Disclaimer: Peter Pan, and everything recognizable to Peter Pan, belongs to the Great Ormond Street Hospital in London, to which Mr. J. M. Barrie bequeathed his copyright when he died, in 1937. I was not even born when this happened and I had nothing to do with the creation of Peter Pan (Although it would be really cool if I had). I am just a lowly fan, and writing this in my own time, not making any money whatsoever. Heh. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it.
Chapter 11: Some things are Permanent
~~All children, except two, grow up~~
Many moons had passed since then, many moons had passed since that last battle with the pirates, and after Tiger Lily's death the indians had gotten restless and now threatened the boys more than ever before, more than even before Peter and Tiger Lily's tenuous pact of friendship. Several more lost boys had died in their games, and several more had come, and all in all life was just as it always had been in the Never Land.
Katie had set up a hammock across from Peter's, and adorned the wall of the little house with various accoutrements of her previous life, the life that she could barely remember. Here was hung a poster for a stage show she had seen, there were the several hats she had haphazardly thrown into her duffle when she flew away. And under her hammock was the duffle, full now of animal skins to make new clothing, new pockets, out of.
After all, all the lost boys had to have them. She had gotten very good at sewing pockets. Every now and then, between swimming in the lagoon and hunting indians and flying up to blow out the stars (she finally got one, but she couldn't remember when), she wondered exactly what her mother looked like, exactly where she lived.
It was when she realized she was forgetting these things that she decided she had to go back. She had saved the boys from the pirates. It was time for her to grow up, just like Wendy had, and just like Jane and grandmother Margaret.
She hadn't seen grandmother Margaret in so long. Oh the stories she would tell her. Of course, she hadn't been home long enough for her mother to acquaint her with the news of Margaret's death. She still expected to find the old, joyous, white-haired lady relocated to some cozy cottage outside of town, where the rents were cheaper and the views nicer.
Or was her hair still only gray?
Katie couldn't remember. She had to get back. There had never been any doubt in her mind that she would be going back, and it was quite time. She told Peter of her resolution.
This time the goodbye passed without such pomp and confusion as the last time. The lost boys looked disappointed but ready to accept that she would leave, as they all had vaguely known that she, just like every other mother they had had (surely they had had mothers before? And would again?) was merely a flighty thing, leaving all too soon. Peter merely nodded grimly and called to Zan to lead the way. Katie, a tear rolling down her cheek, walked to the door.
"You'll remember to come for the next spring cleaning time, won't you?" she asked.
Peter nodded. "Of course I will."
Katie thought this not very reassuring, as surely he had said this to all the other girls, but she accepted it. Zan flitted about her head for a second, and then she flew away, off to the mainland.
It wasn't hard going, she had gotten better at flying in her time spent in the Never Land, and she was determined not to lose any more time getting back to her family. She was sure the window would stand open; hadn't someone remembered to open the window for every other little girl?
She flew through warm days and cold nights, her duffle bag now providing a warm skin to protect against the cold, now chafing at her neck as she flew along. She flew without stopping for an adventure or even touching the shark's fins in the water beneath her. She flew with one thought occupying her mind: "What was mother like?" She couldn't answer the question. It was quite time to be getting home.
Shall we fly ahead to see that very family Katie was so rapidly flying towards? We wouldn't find them at home. Katie's parents were enjoying a night on the town, with family friends. We could have whispered into their ears; "Your eldest is returning", we could have given away the surprise, but it would have done nothing. Katie's mother had long since given up hope that her daughter was anything but dead; her mind could not cope with the idea of her daughter being in the Never Land. Katie's father, a not-so-admirable man, might have already forgotten entirely that he ever had another daughter.
They had locked the door, barred the windows, and only one stood open – the window to Sue's room.
Sue, herself, was out with a friend, and quite happy to say she was an only child. Her mother, having forgotten her mourning at Katie's disappearance, had retained the fierce insistence that she would not lose her other daughter – she would not do anything to alienate Sue. And Sue reveled in it. Her room was a collage of pink and orange at the moment, but that could change with her very whim. And she loved it. Sue hadn't forgotten about her sister, she thanked Katie for her own material gains every night with her evening prayers, but remembered her in the jealous, rueful way of someone not sure that she got the better deal, but ready to make everyone else jealous.
Katie was expecting a warm welcome, would she get just the one she deserves, for leaving her family?
Finally she reached London and found her house, her window. She flew up to it, slightly open. She pulled at it and fell inside. Someone had left it open for her. She smiled. It was quite late, her family must have been asleep, and they had left her room for her to return to. She smiled and flicked on the light switch.
She gasped. The room – it had been painted, redecorated in oranges and pinks and flowers and sunshine, the testament to a girl quite different from Katie. Katie pulled open the drawers to find not her things but what must be her sister's. She froze in place, standing in front of a heart-shaped makeup table, decorated with pictures of cheerleader-friends and faces covered in glaring makeup. On the corner was a picture of Sue with her mother. Katie's mother.
