The Boy Who Touched the Stars
Prologue
There comes a time when one must make a choice that will forever determine the course of their life. It is a time to put past things behind and look forward to the new experiences that await them. This choice does not happen at any given age, nor are most people ever aware of its coming, but there are a few – that handful of really special people – who have seen and experienced things most people only dream of.
They are the ones for whom this change makes the most difference because it signifies the giving up of all they have ever believed in, lived and known. It is the end of childhood fantasy, when dreams are relegated to the realm that is half-way between sleeping and waking up – the place where living seems the most sweet, and troubles the most few. That is the realm of Neverland.
I am one of those people, that special few. Once upon a time, in what feels like another time and place, I met the boy that would forever change my life. He was not someone that most would find agreeable. Cocky, rude and horribly vain, he was, quite possibly, the most self-centered person I had ever met. However, his charms were numerable, and helped one to stomach his character flaws.
True, most were used for the general purpose of causing mischief and creating strife, but every now and then – just for a moment – I would see something like a flash in his eyes, a glint of determination, of purpose, of anger, or of passion. These were rare instances and could only be caught if one was looking very closely, which, of course, I always was.
I can't remember his face now. Sometimes I can't even recall his name. Most often, he seems to have been a shadow, forever fleeting – always slipping out of my grasp when I have just touched the surface of his memory. Many days I am half-convinced that I dreamed all of our adventures in that far-off world. You see, as one grows up – whether they want to or not – they begin to forget. Vivid memories fade to watercolor; faces that were once so clear smudge into intelligibleness like a sidewalk painting after the rain.
My brothers say that they never happened – that all of it was in my head. I always did have the most imagination of the three of us. How could those things happen? Flying through the night sky, fighting pirates and Indians, and a boy who touched the stars …inconceivable, really…if I was being honest – which I seldom am. Their arguments tend to sway me for the moment, and I agree that those things could never have happened, that fairies don't exist. I forget about him then, that wonderful, confusing boy. I go on with living, day to day, hour upon hour.
Then, all of a sudden, I see something – a shock of red hair, a face that triggers a memory; I hear a whimsical tune that recalls better days filled with laughter and childish happiness. Then, it's gone and I am left here. Alone – with nothing but half-remembered dreams.