Comfort
"The lateness of the hour was almost the biggest thing of all. She
got them to bed in the pirates' bunks quickly, you maybe sure;
all but Peter, who strutted up and down on deck, until at last
he fell asleep by the side of Long Tom. He had one of his dreams
that night, and cried in his sleep for a long time, but Wendy held him tight."
Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie
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Wendy sighed in distaste and waved a hand through the air. The fire near Great Ormond Street had been nearly doused by the rain, though the smell of smoke was still distinctly in the air. She gazed into the distance and stared at the soft glow of orange caused by dwindling flames.
She frowned, blinking her eyes. It was a late night, and the only thing keeping her from collapsing onto the bed straight-away was the thought of wrinkling the delicate dress she wore. She turned, about to venture into the interior of the room, but found she could not bear to leave the window. It happened often, and she would scold herself for being so silly.
She hesitated, but allowed herself to stare up the evening sky, the tiny spots of brilliance suspended on a midnight blanket.
Her eyes scanned the stars above, not entirely sure of what they were searching for.
"What is it?" she asked herself. A constellation, perhaps No, she knew the locations of so many already. It was something else - a star.
She knew there was something unique about a certain star. She knew it from happier times, from when she was a child.
Her eyes dropped in disappointment, unlike the past, it was near impossible to get a clear view of the heavens. She wished for the days before there were so many lights near the Garden, and before the factories began letting smoke taint the sky.
She rested her head on her arm and carefully leaned out the window, still seated on the cushioned bench.
The star, it was second. Second... to something. She searched her mind for a clue, but found nothing.
"Oh for goodness sake, Wendy..." Peter ventured into the room, undoing a black bow-tie. "Are you at it again? You could fall, you realize that?"
She ignored him, "Really, Peter, I'm only looking."
He glanced at her position and scoffed, a frustrated glint in his eyes. "Whatever for? I know it couldn't be a shooting star. A fairy, maybe? Or, I know.. You're waiting for winged Pegasus to come and sweep you away in all it's glory. Really, Wendy, this is all so pathetic. 'Seems like you're only trying running from your problems."
Wendy glanced down, defeated, her eyes wet. She had always tried to enforce upon Peter responsibility and knowledge, but now she wondered if she had taken things too far. She had only wanted for him to mature, and instead she created something unpleasant.
"I don't want to go to school and learn solemn things," he told
her passionately. "I don't want to be a man. O Wendy's mother,
if I was to wake up and feel there was a beard!"
Peter paused a moment later, noticing her mind had wandered. Regretting what he'd said, he came to her side.
.
"Wendy, I don't know why you do this. I always find you up here and I just don't understand." He snorted, "One might even say you just wanted to end it all, always leaning half your body on the other side of the window. What would I do if anything happened to you?"
Wendy smiled sadly, "I'm flattered you're so worried, Peter. Sometimes I wonder if you even remember who I am."
He placed a hand on her shoulder, "I care for you Wendy. If you ever doubt that, just say 'I'm Wendy', and I'll remember to show you just how much you mean to me."
He was very sorry. "I say, Wendy," he whispered to her,
"always if you see me forgetting you, just keep on saying
I'm Wendy,' and then I'll remember."
"Silly boy. Sometimes I don't understand you," she said, taking his hand and pulling him to the seat next to her.
He sat and frowned down at her. "Well, I don't understand how you can be so optimistic about some things. Your father isn't going to be around for very long, and I don't know how we're going to fund the orphanage once he's gone."
"Well, Peter, you can be so awfully pessimistic. I've already had a discussion about that with father and Sir Barrie-"
"Barrie? Sir James Barrie, the playwright?"
Wendy nodded. "He'll use the money from his stories and plays to help fund the orphanage."
"Well, I didn't realize silly stories brought in such large amounts of money."
"You used to love silly stories like that."
Peter frowned and shook his head, "It doesn't matter. Why bother believing in something you can't prove is real?" He glanced briefly up at the stars. "Why bother searching the skies each night for something that will bring nothing?"
If only Peter could think back and believe. He'd remember that he was a boy once, a boy who promised never to grow up.
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Peter had strange dreams, dreams of gold and glorious might. He dreamed of young boys, boys reminding him of the orphans a few years younger. Together they'd play games and hide buried treasure, while enjoying thousands of endless summers. Every so often, Peter dreamed of a dark and sinister man, who had often tried to kill those he cared about. He'd toss and turn in his sheets as he heard cold dark laughter and the clash of metal, often worried of being too late to save the others.
Peter was not quite like the other boys; but he was afraid at last.
A tremor ran through him, like a shudder passing over the sea;
but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds
of them, and Peter felt just the one.
Whenever Peter pondered these dreams of his, he'd just as soon push them out of his mind. Many of them brought about unpleasant feelings, feelings of fear and regret.
Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again,
with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him.
It was saying, 'To die will be an awfully big adventure.'
Regret of not being able to bring life to the visions or fear of the dreams themselves, he was not sure.
.
Wendy was silent to his questions, and Peter followed her example as she continued searching the sky.
His dreams were much like the stars they gazed at. His dreams and memories were lost in a world of disorder, where his dreams, hopes and fears were strung on glistening thread before his fingers, the gems catching in the light. The stars and dreams both out of his reach and understanding.
He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feel of the wind through his hair.
When he opened his eyes, he tilted his head and frowned. Wendy was looking at him, her youthful eyes moist with a hint of sorrow.
"Girl," he murmured, "why are you crying?"
She held him close and guided his hand towards a star in the East. It was a small but bright star, the others surrounding it were considerably faint in comparison.
She leaned into him, vaguely thinking he smelled of like the wind from a thousand summers.
"Before you understand," she whispered, "you need to believe."
.
.
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There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none
to see it except a little boy who was staring in at the window.
He had had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never
know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy
from which he must be for ever barred.
Peter Pan, the characters, and the novel excerpts are the property of James M. Barrie.
This fanfiction was uploaded on August 14, 2004. It is based on an idea that Peter had eventually returned to the Darling home some time after the Lost Boys had come to called it their home. This time, he did not return to Neverland.
Loneliness, as is Love, is a powerful emotion.