AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The
First Kiss" fanfic leaves somewhere halfway
through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J.
Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's
novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in
Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie Confused yet?
Here's Chapter III.....starting to get into the meat of the story now. Thanks to those who have left comments already. More are welcomed! Enjoy
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
III. OLD STOMPING GROUNDS
In the first year of young Anthony Pan's life, it had become all but a Truth as to his innate specialness. Within months of his birth, he already grew a full head of hair – a most delightful strawberry blond mop that curled up at the ends like tiny wings sprouting from his head. Wendy happily boasted that the boy took after his father, and Peter, being the type of personality as he was, would have it no other way.
To be sure, there was something strangely – almost eerily – Pan-like about this child. Yes, he did display brief flashes of Wendy's sensitivity and warmth, but these moments were few and far between. Mostly, he was a right little demon, always attempting to be in places he was not supposed to be and doing things one of his size and age ought not to be doing. His nose for adventure was keen indeed, and even as one fixed upon his bright green eyes, he or she could instantly recognize that sparkle, that predilection for all things magical that was so distinct among little ones who have enchanted blood in them. So palpable was this sparkle, in fact, that it appeared sometimes as if just the expression in his eyes was enough to lift him into the air – just as Peter's Happy Thoughts once had been able to lift him. And one had to wonder if little Anthony did not actually have this ability! Often were the times when Mrs. Pan would venture into the nursery to find her son not in the crib where she had left him, but some distance away, usually near the window, eagerly trying to claw his way standing. Wendy dismissed these happenings as practical jokes played by her daughters, but the girls always insisted most vehemently that they had never touched the boy.
Without question, baby Anthony's biggest thrill occurred every Wednesday afternoon when his mother would take him for strolls through Kensington Gardens in his perambulator. Peter was Head Gardener of the legendary park, and he delighted in the weekly visits from his wife and children to break up the monotony his working days sometimes most regrettably fell into.
Wendy always insisted she take her children to the Gardens herself and would give Violet a short leave whenever she did. Nursemaids had become rather passé in the last few years, but under the fervent suggestion of her family – most notably the ever-watchful Aunt Millicent – the Pans retained Violet in their household simply to keep the peace. When the Girls started school, Wendy hardly could find a decent enough reason to go to the Gardens alone, so once Anthony came, she again resumed her weekly sojourns, without her daughters.
And this particular day was just so. It had been fairly gloomy all morning – not altogether an unusual sight for London in the Fall, but ominous nonetheless – and Wendy had very nearly called off the visit, but little Anthony would hear none of it. He stamped and cried and threw up such a raucous as to arouse suspicions from the neighbors that someone surely must be getting murdered in the Pan household!
Well, Wendy could not very well allow Anthony to carry on like this, so she immediately fetched the red tam o'shanters, and his cries were instantly subdued, for he knew exactly what those garments stood for.
And so the attractive duo set forth on their journey to the park for what they were expecting to be a lovely visit with their father and fellow Londoners. Wendy brought along her umbrella just in case. She rather imagined she would eventually need it, judging from the gathering clouds overhead.
The dreariness, however, did not appear to have the slightest affect upon other patrons of the Gardens. It was a rather surprising sight, indeed, to see so many other people congregating there that day.
One of Wendy's secret delights when visiting the Gardens was a penchant for people-watching. She loved to observe the other women donning the latest fashions, although she herself was never one to conform to such trends. Many of them seemed so downright absurd to her – for instance, ladies of late had been chopping their hair off most bluntly clear up to their ears! Wendy rather thought this made them to look like boys, and she dismissed the fad entirely and preferred to keep her own flowing locks pulled up and back in a conservative bun. 'Twas how a proper lady should wear her hair anyhow. But it seemed more that almost everything was getting shorter and shorter; not just hair but hemlines as well. Skirts hiked up to ones knees? How shocking! The concept appealed to Wendy – it surely would make the life of an active mother a lot easier – but still she had no desire to be flashy or gaudy. She was a novelist after all, and who shall ever habitually see her during the day but close friends and family? Fashion was of no use to her at any rate, for her Peter often remarked that she could make even a potato sack look pleasing. And Peter was the only person whom Wendy cared to impress.
He had been strolling along the Round Pond when he spotted Wendy and the perambulator heading up the Broad Walk towards him. She was a touch late, which surprised him a little, for she was more often than not as regular as Big Ben himself. They met halfway, exchanged several affectionate kisses, and, as was Peter's lighthearted custom, bestowed a few simple gifts upon his loving wife and adored son. He had just been attending to a fresh bloom of Stargazer Lillies near the Round Pond, and when he saw that nobody was watching, snatched up three bulbs for himself. He tied each to a small piece of vine, and tied one around his neck. Upon joining Wendy and Anthony on the Walk, he presented the gifts most ceremoniously, tying the lily necklaces around each perfect neck. Wendy immediately took hers off the vine and placed it in her hair, whilst Anthony attempted several times to consume his, so Peter tucked it inside his shirt.
