AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The
First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site),
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 - which can be read at
gutenberg.net). Confused yet?
Here's Chapter VI, hot off the presses!.......Keep the comments coming! Enjoy!
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VI. IT MUST ALWAYS BE OPEN
When the old grandfather clock in the hall finally struck six, it alarmed nobody. Wendy had been up for hours, preparing the Girls for school, and Peter had scarcely slept a wink the whole night anyhow. In fact, he could not recall a single peaceful slumber since that dreadful day in Kensington Gardens.
After Wendy made sure Violet had the Girls properly washed and dressed, she headed for the kitchen to make some tea. There she found her husband sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the wall. She did not give it much notice – 'twas a common sight in recent years.
In silence, Wendy prepared her pot of tea, and set a cup and saucer down in front of Peter. He looked at it for a moment, as if at first not recognizing it, and then he reached for the sugar bowl in front of him and proceeded to dump a ghastly amount of the stuff into his cup.
"Not so much, darling," Wendy advised gently.
"Got no sleep again last night," Peter weakly explained. "I need an extra something to get me through the day."
Wendy did not feel like arguing. "Alright."
Mornings were always like this. It was the cruel awakening after many splendid dreams of their son returning to them as good as new, only to open their eyes when the sun peered through the window and then realize that the nightmare remained their reality. Mornings were vicious and unforgiving. So, many a night Peter indignantly forfeited sleep altogether, if only to avoid the false hope of a heartening dream.
But you mustn't think that this dire gloom followed the Pans around all day long. That would be too horrible. Fortunately, they had their work to keep them busy and their minds off of their loss – Wendy with her stories and other household responsibilities, and Peter with his duties at Kensington Gardens. Yes, he retained his post as Head Gardener at the park, despite what terrible memories the place held for him now. He was a man of obligation – and let's face it, there was hardly a more suitable job in the world for Peter Pan! But it was not just obligation that kept him going back to the Gardens – deep inside him, he felt that one day, whilst puttering around the tulips and bluebells, he may finally find his son.
And it was this dubious and secret hope that kept the Pans going. It had been just over three years since little Anthony was snatched from them, but still they held out hope; they kept his nursery just as it had always been, they kept his favorite candy jar fully stocked, and Peter never removed the Stargazer Lily he had around his neck, like the one he gave Anthony, no matter how decrepit it had become. But most importantly, they always kept the window open for him – the very window from which Wendy had so often found Anthony about to climb out. Perhaps, one day, he should like to climb back in.
Of course, the one other factor helping them get along was their devotion to each other and their daughters. There had never ceased to be enough love to go around amongst the four of them. That wonderful sparkle in Peter's eyes was still there – three great big sparkles actually...but there was a fourth sparkle that lingered in the back of Peter's eye, slowly fading but yearning so much to join the other four again. A sad little sparkle it was too.
As Wendy sat at that kitchen table watching Peter take his tea, it never once crossed her mind to love him any less. And, as if somehow picking up on her non-thinking of this, he looked up from his cup to meet her gaze, and he smiled that old smile which told her that such a thing had never crossed his mind either.
But sadly, it was only in mind and smiles that their love remained strong. An occasional squeeze of the hand or a warm embrace, a reassuring kiss here and there, was all they could bring themselves to offer each other in the way of any physical affection. They hardly ever turned to each other at night anymore. And whenever they tried, it was cut short so very prematurely out of sheer guilt. Oh how they longed to touch each other again, but in their hearts, they felt it utterly dishonorable to experience such personal pleasures for themselves when any number of awful things could be happening to their son at that precise moment.
It was in this same vein that they discontinued going to parties and any other social gatherings where they would be expected to have *fun*. There was once a time when a party simply was not a party without the Pans. Even the worst little gossip-mongers in London who whispered most behind their backs would not bat an eyelash to set in ink Peter and Wendy's names at the top of all their guest lists! But the once-happy couple had attended nary a soirée since Anthony's disappearance – even at the gracious urging of their most loving friends and family. Again, how could they think of being careless and gleeful whilst their little boy may very well be experiencing the worst of tortures?
So, the Pans trudged through their lives mechanically, fulfilling their duties to their work and their families, but little else. They did not realize it, but the Girls absolutely detested being in the house with them anymore, and would spend more and more time with their cousins away from home. Peter and Wendy rather thought they just liked being with their cousins and nothing more!
