me. I looked like my father, with my dark hair and deep blue eyes. "Honey?" she said softly.
"I'm fine," I said automatically. I brushed my bangs into my eyes, impressively casual, so Mom wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill over. I clenched my jaw and told myself to stop being a baby.
Mom looked unconvinced. "I picked up Maggianos," she offered, naming my favorite restaurant and indicating several brown paper bags I hadn't noticed before that were practically bursting with mouth-watering aroma. She picked up the RedBox movie. "And this. We can have a mother-daughter night." She attempted a smile, eyes still probing into mine. "How does that sound?"
I looked at the movie and resisted the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. Peter Pan. Of course. "Nah," I said. "I have a lot of homework this weekend. Maybe some other time, though." Not. "Plus I'm really tired." I glanced at the paper bags. "And I'm not hungry, either." Even with that delicious scent that was pummeling my senses – the scent that usually made me come running like some starving kind of animal – I wasn't hungry. How odd.
"Okay," Mom said, knowing not to pursue the matter. "I'll put it in the refrigerator in case you get hungry later."
"Thanks," I said, even though I knew I wouldn't be hungry later. Then I headed upstairs.
"I love you, sweetheart!" she called after me.
"Thanks," I repeated, ignoring the waver in my voice. That makes one parent, I thought grimly. I slipped into my room and shut the door gently behind me. Without even bothering to flick on the light switch, I sank into a huddle on the floor, my arms around my knees that were drawn to my chest, burying my head in my lap.
My heart was in my throat as the tears spilled down my cheeks. I wondered absently if it was trying to jump out of my body, then remembered I didn't care. There was an odd, aching emptiness inside of me, curling in my stomach and freezing my heart so I was shivering even in the heat, even wearing the sweater.
What had I done to deserve my own father deserting me? What was wrong with me? Questions pulsed through my mind like blood in my veins. Why couldn't I just be good, so he'd love me? What was wrong with me?
I didn't know how long I cried for. I just remembered the sunset staining the edges of my curtain a watery pale pink-gold, the rain pounding overhead, and finally darkness, as if the entire world had absorbed the blackness forming inside me. It was unbearably quiet when I finally raised my head, sniffling and wiping my tears away with the back of my hand, even with the increasing downpour.
I stared with wide, stinging eyes around my bedroom. It was too dark to see really anything but indistinct shapes – bed, dresser, desk… Silence rang in my ears. I was mad at myself. Mad for losing Dad's love. Mad for being a baby about it. Mad, mad, mad.
And then the anger formed into something stronger. Hatred, as vital as breath, coursed through me, making my heart race wildly. But I didn't hate myself. No… I hated him. There was nothing wrong with me, it was all his fault, that evil, evil man. I hated him. I hated him! I. HATED. him!
I stood unsteadily to my feet, opened my door and stumbled my way through the dark to the bathroom so I could douse my puffy, tear-stained face with cool water. Mom's door was already shut; I could hear her gentle snore from beyond the wood. I wondered what time it was. The red, digital numbers on the bathroom clock said it was already nine at night. I stared at it, surprised that so much time could have passed so quickly.
When I went back into my room, I changed into plain PJs and crawled into bed. There was my Peter Pan stuffed doll. Dad had got it custom-made for me for my fifth birthday. I blinked at it, then picked it up and threw it at the wall, feeling like Jane in Peter Pan 2: Return to Neverland. Feeling theatrical, I muttered, "Faith, trust… pixie dust… childish nonsense."
The words echoed dully at me. I almost laughed. Almost.
And then I realized how true the words were. "Grow up, Ash," I said aloud to myself. "Peter Pan… faith, trust, pixie dust… none of it's real. And crying about it isn't going to help anything. It's time I grow up already," I told myself firmly. "Grow up, Ash."
I curled underneath my blankets into a tight little ball and clasped my hands to my chest. I felt empty without my Peter Pan plushie thing to hug to myself, to comfort me. But I was growing up now, finally. I didn't need a stupid stuffed thing to sleep with. I closed my eyes, which were still stinging from all the stupid crying, and tried to coax myself into unconsciousness. My radio played gently beyond me. I focused on the words, recognizing a song from Plumb. "Story books, full of fairy tales; of kings and queens and the bluest skies… My heart is torn just in knowing you'll someday see the truth from lies…"
Never again, I swore to myself. I'll never let anyone that close again. They'll just rip my heart out like Dad did. Never again…
"Castles, they might crumble, dreams may not come true, but you are never all alone because I will always, always love you…"
I drifted. That night there was only shadows and darkness and nightmares, and no Peter Pan to chase them away.
:O OH NOES ASHLYN!!! DON'T STOP BELIEVING!
Anyways, remember: critique! And don't worry about my feelings - I'd rather know that I'm a terrible writer and be able to work on correcting it than have someone lie and tell me I'm awesome and get lazy with my writing.
Also, I know what you're thinking. WHERE THE HECK IS PETER?! Don't worry, loves, he'll be along soon. You'll just have to wait and see... :3
XOXOXO And MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
-Lilly
P.S.
I know the email thing looks stupid, but fanfiction won't let me put their fake addresses in. Oh well. :P