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 VIII, another long one.......Please, more comments! Enjoy! (
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VIII. RENEWED HOPE
Peter was already exhausted when he arrived to work that morning. He and Wendy had kept frightfully late hours the previous night, but the job had to be done and done most hastily, should either one of them change their minds in the middle. And it must be confessed that such breakdowns did nearly occur quite often, for every music box that was wrapped in tissue paper, every stuffed animal or rattler placed in a duffel bag, and every section of crib dismantled, came with it so many stifled tears and hushed reminiscences. But they had completed their painful task, and when the attic door was shut and locked for the last time, the Pans smiled and embraced each other for being so brave and carrying through. They knew it was their first step to normalcy once again.
And indeed, Peter did feel an encouraging amount of liberation as he walked through the gates of Kensington Gardens the next morning. The sun shone down on him as if a grand promise to many happier days ahead. He took in a deep breath, put a hand to the withered lily around his neck, and proceeded back into his daily routine. Anthony's memory would forever be on his mind, and no matter how many brutal storms erupted out of nowhere, they could never snatch those away from him.
It was this day that the hyacinths on the East side of the Long Water, near the Fountains, needed Peter's extra special attention. A rather naughty little squirrel had nearly laid waste to them the evening before, and Peter was called upon to their consolation. Bearing his small satchel of tools, Peter took the scenic route to his destination – preferring the Bridge in lieu of Budge's Walk where he might catch a glimpse of the Statue on his way. You see, he had grown quite a bitterness towards that statue, for it not only reminded him of one the last moments with his son, but it also represented all things magical in the world, a subject no longer of much comfort to him.
After a lovely walk around the Gardens to get to the wounded hyacinths, amiably tipping his cap to all the passers-by who still shot him disdainful glances for walking about unshod, he came upon the Fountains and was surprised – albeit pleasantly – to see the area quite unoccupied. He would favor it so, for he much rather enjoyed doing his job in peace and quiet.
Peter came upon the pitiful, trampled hyacinths almost at once, tucked close in between several crocus beds, and he smiled at them empathetically. He set his satchel down, fell upon his knees, and set to work resurrecting the poor little flowers.
Now, Peter Pan had always been quite well known for his remarkable powers of focus and concentration – it was almost yogi-like – but even more keen, especially of late, was his peripheral vision. It had saved him from many a scalping by an Indian and spearing by a pirate, and truth be told it had dulled somewhat as he grew older, but since Anthony's disappearance, it had been rather refortified. So, it was to this great knack of his that we give credit to his seeing that first mysterious little disturbance within the crocuses.
He paid it little mind and did not even miss a single lump of soil as he quickly glanced over at the crocus beds in an impulse reaction to the rustling. It must have just been a breeze.
But a moment later, when he was quite convinced he had seen it again, only then did he stop what he was doing. He peered at the crocuses sternly – perhaps that brazen squirrel had come back to finish its job on the poor hyacinths. But nary a petal nor a leaf moved a whit while under Peter's fierce scrutiny. Cautiously, Peter turned his attentions back to his task at hand, but he kept a close corner-eye on the crocuses. If there were anything there, he would certainly not let it make such a rube of him.
He resumed his toiling among the hyacinths until......Yes! There it was again! And as lightning-fast as you could even think it, Peter's hand dove into the crocus bed and instantly plucked out the source of his annoyance.
"AHA!" Peter crowed, quite pleased with how well his reflexes had held up over the years.
Whatever it was he had caught, it not only fit wholly in his hand, but it was very light and tickled his palm. He brought his clenched fist closer to him and cupped his other hand around it so as to keep the whatever-it-was from getting away. Slowly he unraveled his fingers, and to his utter amazement, he found there, curled up in a frightened little ball, a fairy!
This was all very amusing to Peter. He hadn't made the acquaintance of a fairy since he left his faithful Tinker Bell in Neverland. "Well, hello, little one! What are you doing skulking around the crocuses?"
"I-I'm terribly sorry!" the fairy trembled. "I was just trying to get back home and got rather lost! I didn't mean to disturb you!"
