"I'm sorry Mr. Darling, there really isn't anything we can do. We can put her on chemotherapy, we can do multiple operations, we can move her permanently into the hospital, we can even get a homeopathic doctor to fill her up with herbs, but there really isn't much hope."
"So Angela is going to die. I need to go tell my daughter that for all the machines, all the research, all the time we've spent in this bloody hospital being told nothing is wrong, you can't help? For the last month I've dragged my daughter in here to be checked out, how could you miss a cancerous tumor on her brain?"
"Mr. Darling, we'll do everything we can—"
"Well there's a damn relief! Maybe if you'd done all you could before now, my daughter would still have a chance of seeing eighteen!"
The door of the exam room slammed open and my father stormed out. His green eyes were shooting sparks and his face was taunt with anger. The doctor, a pale, wiry man with large, sunken eyes, hurried out after my father looking windswept and harassed.
"Come on, Andy," Dad said, taking my hand. "Let's go. There's no more reason to stay here."
"Mr. Darling–" the doctor said, and edge of fear and anxiety on his voice.
"Doctor Mitchell," my father said, raising his voice as he continued down the hall. "I don't want to hear anymore of your excuses. You will hear from me within the coming week to discuss how I will move forward. Good day, Doctor."
My father and I didn't speak as we walked down to the car. I opened my mouthy many times to say something, anything, to scream, to ask a question, just to do something. I couldn't make a sound. "So Angela is going to die," kept running through my head.
It was strange, hearing the name "Angela." Yes, it was my given name, but I'd never gone by it, not since I was five years old. My little sister, Wendalen, had just started to speak and it was easier for her to say "Andy" instead of "Angie" and the name had stuck. I hated the name Angela. Whenever someone used that name, it meant bad news or punishment.The thought of my name's connotation made a lump swell in my throat.
As we stepped out of the building into the cool, cloudy evening, Dad stopped. He hugged me tightly, crushing me to him. I felt him shaking.
"I'm sorry, Andy," he whispered. "I'm sorry there's nothing to be done."
I wanted to tell him that it was all right, that I didn't blame him. I knew it wasn't my father's fault that I had cancer, but it wasn't okay. This wasn't even close to okay.
"It's not your fault, Daddy," I whispered. "Sometimes bad things just happen.
That night, I lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. I wasn't sure how I felt exactly. I was a little scared, a little angry, a little shocked, and a little disbelieving. I hadn't really faced it yet. A tumor on my brain, how could you just wake up one day with a tumor? Something in my head was slowly killing me. It was unreal. It was like some sort of weird dream.
Suddenly, I gasped and clutched my head as pain ripped through my brain. I gritted my teeth to keep from yelling. My body curled, all my muscles clenching with the agony. Oh it hurt, it hurt so terribly.
As the pain receded, I dropped back into my pillows. I remembered my Granny Maggie's favorite saying. "When you're in pain, think of something else and you'll be better again.
Thinking of Granny Maggie made me smile. She'd died a year ago, just four days after my fifteenth birthday. She'd been such a funny old woman. My parents had left me with her during the day before I'd started school and I'd spent afternoons with her whenever I could. She'd tell me the best stories. Granny Maggie was the person who made me want to be a writer. She had never scolded me or told me to grow up or act my age. In fact, she had a brass plaque under her doorbell with the inscription: "Through these doors, time will stop. No growing, oh no, you shall not. Let time move on around out here. Come in and be young, my darling dear." When Granny died, I took the plaque and hung it on my bedroom door. She had always called me her "Darling dear." Granny Maggie was my mother's mother; she was also the one carrying the Darling name. Wendy Darling, my great-great-great-grandmother had asked that the name Darling be passed on no matter whether the Darling family member was a girl or boy. Granny Maggie told me that Wendy wanted it that way so that Peter Pan could always find our family. Granny said that she'd moved out of this house and let us move in for the same reason, so Peter Pan could find the youngest female child in the Darling family if he came to take her to Neverland for spring-cleaning.
I smiled in the darkness. Peter Pan. Nothing reminded me of Granny Maggie like Peter Pan stories. I loved hearing them; I couldn't sleep without hearing a story about Peter and the Lost Boys. They were more real to me than anything else.
I climbed out of bed and walked to the window. This window was my favorite thing to look at. The bright stained glass pictures of pirate ships and fairies always calmed me down. I opened the window and stepped out onto the small ledge. The cool night breeze coiled around me and I breathed deep. I remembered a small prayer Granny Maggie had made me memorize. She told me that if I said it, Tinkerbell would tell Peter that he was needed and he'd come to me.
Silliness, I thought. I turned away from the brilliant blanket of stars and started back into the nursery. I was too old for that sort of thing anyway.
I imagined Granny's face if she'd have ever heard me say something like that. What could it hurt? It was just a simple thing to say and it's not like anyone would ever know.
I turned back to the sky and stepped completely out onto the ledge. I said the lines in my head a few times to be sure that I had them down. I took a deep breath and said:
"Peter Pan, Peter Pan, come to me now.
You never grow up, you never grow old.
Teach me to ride the wind's back and away we go.
Peter Pan, Peter Pan, come to me now."
Nothing happened. I stood there with my arms out and my eyes closed. Part of me was really hoping that something would happen, but the grown up part of me snickered.
Don't be so stupid, I thought, furious with myself. Granny Maggie's stories are just getting to you because you're stressed out. There's no such thing as Peter Pan or fairies or Neverland. None of it means anything.
I dropped my arms and glared around at the night, wondering if anyone had seen. Fairies indeed, calling Peter Pan, ha, childish nonsense.
"There's no such thing-" but I stopped. I had fully intended to say "There's no such thing as fairies," but I couldn't say it. Part of me still wondered if it was true.
I smiled ruefully at myself and looked up. I could see the two stars Granny Maggie had always pointed out to me. "You did quite the dance on me, Granny," I whispered, my heart giving a sad little dip in my chest. "I can't even say the things I want to anymore."
I went back into my room and made to close the window. I didn't close it though; I decided to leave it open, what was the harm.
"Goodnight Peter," I said as I clambered back into bed and flicked off the light. "Maybe you will come. Round about time for spring cleaning, isn't it?"
I closed my eyes and instantly drifted off. So I never saw the little sparkling light that flew through my room, I never saw the shadow tiptoeing across the wall, I never heard Nana the Sixth barking. Nor did I see the boy fly onto the windowsill. I didn't know that he came and stood by my bed or hear him say, "You'll be perfect. I'll be back for you soon."
Well, here's the first chapter. Please R&R whether you like it or not. This is only my second fic, so give me the benefit of the doubt. I'll give you reviews if I get one from you.
PS- please check out my Harry Potter fic as well.