The family journeyed up Burge's Walk towards the Serpentine. This was their usual jaunt, for Peter had a keen and mostly unexplained affinity for this large body of water. He couldn't quite explain it, but he supposed it had something to do with his pre-Neverland days. He knew he had spent some time in Kensington Gardens as a baby after he ran away from his parents, but his memories of this period were much too muddled. In fact, he remembered almost nothing from his past up until he met first met Wendy. Those recollections, he contended, were the only ones of any significance anyhow.
Walking along the Serpentine, the handsome threesome soon came upon a large and very tall bronze statue – of a little boy gaily standing upon a swirling mountain of fairies, playing a pan pipe as if beckoning them to him. Peter adored the statue, and it is of no wonder why, although he fairly thought it was not an accurate likeness. But Wendy explained that should it have been any less ambiguous, others would surely catch on quickly as to whom the subject of all her fantastical adventure stories was based upon. It was a conversation repeated during every visit to the monument, but by this time it had evolved into more of a cheeky habit than an actual serious discussion.
And on this particular day, Peter and Wendy noticed their son Anthony staring up at the statue, widened eyes full of wonder and intrigue. Peter smiled with pride.
"Do you know who this is?" he asked his son, pointing to the bronze monolith.
Anthony continued to gaze, and with a proud conviction he could only have gotten from his father, he happily blurted out, "Me!"
Mother and Father gasped heartily before falling into a placating laughter. Anthony knew not what they should find so funny, and he felt rather that he should be ashamed, so he sunk back into his pram and sulked.
The Pans began their walk back towards the front gates to bid each other good day. Then, with a quiet suddenness, a horrible rumble in the sky stopped them and directed their eyes upwards. The heavens were becoming considerably more threatening. A rather nasty wind was starting to pick up as well. Wendy held her umbrella at the ready.
Peter shrugged carelessly and grinned to his wife. "I suppose I shall have the rest of the afternoon off."
She grinned back, warily though, knowing he was only joshing. There were far too many days like these in London for a Head Gardener to have so many afternoons off. Generally, during rain or other unpleasant conditions, he would be called to tend the indoor flora of Kensington Palace.
Again the sky shook and moaned. The winds were getting more insistent now – so much so that Wendy reckoned her umbrella would be of no use at all should a rain come. But there was not a drop to fall whatsoever. Only the cruel winds, the blackened sky, and the jarring clashes of thunder.
Wendy looked down and noticed Anthony's pram beginning to shudder. She tightened her grip on it. All around them, people were starting to become quite frightened indeed. Other babies were crying, and their mothers or nurses were quickly dispatching them from out of the Gardens. The pram continued to shake under Wendy's grasp, but more violently now, and soon it became too much for her delicate hands, and Peter had to clamp down on it as well. But it was of little help. The winds were beginning to swirl even faster, almost a kind of typhoon resolved to make landing right there in the park – and it was pulling hard on Anthony's pram as if it were a childless mother desperate for a babe of her own. Peter and Wendy were very well terrified by now. With all their strength did they try to hold the pram in place, and in all this time, little Anthony remained quite calm. In fact, he smiled at the malevolent wind, as if he saw a kind face within it where others did not.
But his mother and father were determined in their hold on him, and then, as if the Gods themselves recognized their stubbornness, they sent forth a dreadful bolt of light from the clouds and clear between parents and child. The force was so great as to knock Peter and Wendy several feet rearward and onto their backs. And no sooner had their combined grasps been undone than the pram, with Anthony inside, was swept skyward and rapidly became little more than a dark speck among the raging storm.
Before Peter and Wendy could spring up to run after him, they were being helped onto their feet by a couple of good Samaritans and some other park workers. They kept hold and began towing them toward the main gate, where the Keeper was demanding everyone evacuate the Gardens at once. But the horrified parents struggled most violently to free themselves and run after their baby, who was no longer even visible to any earthbound human. It took a tremendous effort to drag the kicking and screaming couple through the gates of the Gardens, and once there, they were practically thrown into the street like common beggars, and the gate doors swung shut in their faces.
They ran to the bars, gripping the irons so tight the heat from their trembling hands might have melted them. But all they could do was stand and watch as the raging and unforgiving winds mocked their despair. Wendy, having no other alternatives, then did what any desperate mother could do in such a hopeless situation, and with a sound that rivaled only the evil storm in its utter wretchedness, she screamed her baby's name:
"ANTHONYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!"