"It's quite alright."
"Please, please don't kill me!"
Peter's brow furrowed. "Nonsense! Why would you think I'd do that?"
"You are a Human, aren't you?" the little fairy inquired.
"I guess so, for the most part," Peter shrugged. He detested being lumped into such broad categories, such as "Humans."
"Well, generally, Humans are so afraid of fanciful things like us fairies and would instantly crush us underfoot if they ever happened upon one!"
This was so true, and Peter grinned. "You mustn't think all humans so ignorant."
"Oh! I don't!" The fairy fell to his little knees in Peter's palm, as if begging contrition. "In fact, the little Betwixt-and-Between was always *most* generous..."
"The what?" Peter stopped. That name, it sounded so familiar. But where on Earth had he heard it before?
Immediately, the fairy caught himself, and clasped his hands over his mouth. He had just broken the very stringent rule about *never* discussing the Betwixt-and-Between with any outsiders of the Gardens...and especially not with any Humans!
"Erm..." Oh, how was he to get out of *this* one? "I'm terribly sorry for having disturbed you, but I simply must be off to my home now..."
"Not so fast," Peter said sternly, closing his hands a tad more to keep the fairy confined. "What is this 'Betwixt-and-Between' you speak of?"
"Oh, oh, please, I shouldn't have said anything! The crows would have me for supper if they knew I had mentioned the Boy!" He gasped and clasped his mouth again.
Peter's eyes widened. "What 'boy'?" The fairy only shook his head, terrified. Peter picked him up with his other hand and squeezed him tightly therein. "WHAT BOY?"
"No, no, I mustn't!" the fairy squirmed and writhed under Peter's grasp.
Losing all patience – not that he ever had much to begin with – Peter sprung up from the flowerbeds and marched toward the fountains. He leaned over the edge and held the fairy aloft.
"If you do not tell me," he warned, "I shall have to drown you!"
The fairy let out an ear-piercing shriek, quite a feat for a creature so small. "The Pan child, the Pan child!!!"
Peter immediately felt his knees give out from under him, nearly sending the fairy and himself into the fountain together. "What is that you say?!"
"The Boy, the Boy! The one the winds brought to us and the birds took care of!"
Could it be? Peter felt his eyes welling up. "You...you saw him? My Anthony?"
The fairy began to nod most adamantly. "Yes, yes! Anthony! That's the one! That's the one! Please! Oooooh..."
It was like his dastardly dreams all over again. And how perfectly beastly of this little pixie to allow all those dark and hopeless reveries to resurface. "Take me to him."
"What?"
"Where is he? Take me to my son!"
"Oh, but I can't, you see, he's –" He stopped dead in his tracks. "Your...'son' you say?"
"Yes!"
"Why, you are he! You are...Peter Pan!" The little fairy was awed.
"Yes..." Peter confirmed, not entirely surprised that a fairy whom he had never previously met should know his name, but still: "How do you know that?"
"How do I know? You can't be serious!" the fairy stated rather brazenly. "We all know you here, Peter!"
"All of whom?" Peter was growing quite suspicious.
But the fairy was growing a bit sad. "Don't you remember?"
"I don't have many recollections before having first met my wife," Peter explained impatiently.
"But, Peter, this has all happened before. You came here as a child, even younger than Anthony was. You're saying you don't remember the fairies or the crows? The thrush's nest, or Old Solomon Caw, who took you so graciously under his wing?"
Peter had not heard that name uttered for practically an eternity, and upon hearing it once again, a wave of déjà vu suddenly hit him like tidal wave. "Solomon..."
"And what of the little girl Maimie whom we built the little house for after she helped the fairy Brownie warm the heart of the Duke of Christmas Daisies? Don't you remember that?"
Peter seemed a million miles away as he spoke. "I couldn't attend the ball because of ice on the Serpentine..."
The fairy clapped his little hands. "That's right! That's right!"