After Peter left for work and Violet shooed the Girls off to school, Wendy remained at the kitchen table for a long time. I daresay she sat there all day, for it wasn't until the clock chimed four that she finally got up and left the room, weary and restless. She dragged her feet upstairs and meant to head towards the Girls' bedroom to collect their laundry, but she passed poor little Anthony's room on her way, its door shut, per usual, as if a shrine. Slowly Wendy felt her hand move towards the doorknob and turn it. The door opened with a creak from disuse and revealed to her the gaiety which was her son's brief life in every stitch of jungle-themed wallpaper and every carefully discarded toy on the floor. His crib, as always, lay empty. And the window, as always, stayed open.
She followed her feet as they crept towards that window, and she looked out. Three years had she spent looking out that window in the same fashion – with the same forlorn longing. It was beginning to grate on her. She was feeling so very fed up with being miserable all the time. And as she looked out that window towards the stars which were just beginning their nightly twinkling, she had to say to herself, finally, that if Anthony were to be gone from them for three whole years, then there was scarcely any reason for him to come back now. The Fates had made up their mind. Anthony was gone. For good.
It was this epiphany which made Wendy weep. For her, the hope was gone. It had in fact left her some time ago, but she was ever so desperate to hang on to it. Oh if only she had been able to hang onto the perambulator as hard...
With a trembling hand, Wendy watched through bleary eyes as she grasped the window latch and began to draw it towards her. She bade one final farewell to her precious Anthony, wherever he may be, and pulled the window shut.
'"NO!"
Such a horrible shout came from behind her, and Wendy spun around, wiped her eyes clear, and saw her husband standing in the doorway, trembling. His eyes were large and impassioned.
"What are you DOING?" he demanded.
Wendy was so caught off guard to see her husband in such a state that she could scarcely form a word. But before she had chance to, Peter was standing rigidly beside her, thrusting the windows back open with such a force as to nearly knock them off their hinges.
"The window must ALWAYS be open for him, Wendy!" he shouted. "ALWAYS!!!"
"But Peter..." She tried to reason, but the thoughts and feelings were so new to her that she had not yet found the proper way to express them.
But he cut her off again. "No! There are no 'buts'! This window must never be closed, do you hear?"
"Peter, we can't keep going on like this..."
He grabbed her fiercely by the shoulders. "DO YOU HEAR?!"
"STOP IT!" she finally shouted back, breaking from his grasp.
All at once, Peter remembered himself, and he was instantly ashamed for having manhandled his adoring wife so brutally. But he was never one for apologies, so instead he spun around and leaned against the windowsill, his head hung.
Only once he appeared to be calm again did Wendy dare to speak at last. "Peter, listen to me...we cannot go on living like this any longer. It is simply unbearable."
"Of course it is," Peter grumbled. "Should it *not* be unbearable when your own child is ripped right out of your arms?"
"I know how hard it is, Peter, but..." Wendy continued, tears welling up again, "I am just so very tired. I cannot bear another day of hoping, and wishing, and praying, and searching, only to come up empty every time. It has been three years, Peter, and not so much as hair from head has ever turned up. At some point, we need to find a way, no matter how painful, to move on."
She watched cautiously as Peter stood up straight. He turned to her with a soft glare. She braced herself, as she could not tell if he was wanting to hug her or strike her.
"Now how do you suppose you would have felt had *your* parents said the same things after you left?" he asked most venomously.
Wendy could hardly believe her ears. "Peter...I was gone for only a matter of months. Anthony has been gone for THREE YEARS!"
He knew she was right, but he would not say so. He collapsed into the armchair next the window and pressed his palms to his eyes. If only he remembered how his own mother had barred him from the nursery when he tried to return to her from Kensington Gardens, his resolve may have been even firmer. But he had no memory of that now – just all the tormenting thoughts and dilemmas of a father who has lost a child.
Wendy crouched down beside him and put her arms around his shoulders.
"Peter," she whispered, "I am not suggesting that we pack up all his things and forget about him forever. We will remember him always, and we will grieve for his sweet face, forever and ever in our hearts. But please, Peter, can we not strive to be happy again? I do miss it so."
Peter peered over his hands and looked hard into his wife's eyes, and he could see that it was killing her to feel these feelings and say the things she was saying.
"Yes, Wendy, I do so want to be happy again too." His voice cracked as he spoke.
"Then we can do it together, my love," said Wendy. "We mustn't be afraid of it if we have each other to turn to. If only for our daughters shall we try."
Now Peter returned his wife's devoted embrace, and he wept.
