Wendy:
I awoke and turned over in my warm bed, drowsily looking out the window. It was night, but the sky was that blue-gray color with undertones of purple that made me think that it was going to snow again before morning. The nursery still smelled of Michael's nighttime cinnamon roll snack, and the lamp glowed softly in the corner. I was almost glad to have awoken and experienced this moment. Sighing, I smiled and closed my eyes, drifting into a hazy dreamland.
I dreamed I was in the nursery, and John was standing outside the window. What a strange thing to do! I smiled in my sleep and the image faded to one of a warm fire and hot cocoa with my cousins on Christmas Eve. The dream made me snuggle farther under my warm covers until only the top of my head was visible.
Once again, I dreamed of the nursery, and John was opening the window. I was too warm and sleepy to go help him, so I stayed under the covers. I was drifting back into sleep for the second time when I felt the draft of icy air and realized that the window really had been opened.
I stiffened under my covers, and thought of all the stories of monsters that came in the night for little children, although I was 17 and no longer believed in those things. I lay still, listening intently, and heard a soft whooshing sound, then the sound of soft footsteps. They sounded like an adult's, but lighter, as if the person had no shoes on. What a ridiculous idea! Who would not wear shoes in the middle of winter? I was beginning to think that I was just having a very real dream when I felt a presence directly above me.
How was that possible? Perhaps it was a tall adult bending over my bed, yet they seemed to be higher above me than any adult I had yet met. A ghost! Unwillingly, I gripped the covers and thrust them aside.
I was staring straight into the sea-green eyes of an incredibly handsome young man with tousled sandy-golden hair. His expression went from curious to astonished to terrified in an instant, and, unbelievably, he was floating above my bed! He jerked back so fast that he hit the ceiling, then flew outside.
Doubting my sanity and the abilities of the cook at last night's restaurant, I pinched myself—it hurt—and rolled over, firmly shutting out the world with my bedcovers.
One dream later, I realized that the window really had been open and awoke with a start.
This was real. I didn't understand it, but that didn't take away from the reality of the boy—actually a young man about my age—sitting on the floor near the foot of my bed, shoulders shaking with sobs. I examined him curiously. He was lean and well-muscled, to the point where his arms were well-defined even when relaxed, and he was dressed in strange clothes that looked like something out of a play about the Indians in America—short brown pants/rags and odd straps that looked like leafy vines crisscrossing his shoulders. He did not wear a shirt, and his feet were bare and dirty.
"Boy," I began, feeling a strange catch in my throat. "Why are you crying?"
He whirled so fast that I jerked back, startled, and stood before me, arms akimbo in a kind of strange, almost militaristic stance. "I wasn't crying", he said defiantly, but it came out as a stammer.
"You were."
He crossed his arms. "Who are you?"
I looked curiously at him. His expression was nothing short of laughable, though he seemed to have a great deal of confidence when he wasn't staring at me with absolute…fascination. His eyes, which went well with his sandy-blond, tousled hair, were the deepest, clearest sea-green I had ever seen, and he a tanned face and strong, handsome features. I found it difficult to answer for a moment, and frowned at my somewhat childish answer.
"Wendy Angela Darling. What is your name?"
"Peter. Peter Pan."
"Well, Peter, why were you crying?"
He shrugged, and it seemed that he was having some kind of internal struggle. "My shadow won't stay." He held up something that looked like a black piece of cloth until it moved and I saw that it was his shadow. It stuck out its tongue at him. I smiled.
"Here," I said, ignoring the fact that this was just as strange as his ability to fly—or had I imagined that? I stood up and walked to the dresser. Opening the top drawer, I got out my needle and thread. I went and sat on the floor by him, unconsciously noting how warm he was compared to the still-open window, and took hold of the shadow, which began to struggle. "This may hurt a bit."
He nodded vaguely, a faraway look in his eyes, and I began to sew. He didn't even flinch, but had a half-smile on his face when I finished. He stood up and inspected his shadow, which once again obeyed his every motion. Handsome face lit with joy, he flashed me a cocky smile and cried, "Oh, the cleverness of me!"
I frowned at him. "And I did nothing."