Peter's mind was a-whirl with ten thousand thoughts at once. All the memories, like lava in a long-dormant volcano, now spilling forth in both mighty bursts and tiptoeing waves. It was so overwhelming that he had to sit down. So many fragments, whizzing about his head as the fairies used to do, and he had to try and catch them one by one to make sense of any of it. He caught one memory, about a sail made from his nightgown. And another, when the dim-witted ducks tried in vain to teach him how to swim across the Serpentine (this made him laugh). He seized yet another one, of Old Solomon Caw explaining to him how he could never fly so long as he doubted it. But then, he *could* fly, and he would fly all about London, making many trips back to his mother. His mother...his beautiful mother. But now he was looking at her through bars. Bars? She had closed the window on him! He had been shunned forever, and so did he decide to leave...
Peter's brow tightened, and with suddenly frightened eyes he looked upon the fairy in his hand. "They sent him to Neverland, didn't they?"
The fairy nodded. "Yes, of course. It was inevitable, really."
Peter's expression now turned to one of fierce determination. "Take me to Bird Island."
"Oh, no, no, I can't!"
"So help me, you *will* get me there! And you will take me to the Caws!"
"Oh, please, no! I told you, they will banish me forever if they knew I told you anything!"
Peter straightened and pulled back his free hand as if gripping a bow, his large palm aimed squarely at the little fairy's head. "Do not make me behave as a 'Human' towards you..."
"Oh, alright! Alright! I will lead you to the Caws!" Truthfully, it would have been much easier and advantageous if the little fairy had simply remained mum and took his last rewards for the good of the whole community of Kensington Gardens. But fairies can only feel one emotion at a time, and this selfish fairy presently felt nothing but absolute fear for his life. And so he agreed to anything Peter asked of him.
Without a moment left to waste, Peter sprang up from the ground and sprinted towards the Serpentine. Fortunately, he was on the side closest to Bird Island, which would make his trip less perilous. But still, he would have to come up with an inconspicuous way to get there. The park was still full of people.
Finally, Bird Island was in view, and Peter crouched down towards the edge of the water, the fairy still in his hand. He scanned the surface, thinking hard.
"How will you get across?" the fairy asked.
"I'll swim if I have to."
"Oh? And what am *I* to do?"
Peter could not have cared less about this fairy's well-being, however, he was his only ticket to the Caws, so he did have to find a way to transport them both safely to the island. And so Peter continued to crouch and think. He thought so hard that he almost did not feel the nudge against his arm.
He looked up and what he saw was a marvel of nature indeed. It was the biggest thrush's nest he had ever seen, brushing gently up against the shore.
"It's Anthony's boat!" the fairy squealed, then scratched his head. "I rather thought we had destroyed the thing after he left. Hmph!"
Peter was not in the frame of mind to be questioning how or why the boat was there, so he placed the fairy in the breast pocket of his shirt and began to board the boat. It was a tight fit – obviously intended for a small boy – but Peter made the best use of it he could. And with his hands, he began to paddle at a frantic pace toward the island.
Once docked ashore, Peter leapt out, not even giving a second thought as to whether or not he should bring the little nest-boat ashore should he need a way to get back to the Gardens. He had other pressing matters on his mind at the moment. Hastily did the little fairy in his pocket lead him through the dense forest until at last they reached the mighty tree that still stood proud and foreboding in the heart of the island.
Peter stood before the tree, quickly scanning each and every nook and notch for some signs of life. He looked down into his pocket to ask the fairy what to do next and was most irritated to see that the little bugger had flown away!
Finally, Peter shouted out, "Solomon! Are you there? Come out, I must speak with you!"
No response. "Solomon!" Peter cried. "Anyone at all! Please come talk to me! It's Peter! You must tell me about my son!"
But still there was nothing, and Peter was growing angrier. As if channeling his younger alter ego, he began to jump and stamp his feet more childishly and throw dirt and twigs at the tree. "COME ON OUT HERE THIS INSTANT, YOU ROTTEN OLD CAWS!!!"
At long last, Peter saw a vast ruffling of feathers emerge from the biggest notch in the tree, about ten feet above Peter's head, and four crows emerged from it.
"Wha-wha-what is all this?" the biggest and most regal of the crows asked.