So that was what mother looked like. She was older than Katie imagined. Or, perhaps that was to be expected, Katie had been away for so long a time. She held the photograph up, examining it for the traces of mourning, the signs that her mother was waiting for her. She saw none.
There were footsteps outside, knocking up the stairs, and a giggling that Katie recognized with a fell terror. Something knocked against the closed door. Katie backed towards the window, feeling a burglar in her own house, seeing the dirt she had tracked in and realizing with a guilty feeling that she should have used the door, probably. But it was her room – her house, why shouldn't she be in here?
The door quickly opened and Sue stepped in. Her makeup was fading and her hair mussed. She looked a wreck. "Just a minute," she called to someone – this late at night? – outside, and then looked around her room.
Her eyes skipped to the dirt on the floor and she frowned. When they reached Katie she scowled. She approached her sister and said in a voice that no one else could hear, "Get out of my room."
Katie, not knowing what else to say, answered "It's my room."
"It was your room. You're not needed any more. Get out of my room."
There was a sound outside, and Sue pushed Katie out the window. Katie still had the photograph in her hand. Sue saw it, and smiled. "You can have that one – I can get another."
She shut the window, and locked it, never breaking eye-contact with her sister. Katie floated, confused. The door opened behind Sue, just as she pulled the blinds closed to hide her sister. Katie caught the outline of a boy.
She heard a muffled conversation. She was frozen with shock – this couldn't be. Where was her mother? She looked down at the picture, and slowly sank to the ground.
She vaguely knew this couldn't be happening to her. Something in the back of her mind forbade it. Surely her mother would be sitting awake, waiting for her eldest daughter to return. Surely her mother hadn't forgotten about Katie. But the window was locked, the lights out, and her mother's car not in the driveway where it was wont to be. Katie slowed to a halt in the air. The lights in her sister's – her – room dimmed and went out. Zan flew about Katie's head.
Katie still couldn't understand the fairy language, but this much was clear; Zan thought that, given she could not get home, Katie should return to the Never Land. Katie slowly nodded and turned back around, wondering how exactly she would make her way across the ocean this time. Sighing, she tucked the photograph in her duffle and flew off into the night.
She told herself she was going home, and her heart hardened in her chest.
It was many days before she reached the island, many nights before she could sleep for more than a few instants rest on the back of a strong wind. There were many nights when she would cry to see the stars so silently watching everything, so many nights when she felt she was just another star – banished from her world because of her sister's jealousy. Not once did she see what she had done to cause it, only her sister's vindictive jealousy did she ever acknowledge. And she cried, wailed into the night, scaring the very sharks that once she had pestered in her games of tag. Zan was a constant companion, steadfastly leading the way back to the island, trying to comfort Katie in her beautiful bell-like voice. But still Katie sobbed at her misery. She had lost her mother.
She found the Never Land after what seemed like too long of a flight, and found that she could no longer summon the energy even to fly into the little house in the trees. She slept, that night, at the base of the tree, hoping Zan would do more to protect her than most fairies could be expected to do.
Zan, seeing Katie collapse at the base of the tree, continued her tired flight up to the house, to find Peter and the boys. They were still awake – the sun was barely setting. Her return brought all their attention. "Did she seem happy, Zan?" asked Peter.
Zan rang that no, she didn't in the slightest.
Peter looked sorrowful. "Then why didn't she stay?" he asked.
Zan jingled lightly that perhaps Peter should check at the base of the tree, because flying for this many days and nights could tire anyone out, and Peter should know that.
Peter jumped up and looked down, out of the door. He saw Katie, curled up beneath the tree, and laughed. "You brought her back!" he crowed, to Zan, but she only solemnly denied it and said it was for Katie to tell the story, when and how she chose to.
The boys clambered out to see their mother, asleep on the ground, and realized that they would have to get her up to the house somehow. They all grabbed a limb and began to pull, but Peter signed for them to stop. After all, that was no way to treat a lady.
The problem was, no one knew just what to do with the sleeping Katie. Finally, Beetle spoke up. "Can't she just be a lost boy too?" he asked.
Peter thought this over in his head. If she was here to stay, as Zan suggested, she couldn't be a mother – those left. Perhaps she could be a lost boy, or a lost girl really. "Well," said Peter, "I guess we could have a lost girl."
"But she'll still be our mother, right, Peter?" asked one of the other boys.
Peter nodded. "Of course she'll still be our mother." He picked her up off the ground. "But since she's a lost girl, we can lift her into the house, instead of bringing the house down to her." The lost boys laughed and Peter carried Katie up into the house in the trees.