"He will always be our little boy, Peter. This shan't change that. Ever."
Here's Chapter VI, hot off the presses!.......Keep the comments coming! Enjoy!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
VI. IT MUST ALWAYS BE OPEN
When the old grandfather clock in the hall finally struck six, it alarmed nobody. Wendy had been up for hours, preparing the Girls for school, and Peter had scarcely slept a wink the whole night anyhow. In fact, he could not recall a single peaceful slumber since that dreadful day in Kensington Gardens.
After Wendy made sure Violet had the Girls properly washed and dressed, she headed for the kitchen to make some tea. There she found her husband sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the wall. She did not give it much notice – 'twas a common sight in recent years.
In silence, Wendy prepared her pot of tea, and set a cup and saucer down in front of Peter. He looked at it for a moment, as if at first not recognizing it, and then he reached for the sugar bowl in front of him and proceeded to dump a ghastly amount of the stuff into his cup.
"Not so much, darling," Wendy advised gently.
"Got no sleep again last night," Peter weakly explained. "I need an extra something to get me through the day."
Wendy did not feel like arguing. "Alright."
Mornings were always like this. It was the cruel awakening after many splendid dreams of their son returning to them as good as new, only to open their eyes when the sun peered through the window and then realize that the nightmare remained their reality. Mornings were vicious and unforgiving. So, many a night Peter indignantly forfeited sleep altogether, if only to avoid the false hope of a heartening dream.
But you mustn't think that this dire gloom followed the Pans around all day long. That would be too horrible. Fortunately, they had their work to keep them busy and their minds off of their loss – Wendy with her stories and other household responsibilities, and Peter with his duties at Kensington Gardens. Yes, he retained his post as Head Gardener at the park, despite what terrible memories the place held for him now. He was a man of obligation – and let's face it, there was hardly a more suitable job in the world for Peter Pan! But it was not just obligation that kept him going back to the Gardens – deep inside him, he felt that one day, whilst puttering around the tulips and bluebells, he may finally find his son.
And it was this dubious and secret hope that kept the Pans going. It had been just over three years since little Anthony was snatched from them, but still they held out hope; they kept his nursery just as it had always been, they kept his favorite candy jar fully stocked, and Peter never removed the Stargazer Lily he had around his neck, like the one he gave Anthony, no matter how decrepit it had become. But most importantly, they always kept the window open for him – the very window from which Wendy had so often found Anthony about to climb out. Perhaps, one day, he should like to climb back in.
Of course, the one other factor helping them get along was their devotion to each other and their daughters. There had never ceased to be enough love to go around amongst the four of them. That wonderful sparkle in Peter's eyes was still there – three great big sparkles actually...but there was a fourth sparkle that lingered in the back of Peter's eye, slowly fading but yearning so much to join the other four again. A sad little sparkle it was too.
As Wendy sat at that kitchen table watching Peter take his tea, it never once crossed her mind to love him any less. And, as if somehow picking up on her non-thinking of this, he looked up from his cup to meet her gaze, and he smiled that old smile which told her that such a thing had never crossed his mind either.
But sadly, it was only in mind and smiles that their love remained strong. An occasional squeeze of the hand or a warm embrace, a reassuring kiss here and there, was all they could bring themselves to offer each other in the way of any physical affection. They hardly ever turned to each other at night anymore. And whenever they tried, it was cut short so very prematurely out of sheer guilt. Oh how they longed to touch each other again, but in their hearts, they felt it utterly dishonorable to experience such personal pleasures for themselves when any number of awful things could be happening to their son at that precise moment.
It was in this same vein that they discontinued going to parties and any other social gatherings where they would be expected to have *fun*. There was once a time when a party simply was not a party without the Pans. Even the worst little gossip-mongers in London who whispered most behind their backs would not bat an eyelash to set in ink Peter and Wendy's names at the top of all their guest lists! But the once-happy couple had attended nary a soirée since Anthony's disappearance – even at the gracious urging of their most loving friends and family. Again, how could they think of being careless and gleeful whilst their little boy may very well be experiencing the worst of tortures?
So, the Pans trudged through their lives mechanically, fulfilling their duties to their work and their families, but little else. They did not realize it, but the Girls absolutely detested being in the house with them anymore, and would spend more and more time with their cousins away from home. Peter and Wendy rather thought they just liked being with their cousins and nothing more!
