Disclaimer: I don't own Peter Pan, Wendy wouldn't be so stuck up if I did...
Not many things stick out from the tapestry of adventure that make up my childhood. The strings of imagined adventure are intertwined with threads of memory. In the middle of running around barefoot in my backyard is a dragon chasing us, or an unexplored cave. I can feel the fiery breath, or hear water drip down the unlit walls, yet I can still feel the heat and smell of summer. Trying to single out on an important memory would mean that the tapestry would have to be unwoven and the threads uncoiled until the shimmering fibers of the fantastical appeared. This would be a complete waste of time and once the pictures are reformed they would be less beautiful.
If I examine the tapestry again, there are certain images that repeat themselves. A flash of green, a carefree smirk, skeleton leaves, cardinal feathers, daggers, a shadow that roams by itself, and a ship. I can't be sure of the time these images began forming, just that they have been there for a while. An image at the top, in a corner clearly depicts me at a younger age. I clutch my rag-doll close, wooden toy knife at the ready, and turn on the movie.
I say every word along with the characters, even including a snooty voice for Wendy, and adopting a pout just like Tinkerbell. When Captain Hook appears I throw my fist into the air, leaving my index finger curled into a hook, and twirl an imaginary mustache. I never say Peter's lines though, because the doll jumps up and delivers them for me. And then the ticking starts, and I begin to tremble.
I drop my hand, grip the dagger tightly, and dive behind the rocking chair in the corner of the room. "Peter, come on!" I beg. The doll, in answer, whips out a tiny dagger and sinks into a fighting stance. I hold my knees to my chest with one hand, and the shaking dagger in the other, and wait with my back to the wall and my vision blocked till the eerie music passes.
"Are you scared?" a voice taunts. I look around the chair and stick my tongue out at the doll, who is standing with his hand on his hips, laughing. "No," I say indignantly.
The rest of the movie passes in the same fashion, the two of us repeating all of the dialogue, and me hiding whenever the Crocodile made an appearance. When the pirate ship takes flight, I hop in circles holding my rag-doll Peter's hands and say "Peter you did it!" over and over again. The doll smirks before going limp. I nod in agreement and climb up the ladder to the loft bed my dad made for me out of a closet. I rub my eyes as I turn on the fairy lights my parents put in to keep the monsters away. I pull the blankets up to my chin and drift to sleep in the glow of hundreds of tiny multicolored lights. As I lay there fast asleep, my brother climbs up to the loft and folds my arms around my Peter Pan doll.
A/N: Hello again! In reviews tell me about your first memory with Peter Pan, any version: the book, the Disney movie, The one made in 2003, Hook, the musical, or even Neverland (new series which has ended but is still good) But I want to know that I'm not the only person out there who still believes in the wonderful characters.
-Ananimous