Here's Chapter III.....starting to get into the meat of the story now. Thanks to those who have left comments already. More are welcomed! Enjoy
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
III. OLD STOMPING GROUNDS
In the first year of young Anthony Pan's life, it had become all but a Truth as to his innate specialness. Within months of his birth, he already grew a full head of hair – a most delightful strawberry blond mop that curled up at the ends like tiny wings sprouting from his head. Wendy happily boasted that the boy took after his father, and Peter, being the type of personality as he was, would have it no other way.
To be sure, there was something strangely – almost eerily – Pan-like about this child. Yes, he did display brief flashes of Wendy's sensitivity and warmth, but these moments were few and far between. Mostly, he was a right little demon, always attempting to be in places he was not supposed to be and doing things one of his size and age ought not to be doing. His nose for adventure was keen indeed, and even as one fixed upon his bright green eyes, he or she could instantly recognize that sparkle, that predilection for all things magical that was so distinct among little ones who have enchanted blood in them. So palpable was this sparkle, in fact, that it appeared sometimes as if just the expression in his eyes was enough to lift him into the air – just as Peter's Happy Thoughts once had been able to lift him. And one had to wonder if little Anthony did not actually have this ability! Often were the times when Mrs. Pan would venture into the nursery to find her son not in the crib where she had left him, but some distance away, usually near the window, eagerly trying to claw his way standing. Wendy dismissed these happenings as practical jokes played by her daughters, but the girls always insisted most vehemently that they had never touched the boy.
Without question, baby Anthony's biggest thrill occurred every Wednesday afternoon when his mother would take him for strolls through Kensington Gardens in his perambulator. Peter was Head Gardener of the legendary park, and he delighted in the weekly visits from his wife and children to break up the monotony his working days sometimes most regrettably fell into.
Wendy always insisted she take her children to the Gardens herself and would give Violet a short leave whenever she did. Nursemaids had become rather passé in the last few years, but under the fervent suggestion of her family – most notably the ever-watchful Aunt Millicent – the Pans retained Violet in their household simply to keep the peace. When the Girls started school, Wendy hardly could find a decent enough reason to go to the Gardens alone, so once Anthony came, she again resumed her weekly sojourns, without her daughters.
And this particular day was just so. It had been fairly gloomy all morning – not altogether an unusual sight for London in the Fall, but ominous nonetheless – and Wendy had very nearly called off the visit, but little Anthony would hear none of it. He stamped and cried and threw up such a raucous as to arouse suspicions from the neighbors that someone surely must be getting murdered in the Pan household!
Well, Wendy could not very well allow Anthony to carry on like this, so she immediately fetched the red tam o'shanters, and his cries were instantly subdued, for he knew exactly what those garments stood for.
And so the attractive duo set forth on their journey to the park for what they were expecting to be a lovely visit with their father and fellow Londoners. Wendy brought along her umbrella just in case. She rather imagined she would eventually need it, judging from the gathering clouds overhead.
The dreariness, however, did not appear to have the slightest affect upon other patrons of the Gardens. It was a rather surprising sight, indeed, to see so many other people congregating there that day.
One of Wendy's secret delights when visiting the Gardens was a penchant for people-watching. She loved to observe the other women donning the latest fashions, although she herself was never one to conform to such trends. Many of them seemed so downright absurd to her – for instance, ladies of late had been chopping their hair off most bluntly clear up to their ears! Wendy rather thought this made them to look like boys, and she dismissed the fad entirely and preferred to keep her own flowing locks pulled up and back in a conservative bun. 'Twas how a proper lady should wear her hair anyhow. But it seemed more that almost everything was getting shorter and shorter; not just hair but hemlines as well. Skirts hiked up to ones knees? How shocking! The concept appealed to Wendy – it surely would make the life of an active mother a lot easier – but still she had no desire to be flashy or gaudy. She was a novelist after all, and who shall ever habitually see her during the day but close friends and family? Fashion was of no use to her at any rate, for her Peter often remarked that she could make even a potato sack look pleasing. And Peter was the only person whom Wendy cared to impress.
He had been strolling along the Round Pond when he spotted Wendy and the perambulator heading up the Broad Walk towards him. She was a touch late, which surprised him a little, for she was more often than not as regular as Big Ben himself. They met halfway, exchanged several affectionate kisses, and, as was Peter's lighthearted custom, bestowed a few simple gifts upon his loving wife and adored son. He had just been attending to a fresh bloom of Stargazer Lillies near the Round Pond, and when he saw that nobody was watching, snatched up three bulbs for himself. He tied each to a small piece of vine, and tied one around his neck. Upon joining Wendy and Anthony on the Walk, he presented the gifts most ceremoniously, tying the lily necklaces around each perfect neck. Wendy immediately took hers off the vine and placed it in her hair, whilst Anthony attempted several times to consume his, so Peter tucked it inside his shirt.
