CHAPTER ELEVEN: Forgetting in London
George Darling tried very hard to grow up to become a Respectable Somebody. He always knew that he would, even without his father's relentless reminders. But now he had a new impetus. A certain young lady who lived a few houses down from his own house smiles at him with her sweet, mocking mouth every time they met, and all he can do is smile back and stammer a "hello," for he is not a person who particularly enjoyed small talk. Even if he was one, he seldom, if ever at all, would have had a chance of putting it to use, as Mary Cullen was most often surrounded by her army of admirers.
He knew he wanted more than her sweet, mocking smiles if he was to have his peace, especially since the game of hopscotch in his stomach has developed further into a lively rendition of the quadrille. Yes, he must marry her some day, if only to ease his stomach's condition. Dreams of her Hidden Kisses were simply not enough.
He resented his ordinariness, for how could he ever win Mary Cullen if he could not even catch her attention for longer than a few seconds? Those dandy fops which insisted on following her around tried their very best to impress her with their flashy feathers and their wit, and it seemed that to some degree they succeeded, for Mary Cullen most liberally showered them with her sweet smiles. But he was certain that he had one thing which not one of those other boys had, and that was the memory of her Kiss. He had taken to stuffing his hand inside his pocket so the memory would not escape, and also because the shadow was still missing.
Now he understood his father's point in all those speeches. He knew he could never learn to strut about the way those other boys do, but he could learn something else that that certain lovely girl could come to admire in him. He thought of what a Respectable Somebody does to be respectable, and then came to the conclusion that becoming a Banker would certainly be respectable enough. He stuffed his head full of numbers, but at first he had a hard time going about this, for his mind was a clutter of leaves and sea spray and patches of blue sky and pirate booty and fairy dust.
And so he put away his childhood dreams in his mind's most secret drawer, which he then locked securely. He had no more time for distractions, and Never Land was such a huge place that he had a very hard time stuffing it all into that one small drawer. But somehow he did manage it, though sometimes a slip of it would persistently peek out and mess with the numbers he tried so hard to put in order inside his mind. But in time he had forgotten where he had put the key, so Never Land faded from his memory, locked up inside that drawer. And so faster than anybody else he grew up, as faster than anyone else he locked away his dreams, that he may faster than anyone else fill his head with numbers, that he may faster than anyone else win the lady's heart.
So when the time came that all the boys came calling at the Cullen's house for Mary's hand, they discovered that someone had gotten there already, and no more hands were being given away. They had all tried too hard to shine that they may be noticed, but Mary's eyes were drawn only to the one which cared the least about outshining the others. Of course, there was also the memory of that One Kiss to consider, for it lives not only inside the one it was given to, but inside the giver as well.
And then Wendy came. And then John. And then Michael.
And there never was a happier, simpler family.