He grinned at me. "Oh, you did a little."
I stared, then shrugged and turned away from him, climbing into bed. "Good night, Peter Pan," I said, not missing the sudden look of confusion on his face.
I didn't hear anything for a moment, and with a sudden flash of disappointment I thought that the dream was over, that the rude but oh-so-handsome boy was gone and I would never see him again. I found out otherwise, feeling warmth on my back as Peter Pan leaned over my bed. My whole body went tense as he said softly, "Wendy…one girl is worth ten boys."
Feeling strangely giddy, I turned to look up into those sea-green eyes, my face alight with a stupid smile. He grinned and stood akimbo once again as I got out of bed slowly.
I could hardly believe myself as I said softly, "I should like…to give you a kiss." Before I could stop myself, I was walking toward him and stopping before him, face tilted upward, eyes closed. Nothing happened. My hope was beginning to crumble when he cleared his throat and my eyes snapped open. I looked at him, confused: he was holding out his hand as if to take something. "Don't- don't you know what a kiss is?"
His eyes held a strange expression, a kind of smoldering, but he only said, "I shall know when you give me one."
What a strange boy! I realized that he meant a material object, so I hunted around for a moment before handing him a thimble. He looked at it, then, satisfied, put it on the end of his finger and pulled a large seed off his necklace. Handing it to me—he smelled of the forest and wonderful spices—he looked at me as if for approval. I smiled and took it from him. "Someday," I said, "I should like to give you a thimble." He did not understand, and I did not mean for him to. Not yet.
The strange expression on his face did not go away, and I was about to ask him if he was well when he turned a burning gaze on me and said in a voice that was somewhat hoarse, "Come with me, Wendy. Come to Neverland."
I didn't care if he was real or a dream (though my heart told me that he was real). I didn't care about anything. All I wanted was to stare into his ageless eyes the color of the sea, smell the forest and spices, and sit within range of his powerful warmth. But where was Neverland? My face lit up as I realized that it was his home. "Yes, I will come." His face regained its astonished look for a moment and he took a step backward—I still could not figure out what that look was for—then regained his composure and smiled at me with a look that made me believe that I was the only thing he saw at the moment. Flustered, I looked toward my brothers' beds. "What about John and Michael?"
"Who?" He honestly seemed unaware that there were others in the room.
"My little brothers. May they come?"
"Wha- Sure, of course."
I woke up John and Michael, who protested at the intrusion until Peter sprinkled fairy dust on them and they flew around the room shouting. I tried to get them to be quiet, and they flew out the window. Startled, I ran after them, but Peter Pan grabbed my arm. "They'll be fine," he said. "Besides, you can't fly. Yet." He sprinkled fairy dust on me in a golden-white shower, and I rose to the ceiling, gasping with wonder at the incredulity of it and the sheer feeling of being weightless.
Peter flew out the window, and I started to follow when something made me stop and turn back toward the nursery and the three empty little beds. How could I leave without saying goodbye or where I was going? Mother and Father would be worried sick! I clenched my hand to stop from biting my nails, a habit I had had since I was very small.
"Wendy?" Peter's voice came from behind me.
"Mother! Father! Nana!" I said softly, more to myself than to him. Suddenly I felt the cold of the open window once again.
He came up behind me and took my shoulders in his hands, making an effort to be as gentle as possible despite his obvious ignorance of such things—he wore a sword and a dagger—and causing me to stiffen with surprise. Despite not daring to, I glanced back at him and found his face very near to mine. He brought his mouth to my ear and whispered, "Come away with me. Come away to Neverland, where you'll never, ever have to worry about grown-up things again."
I turned to face him, not realizing how close he was but staying where I was just the same, and did not pull away when he took my hand in his. "Never," I said slowly, "is an awfully long time."
He looked into my eyes as a smile slowly spread across his face.
Please please please read and REVIEW! Should I continue this (go to Neverland, meet Hook etc.) or not? Please tell me what you think! Thanks much:)
Me'shell: What? What are you talking about? Wendy may be a Micronesian name, but this is ENGLAND, for crying out loud! You know, "flavour" instead of "flavor"? Yeah, that's all I have to say about that.