Peter wasted no time. "Where's Solomon Caw?"
The regal crow stiffened haughtily. "And who might you be to ask so audacious a question?"
"Where is Solomon?" Peter pressed.
"Solomon Caw has since passed, sir. I am his grandson, Xavier Caw."
Peter's heart sank. "What am I to do now?"
"Why is it that you seek Solomon?"
"I've come for my son, Anthony. I am to bring him back home."
Xavier Caw grinned. "So...*you* are The Father."
"Yes! And I want my son back! I need to get to Neverland."
The crows snickered. "My dear sir," Xavier Caw began, "we are not in the business of sending *grown-ups* to Neverland!" Now the crows laughed most heartily.
"Stop that!" Peter demanded, but their laughter continued. "Stop it! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!"
Xavier waved a wing dismissively. "We know, we know – Peter Pan. Yes, yes, *very* impressive." The crows rolled their eyes.
"Listen now, you *will* tell me how to get to Neverland!"
"Well, *Peter Pan*...why don't you just FLY?" another crow prodded. Peter threw a rock at him.
"You miserable old squawkers..." Peter muttered. He was so frustrated now that he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He missed his son so much, and now he knew exactly where he was, but the only ones who knew how to get him there were laughing at him. He collapsed to the ground and began to weep in his hands.
Xavier Caw held out his wings to the other 3 crows, bidding them enough. "I'm sorry, Peter, but we cannot help you. You are a man, and men do not belong in Neverland. If you are so desperate to find your son, then you must find another way."
Peter looked up, his cheeks stained with tears. "What other way is there?"
"This I cannot tell you either, but I can only advise you to look to your roots for the answer."
"My 'roots'?"
"You have forgotten much since you became a man. Now, if you are to see your son again, you must go back and explore all those things that you have put behind you in favor of an adult life. That is all I can say to you."
And with that, the four crows again disappeared within the great tree. Peter stood up, still with so many questions on the tip of his tongue, but he knew the Caw had spoken his final peace. Now, he just had to make sense of it.
Here's Chapter VIII, another long one.......Please, more comments! Enjoy! (
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VIII. RENEWED HOPE
Peter was already exhausted when he arrived to work that morning. He and Wendy had kept frightfully late hours the previous night, but the job had to be done and done most hastily, should either one of them change their minds in the middle. And it must be confessed that such breakdowns did nearly occur quite often, for every music box that was wrapped in tissue paper, every stuffed animal or rattler placed in a duffel bag, and every section of crib dismantled, came with it so many stifled tears and hushed reminiscences. But they had completed their painful task, and when the attic door was shut and locked for the last time, the Pans smiled and embraced each other for being so brave and carrying through. They knew it was their first step to normalcy once again.
And indeed, Peter did feel an encouraging amount of liberation as he walked through the gates of Kensington Gardens the next morning. The sun shone down on him as if a grand promise to many happier days ahead. He took in a deep breath, put a hand to the withered lily around his neck, and proceeded back into his daily routine. Anthony's memory would forever be on his mind, and no matter how many brutal storms erupted out of nowhere, they could never snatch those away from him.
It was this day that the hyacinths on the East side of the Long Water, near the Fountains, needed Peter's extra special attention. A rather naughty little squirrel had nearly laid waste to them the evening before, and Peter was called upon to their consolation. Bearing his small satchel of tools, Peter took the scenic route to his destination – preferring the Bridge in lieu of Budge's Walk where he might catch a glimpse of the Statue on his way. You see, he had grown quite a bitterness towards that statue, for it not only reminded him of one the last moments with his son, but it also represented all things magical in the world, a subject no longer of much comfort to him.
After a lovely walk around the Gardens to get to the wounded hyacinths, amiably tipping his cap to all the passers-by who still shot him disdainful glances for walking about unshod, he came upon the Fountains and was surprised – albeit pleasantly – to see the area quite unoccupied. He would favor it so, for he much rather enjoyed doing his job in peace and quiet.