When Katie woke up, she was in her hammock, none the worse for her time beneath the tree. She smiled. Maybe this was her home. She carefully took out the picture of her mother and Sue, and hung it on the wall next to her hammock. The lost boys were already awake, and Dows came up behind her.
"What's that?" he asked.
"It's my mother," she responded.
"Oh, so that's what a mother looks like. I remember now. My mother looked very like that." He looked around, and shouted out, "Beetle! Come look! It's a mother!"
Beetle stumbled over and looked in the picture, "It looks like my mother, Dows. It looks like our mother too." He pointed at Katie. "They have the same eyes I think."
Katie smiled a little, as the rest of the boys tumbled over to look at the photo of her mother and comment on how mother-like she looked. Peter shouted for the boys to quiet down, and soon they were off swimming in the lagoon.
Soon Beetle learned how to build a boat, and bid all the boys good bye to what he thought would be bigger and better things, following the advice he had given John himself; that to stay in the Never Land was to never grow, to never make anything of yourself. And he took Dows with him. The two smiled and shouted as they left the shore, not quite men, but very soon to be grown up. They would never land on those shores again.
The new lost boys were just as spirited as before, although there were fewer of them, and all in all, they had a rollicking good time.
Eventually, Katie's clothes began to wear out, and Peter allowed that, since she was a mother and not a lost boy, she could patch them up with skeleton leaves. She came to look very much like him, rather than like any of the boys.
The photo on her wall grew more tattered by the day, and she could barely remember what it was called anymore, only that the woman was her mother. She held to that with startling defiance of the rules – she was the mother, how could she have had one herself? But she pointed to the wall and said, "That is my mother," and they all believed her.
Eventually, her hair grew so tangled that she had to cut it, roughly, with one of the knives they had stolen from the pirates or the indians – who knew which group – and she came to look very much like one of the boys indeed. She still would sit every night and patch clothing, she still would make pockets for every new boy, she still would fashion their meals when Peter deigned that they would have a real meal – and not just make believe dinner – but she came to be more and more like one of them each day.
She and Peter would race around the lagoon every so often, and half the time she won, and half the time Peter won, and when Peter lost he said it was because he was being honorable and letting the lady win, but when Katie lost Peter crowed and laughed at his greatness, and he believed everything he said for he really was the same Peter.
And Katie realized something along the way – the truth about mothers was that they were toads. She vowed never to be such a toad to her own children, the lost boys.
Peter didn't go looking for mothers any more, because they had in Katie all the stories and pockets and happy listeners that they could possibly need, but every so often he and Katie flew back to London to hear more stories to tell the boys. None of their stories were about mothers and fathers or marriage and having families.
Every so often, Katie would tell Peter's own story, and when the boys wanted to hear what happened to Wendy and those boys after they killed the pirates, Katie would dutifully tell of that mother's dutiful heart and that mother's everlasting love. But she would always follow it with her own story, as a warning to the children – watch out for mothers. Mothers forget.
And, true to form, Katie was slowly forgetting. She didn't remember much of her vocabulary any more, she certainly didn't remember her algebra or her biology, and she could only make her letters with startling difficulty. But it hardly mattered; she had too many adventures to worry about the state of her penmanship.
And then the dreams began. Horrible, wracking dreams where she would fly to her window to find it locked, Sue inside laughing at her from behind the curtains, her mother and father staring straight at her but not seeing her, horrible dreams where she remembered needing a mother and realized that she was only a child, just like the rest of them. She would see her friends slowly forgetting her – saying she died, of unknown causes, saying she fell out of a window, forgetting to say she existed.
No one would comfort her in her dreams. She had no mother.
Every morning she would wake up to find the picture of her mother, and remind herself: "Yes, I had a mother. This was my mother," a valediction. But in the past tense – she was forgetting, just like every mother does.
Between the beasts and the redskins, the lost boys were killed off almost as quickly as they trickled in, and there were never more than six or less than two, but still Katie had her hands full with so excitable a group of boys. Not a single one was a girl – for girls are too smart to fall out of their prams.
The next time pirates landed on the island, everyone had forgotten about Smee and their great adventure, and so it was novel once again, and if the boys lived a little more fearfully, they also lived a little more eagerly, for who knew when another adventure would beset them.
Zan had passed away long ago, for fairies don't live very long in human terms, and had been replaced with several others, none quite the same as she was. But Peter didn't remember Zan at all, and Katie remembered her only to tell the story of the pirate Smee, just as she told every other story – calmly, as a fairy tale.
And every morning, she would wake up and see the picture of her mother and say, "That was my mother."
And eventually, no one knew if she was talking about the person or the picture, not even herself.
Author's note: Well, that's it. Hope you liked it. I've finally finished one of my stories up here, which is a great accomplishment I assure you. Maybe now I can start one of the other ideas I have, but maybe it would be better to get to work on one of the other stories and finish that instead. Either way. Signing out.