After Peter left for work and Violet shooed the Girls off to school, Wendy remained at the kitchen table for a long time. I daresay she sat there all day, for it wasn't until the clock chimed four that she finally got up and left the room, weary and restless. She dragged her feet upstairs and meant to head towards the Girls' bedroom to collect their laundry, but she passed poor little Anthony's room on her way, its door shut, per usual, as if a shrine. Slowly Wendy felt her hand move towards the doorknob and turn it. The door opened with a creak from disuse and revealed to her the gaiety which was her son's brief life in every stitch of jungle-themed wallpaper and every carefully discarded toy on the floor. His crib, as always, lay empty. And the window, as always, stayed open.
She followed her feet as they crept towards that window, and she looked out. Three years had she spent looking out that window in the same fashion – with the same forlorn longing. It was beginning to grate on her. She was feeling so very fed up with being miserable all the time. And as she looked out that window towards the stars which were just beginning their nightly twinkling, she had to say to herself, finally, that if Anthony were to be gone from them for three whole years, then there was scarcely any reason for him to come back now. The Fates had made up their mind. Anthony was gone. For good.
It was this epiphany which made Wendy weep. For her, the hope was gone. It had in fact left her some time ago, but she was ever so desperate to hang on to it. Oh if only she had been able to hang onto the perambulator as hard...
With a trembling hand, Wendy watched through bleary eyes as she grasped the window latch and began to draw it towards her. She bade one final farewell to her precious Anthony, wherever he may be, and pulled the window shut.
'"NO!"
Such a horrible shout came from behind her, and Wendy spun around, wiped her eyes clear, and saw her husband standing in the doorway, trembling. His eyes were large and impassioned.
"What are you DOING?" he demanded.
Wendy was so caught off guard to see her husband in such a state that she could scarcely form a word. But before she had chance to, Peter was standing rigidly beside her, thrusting the windows back open with such a force as to nearly knock them off their hinges.
"The window must ALWAYS be open for him, Wendy!" he shouted. "ALWAYS!!!"
"But Peter..." She tried to reason, but the thoughts and feelings were so new to her that she had not yet found the proper way to express them.
But he cut her off again. "No! There are no 'buts'! This window must never be closed, do you hear?"
"Peter, we can't keep going on like this..."
He grabbed her fiercely by the shoulders. "DO YOU HEAR?!"
"STOP IT!" she finally shouted back, breaking from his grasp.
All at once, Peter remembered himself, and he was instantly ashamed for having manhandled his adoring wife so brutally. But he was never one for apologies, so instead he spun around and leaned against the windowsill, his head hung.
Only once he appeared to be calm again did Wendy dare to speak at last. "Peter, listen to me...we cannot go on living like this any longer. It is simply unbearable."
"Of course it is," Peter grumbled. "Should it *not* be unbearable when your own child is ripped right out of your arms?"
"I know how hard it is, Peter, but..." Wendy continued, tears welling up again, "I am just so very tired. I cannot bear another day of hoping, and wishing, and praying, and searching, only to come up empty every time. It has been three years, Peter, and not so much as hair from head has ever turned up. At some point, we need to find a way, no matter how painful, to move on."
She watched cautiously as Peter stood up straight. He turned to her with a soft glare. She braced herself, as she could not tell if he was wanting to hug her or strike her.
"Now how do you suppose you would have felt had *your* parents said the same things after you left?" he asked most venomously.
Wendy could hardly believe her ears. "Peter...I was gone for only a matter of months. Anthony has been gone for THREE YEARS!"
He knew she was right, but he would not say so. He collapsed into the armchair next the window and pressed his palms to his eyes. If only he remembered how his own mother had barred him from the nursery when he tried to return to her from Kensington Gardens, his resolve may have been even firmer. But he had no memory of that now – just all the tormenting thoughts and dilemmas of a father who has lost a child.
Wendy crouched down beside him and put her arms around his shoulders.
"Peter," she whispered, "I am not suggesting that we pack up all his things and forget about him forever. We will remember him always, and we will grieve for his sweet face, forever and ever in our hearts. But please, Peter, can we not strive to be happy again? I do miss it so."
Peter peered over his hands and looked hard into his wife's eyes, and he could see that it was killing her to feel these feelings and say the things she was saying.
"Yes, Wendy, I do so want to be happy again too." His voice cracked as he spoke.
"Then we can do it together, my love," said Wendy. "We mustn't be afraid of it if we have each other to turn to. If only for our daughters shall we try."
Now Peter returned his wife's devoted embrace, and he wept.
"He will always be our little boy, Peter. This shan't change that. Ever."