Peter came upon the pitiful, trampled hyacinths almost at once, tucked close in between several crocus beds, and he smiled at them empathetically. He set his satchel down, fell upon his knees, and set to work resurrecting the poor little flowers.
Now, Peter Pan had always been quite well known for his remarkable powers of focus and concentration – it was almost yogi-like – but even more keen, especially of late, was his peripheral vision. It had saved him from many a scalping by an Indian and spearing by a pirate, and truth be told it had dulled somewhat as he grew older, but since Anthony's disappearance, it had been rather refortified. So, it was to this great knack of his that we give credit to his seeing that first mysterious little disturbance within the crocuses.
He paid it little mind and did not even miss a single lump of soil as he quickly glanced over at the crocus beds in an impulse reaction to the rustling. It must have just been a breeze.
But a moment later, when he was quite convinced he had seen it again, only then did he stop what he was doing. He peered at the crocuses sternly – perhaps that brazen squirrel had come back to finish its job on the poor hyacinths. But nary a petal nor a leaf moved a whit while under Peter's fierce scrutiny. Cautiously, Peter turned his attentions back to his task at hand, but he kept a close corner-eye on the crocuses. If there were anything there, he would certainly not let it make such a rube of him.
He resumed his toiling among the hyacinths until......Yes! There it was again! And as lightning-fast as you could even think it, Peter's hand dove into the crocus bed and instantly plucked out the source of his annoyance.
"AHA!" Peter crowed, quite pleased with how well his reflexes had held up over the years.
Whatever it was he had caught, it not only fit wholly in his hand, but it was very light and tickled his palm. He brought his clenched fist closer to him and cupped his other hand around it so as to keep the whatever-it-was from getting away. Slowly he unraveled his fingers, and to his utter amazement, he found there, curled up in a frightened little ball, a fairy!
This was all very amusing to Peter. He hadn't made the acquaintance of a fairy since he left his faithful Tinker Bell in Neverland. "Well, hello, little one! What are you doing skulking around the crocuses?"
"I-I'm terribly sorry!" the fairy trembled. "I was just trying to get back home and got rather lost! I didn't mean to disturb you!"
"It's quite alright."
"Please, please don't kill me!"
Peter's brow furrowed. "Nonsense! Why would you think I'd do that?"
"You are a Human, aren't you?" the little fairy inquired.
"I guess so, for the most part," Peter shrugged. He detested being lumped into such broad categories, such as "Humans."
"Well, generally, Humans are so afraid of fanciful things like us fairies and would instantly crush us underfoot if they ever happened upon one!"
This was so true, and Peter grinned. "You mustn't think all humans so ignorant."
"Oh! I don't!" The fairy fell to his little knees in Peter's palm, as if begging contrition. "In fact, the little Betwixt-and-Between was always *most* generous..."
"The what?" Peter stopped. That name, it sounded so familiar. But where on Earth had he heard it before?
Immediately, the fairy caught himself, and clasped his hands over his mouth. He had just broken the very stringent rule about *never* discussing the Betwixt-and-Between with any outsiders of the Gardens...and especially not with any Humans!
"Erm..." Oh, how was he to get out of *this* one? "I'm terribly sorry for having disturbed you, but I simply must be off to my home now..."
"Not so fast," Peter said sternly, closing his hands a tad more to keep the fairy confined. "What is this 'Betwixt-and-Between' you speak of?"
"Oh, oh, please, I shouldn't have said anything! The crows would have me for supper if they knew I had mentioned the Boy!" He gasped and clasped his mouth again.
Peter's eyes widened. "What 'boy'?" The fairy only shook his head, terrified. Peter picked him up with his other hand and squeezed him tightly therein. "WHAT BOY?"
"No, no, I mustn't!" the fairy squirmed and writhed under Peter's grasp.
Losing all patience – not that he ever had much to begin with – Peter sprung up from the flowerbeds and marched toward the fountains. He leaned over the edge and held the fairy aloft.
"If you do not tell me," he warned, "I shall have to drown you!"
The fairy let out an ear-piercing shriek, quite a feat for a creature so small. "The Pan child, the Pan child!!!"