The family journeyed up Burge's Walk towards the Serpentine. This was their usual jaunt, for Peter had a keen and mostly unexplained affinity for this large body of water. He couldn't quite explain it, but he supposed it had something to do with his pre-Neverland days. He knew he had spent some time in Kensington Gardens as a baby after he ran away from his parents, but his memories of this period were much too muddled. In fact, he remembered almost nothing from his past up until he met first met Wendy. Those recollections, he contended, were the only ones of any significance anyhow.
Walking along the Serpentine, the handsome threesome soon came upon a large and very tall bronze statue – of a little boy gaily standing upon a swirling mountain of fairies, playing a pan pipe as if beckoning them to him. Peter adored the statue, and it is of no wonder why, although he fairly thought it was not an accurate likeness. But Wendy explained that should it have been any less ambiguous, others would surely catch on quickly as to whom the subject of all her fantastical adventure stories was based upon. It was a conversation repeated during every visit to the monument, but by this time it had evolved into more of a cheeky habit than an actual serious discussion.
And on this particular day, Peter and Wendy noticed their son Anthony staring up at the statue, widened eyes full of wonder and intrigue. Peter smiled with pride.
"Do you know who this is?" he asked his son, pointing to the bronze monolith.
Anthony continued to gaze, and with a proud conviction he could only have gotten from his father, he happily blurted out, "Me!"
Mother and Father gasped heartily before falling into a placating laughter. Anthony knew not what they should find so funny, and he felt rather that he should be ashamed, so he sunk back into his pram and sulked.
The Pans began their walk back towards the front gates to bid each other good day. Then, with a quiet suddenness, a horrible rumble in the sky stopped them and directed their eyes upwards. The heavens were becoming considerably more threatening. A rather nasty wind was starting to pick up as well. Wendy held her umbrella at the ready.
Peter shrugged carelessly and grinned to his wife. "I suppose I shall have the rest of the afternoon off."
She grinned back, warily though, knowing he was only joshing. There were far too many days like these in London for a Head Gardener to have so many afternoons off. Generally, during rain or other unpleasant conditions, he would be called to tend the indoor flora of Kensington Palace.
Again the sky shook and moaned. The winds were getting more insistent now – so much so that Wendy reckoned her umbrella would be of no use at all should a rain come. But there was not a drop to fall whatsoever. Only the cruel winds, the blackened sky, and the jarring clashes of thunder.
Wendy looked down and noticed Anthony's pram beginning to shudder. She tightened her grip on it. All around them, people were starting to become quite frightened indeed. Other babies were crying, and their mothers or nurses were quickly dispatching them from out of the Gardens. The pram continued to shake under Wendy's grasp, but more violently now, and soon it became too much for her delicate hands, and Peter had to clamp down on it as well. But it was of little help. The winds were beginning to swirl even faster, almost a kind of typhoon resolved to make landing right there in the park – and it was pulling hard on Anthony's pram as if it were a childless mother desperate for a babe of her own. Peter and Wendy were very well terrified by now. With all their strength did they try to hold the pram in place, and in all this time, little Anthony remained quite calm. In fact, he smiled at the malevolent wind, as if he saw a kind face within it where others did not.
But his mother and father were determined in their hold on him, and then, as if the Gods themselves recognized their stubbornness, they sent forth a dreadful bolt of light from the clouds and clear between parents and child. The force was so great as to knock Peter and Wendy several feet rearward and onto their backs. And no sooner had their combined grasps been undone than the pram, with Anthony inside, was swept skyward and rapidly became little more than a dark speck among the raging storm.
Before Peter and Wendy could spring up to run after him, they were being helped onto their feet by a couple of good Samaritans and some other park workers. They kept hold and began towing them toward the main gate, where the Keeper was demanding everyone evacuate the Gardens at once. But the horrified parents struggled most violently to free themselves and run after their baby, who was no longer even visible to any earthbound human. It took a tremendous effort to drag the kicking and screaming couple through the gates of the Gardens, and once there, they were practically thrown into the street like common beggars, and the gate doors swung shut in their faces.
They ran to the bars, gripping the irons so tight the heat from their trembling hands might have melted them. But all they could do was stand and watch as the raging and unforgiving winds mocked their despair. Wendy, having no other alternatives, then did what any desperate mother could do in such a hopeless situation, and with a sound that rivaled only the evil storm in its utter wretchedness, she screamed her baby's name:
"ANTHONYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!"