Peter immediately felt his knees give out from under him, nearly sending the fairy and himself into the fountain together. "What is that you say?!"
"The Boy, the Boy! The one the winds brought to us and the birds took care of!"
Could it be? Peter felt his eyes welling up. "You...you saw him? My Anthony?"
The fairy began to nod most adamantly. "Yes, yes! Anthony! That's the one! That's the one! Please! Oooooh..."
It was like his dastardly dreams all over again. And how perfectly beastly of this little pixie to allow all those dark and hopeless reveries to resurface. "Take me to him."
"What?"
"Where is he? Take me to my son!"
"Oh, but I can't, you see, he's –" He stopped dead in his tracks. "Your...'son' you say?"
"Yes!"
"Why, you are he! You are...Peter Pan!" The little fairy was awed.
"Yes..." Peter confirmed, not entirely surprised that a fairy whom he had never previously met should know his name, but still: "How do you know that?"
"How do I know? You can't be serious!" the fairy stated rather brazenly. "We all know you here, Peter!"
"All of whom?" Peter was growing quite suspicious.
But the fairy was growing a bit sad. "Don't you remember?"
"I don't have many recollections before having first met my wife," Peter explained impatiently.
"But, Peter, this has all happened before. You came here as a child, even younger than Anthony was. You're saying you don't remember the fairies or the crows? The thrush's nest, or Old Solomon Caw, who took you so graciously under his wing?"
Peter had not heard that name uttered for practically an eternity, and upon hearing it once again, a wave of déjà vu suddenly hit him like tidal wave. "Solomon..."
"And what of the little girl Maimie whom we built the little house for after she helped the fairy Brownie warm the heart of the Duke of Christmas Daisies? Don't you remember that?"
Peter seemed a million miles away as he spoke. "I couldn't attend the ball because of ice on the Serpentine..."
The fairy clapped his little hands. "That's right! That's right!"
Peter's mind was a-whirl with ten thousand thoughts at once. All the memories, like lava in a long-dormant volcano, now spilling forth in both mighty bursts and tiptoeing waves. It was so overwhelming that he had to sit down. So many fragments, whizzing about his head as the fairies used to do, and he had to try and catch them one by one to make sense of any of it. He caught one memory, about a sail made from his nightgown. And another, when the dim-witted ducks tried in vain to teach him how to swim across the Serpentine (this made him laugh). He seized yet another one, of Old Solomon Caw explaining to him how he could never fly so long as he doubted it. But then, he *could* fly, and he would fly all about London, making many trips back to his mother. His mother...his beautiful mother. But now he was looking at her through bars. Bars? She had closed the window on him! He had been shunned forever, and so did he decide to leave...
Peter's brow tightened, and with suddenly frightened eyes he looked upon the fairy in his hand. "They sent him to Neverland, didn't they?"
The fairy nodded. "Yes, of course. It was inevitable, really."
Peter's expression now turned to one of fierce determination. "Take me to Bird Island."
"Oh, no, no, I can't!"
"So help me, you *will* get me there! And you will take me to the Caws!"
"Oh, please, no! I told you, they will banish me forever if they knew I told you anything!"
Peter straightened and pulled back his free hand as if gripping a bow, his large palm aimed squarely at the little fairy's head. "Do not make me behave as a 'Human' towards you..."
"Oh, alright! Alright! I will lead you to the Caws!" Truthfully, it would have been much easier and advantageous if the little fairy had simply remained mum and took his last rewards for the good of the whole community of Kensington Gardens. But fairies can only feel one emotion at a time, and this selfish fairy presently felt nothing but absolute fear for his life. And so he agreed to anything Peter asked of him.
Without a moment left to waste, Peter sprang up from the ground and sprinted towards the Serpentine. Fortunately, he was on the side closest to Bird Island, which would make his trip less perilous. But still, he would have to come up with an inconspicuous way to get there. The park was still full of people.
Finally, Bird Island was in view, and Peter crouched down towards the edge of the water, the fairy still in his hand. He scanned the surface, thinking hard.
"How will you get across?" the fairy asked.
"I'll swim if I have to."
"Oh? And what am *I* to do?"
Peter could not have cared less about this fairy's well-being, however, he was his only ticket to the Caws, so he did have to find a way to transport them both safely to the island. And so Peter continued to crouch and think. He thought so hard that he almost did not feel the nudge against his arm.
He looked up and what he saw was a marvel of nature indeed. It was the biggest thrush's nest he had ever seen, brushing gently up against the shore.
"It's Anthony's boat!" the fairy squealed, then scratched his head. "I rather thought we had destroyed the thing after he left. Hmph!"
Peter was not in the frame of mind to be questioning how or why the boat was there, so he placed the fairy in the breast pocket of his shirt and began to board the boat. It was a tight fit – obviously intended for a small boy – but Peter made the best use of it he could. And with his hands, he began to paddle at a frantic pace toward the island.
Once docked ashore, Peter leapt out, not even giving a second thought as to whether or not he should bring the little nest-boat ashore should he need a way to get back to the Gardens. He had other pressing matters on his mind at the moment. Hastily did the little fairy in his pocket lead him through the dense forest until at last they reached the mighty tree that still stood proud and foreboding in the heart of the island.
Peter stood before the tree, quickly scanning each and every nook and notch for some signs of life. He looked down into his pocket to ask the fairy what to do next and was most irritated to see that the little bugger had flown away!
Finally, Peter shouted out, "Solomon! Are you there? Come out, I must speak with you!"
No response. "Solomon!" Peter cried. "Anyone at all! Please come talk to me! It's Peter! You must tell me about my son!"
But still there was nothing, and Peter was growing angrier. As if channeling his younger alter ego, he began to jump and stamp his feet more childishly and throw dirt and twigs at the tree. "COME ON OUT HERE THIS INSTANT, YOU ROTTEN OLD CAWS!!!"
At long last, Peter saw a vast ruffling of feathers emerge from the biggest notch in the tree, about ten feet above Peter's head, and four crows emerged from it.
"Wha-wha-what is all this?" the biggest and most regal of the crows asked.
Peter wasted no time. "Where's Solomon Caw?"
The regal crow stiffened haughtily. "And who might you be to ask so audacious a question?"
"Where is Solomon?" Peter pressed.
"Solomon Caw has since passed, sir. I am his grandson, Xavier Caw."
Peter's heart sank. "What am I to do now?"
"Why is it that you seek Solomon?"
"I've come for my son, Anthony. I am to bring him back home."
Xavier Caw grinned. "So...*you* are The Father."
"Yes! And I want my son back! I need to get to Neverland."
The crows snickered. "My dear sir," Xavier Caw began, "we are not in the business of sending *grown-ups* to Neverland!" Now the crows laughed most heartily.
"Stop that!" Peter demanded, but their laughter continued. "Stop it! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!"
Xavier waved a wing dismissively. "We know, we know – Peter Pan. Yes, yes, *very* impressive." The crows rolled their eyes.
"Listen now, you *will* tell me how to get to Neverland!"
"Well, *Peter Pan*...why don't you just FLY?" another crow prodded. Peter threw a rock at him.
"You miserable old squawkers..." Peter muttered. He was so frustrated now that he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He missed his son so much, and now he knew exactly where he was, but the only ones who knew how to get him there were laughing at him. He collapsed to the ground and began to weep in his hands.
Xavier Caw held out his wings to the other 3 crows, bidding them enough. "I'm sorry, Peter, but we cannot help you. You are a man, and men do not belong in Neverland. If you are so desperate to find your son, then you must find another way."
Peter looked up, his cheeks stained with tears. "What other way is there?"
"This I cannot tell you either, but I can only advise you to look to your roots for the answer."
"My 'roots'?"
"You have forgotten much since you became a man. Now, if you are to see your son again, you must go back and explore all those things that you have put behind you in favor of an adult life. That is all I can say to you."
And with that, the four crows again disappeared within the great tree. Peter stood up, still with so many questions on the tip of his tongue, but he knew the Caw had spoken his final peace. Now, he just had to make sense of it.