Peter Pan lingered outside the nursery window. The winter's first snow had fallen, leaving a cold white across the steepled city. His dirty feet left muddy footprints in the snow, showing those who cared to notice that indeed, Nanna had been barking at something, and she was not old and senile. He crept closer to the window, the window shut from the cold. He wanted to go inside, to sit by the fire that burned in the nursery furnace. He could see Wendy, asleep in her bed, eight smaller beds lined against the walls. Eight smaller figures stirred in their sleep, their senses telling them to awake, that their beloved leader was once again outside their bedroom window. But they never woke when their senses ordered them to do so as they were in the Neverland of their dreams. Their dreams were as vivid as Neverland itself, and they relied on the dreams of Neverland to remind them on what they had once been. Wendy, however, never dreamt of Neverland the way it was. She always dreamt it as she thought it was now, that Hook was gone, and Peter had returned to Neverland.
Many nights she had spent staring into the stars, trying to remember which one was the passage way to Neverland. She remembered the address, "Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning!" as well as she remembered her own name, but she could not remember which star was the right, or which was the second. She sometimes wondered if she had ever been able to identify it, in the initial trip to Neverland. She felt that the directions were lost upon someone who was following Peter, who knew his way through the cosmos better than anyone in both worlds.
Peter crossed his legs, and floated in the seated position a few feet above the balcony floor. He never liked the cold, but he felt that if he imagined that he was warm, imagining with all of his being, that he would indeed feel as if he had his own toasty fire warming his frigid bones. The cold had never bothered him before, when he had sat outside the window, listening to the stories of Cinderella and Snow White. After he had left Wendy and the Lost Boys to London, he had never planned to return. He felt it better if he remembered Wendy the way she had been - young and beautiful, full of imagination. He did not want to see her age, as he knew she inevitably would, and go into the world of suitors and parties, only to be separated by the way of the world as she changed and evolved into a beautiful woman, her hidden kiss waiting for him - a kiss he knew he would never be able to have, as long as he was Peter Pan, and she was Wendy Darling.
He worked his dirty fingers under the knob that was the end of the lock on the window. The cold iron pressed into his fingertips, leaving rust colored indentions upon his hands. The lock pushed free, with only a small squeal of iron on iron, as rust broke free. He remembered Wendy telling him once, that the window would always be unlocked, if he ever cared to return - for the stories she assured him. It pained him to think that she had forgotten the promise, so he amounted the locked window to Mrs.Darling's carelessness. Wendy was never one to break a promise, and it was very likely that Mrs.Darling had indeed not known of the promise between them, and locked the window. He slid the large pane upwards, remembering how heavy it had seemed before. Once he had achieved enough room to get through, he crawled through, as he did not want to hit the creaky spot if he were to open it all the way. The creaking spot was one detail he remembered quite well, as he had narrowly escaped Nanna's snapping jaws numerous times when he had snuck into the nursery, when it was occupied by three.
He turned quickly as a long sigh escaped Wendy's lips.
"Peter?" Wendy whispered, her sleep-filled eyes clouded with dreams still swimming in her head. "I dreamed you returned...I've had this dream many times before. I shall resign this dream, as I know it cannot be."
Her small speech was followed with another sigh, though this one was filled with sorrow, and not the dreamy quality of the first. Peter remained frozen for moments after she had apparently drifted back to sleep. Feeling that he was once again safe to roam the room, he tip-toed to her bedside.
Her hair was spread like a halo around her face. She had not changed since his last visit. That comforted his lonely heart. If she had not changed, then maybe there was still a chance that he could be with her. He risked exposing his presence as he sat on the edge of her bed. Her auburn hair softly glowing against the soft, pale complexion of the girl he had often dreamt of. Her perfect lips were placed neatly on top of eachother, the hidden kiss creeping out of the right corner, as if luring Peter to take what belonged to him.
He leaned down, his face nearly six inches from hers, resisting the temptation to return the thimble she had given him on the Jolly Roger, not so long ago. He had longed for another thimble since she had returned to her city of skyscrapers and fog. He had spent many nights outside her window, watching as she stared into the night. He was careful to conceal his presence every time, unlike this visit. He had yearned to see her face not marred by the distortion of Victorian glass, nor her large, wonderful eyes glistening with unshed tears. His boy's mind liked to have pretended that he did not know why Wendy cried, but his heart knew why she had cried, and made him, yes, the great Peter Pan, want to cry also. But he had resisted, assuring himself that he would see her again someday, and she would no longer be crying of sadness, but of joys that he did not know.
He leaned closer, giving in to the temptation that had lived in him for what he though was forever. His lips grazed hers, and he imitated all that he had remembered from the thimble she had given him. He would have liked to consider this thimble a returning of the favor. But alas, once again, he knew in his heart of hearts otherwise.
He was jerked from his thoughts as a small squeak escaped from the creature below him. His first instinct was to fly up, and he did so, straight into the ceiling, nearly cracking his skull on the painted cloud. Wendy had sat straight up in her bed, her fingers lightly touching her lips.
"If this were a dream, I would not have felt that kiss!" She whispered excitedly.
"A kiss? That was no kiss! It was a thimble!" Peter replied somewhat indignantly, slowly descending down to the nursery floor.
"Peter, you are really here? I am not dreaming that I felt the ki- the thimble?" Wendy asked, her large clear eyes no longer clouded with sleep, but full of curiousity and wonder.
"Would you like to be dreaming?" Peter asked, wondering if there was actually a correct answer to this question.
"Peter, you haven't changed a bit! No, I wish to be awake, and you to really be in my nursery, standing there in front of me." Wendy told him with a giggle.
"Well, then, yes, you are awake." Peter answered quizzically, having no idea where this conversation was headed, or what she had meant.
"Oh, joy! I had wished you would come back. I wished every night since we returned. Have you done the same for me?" Wendy asked, leaving her bed, her white nightgown falling to her ankles, a luminous glow surrounding her.
"Why does that matter?" He asked, backing away as she started towards him. "I wished to see you, so I came."
"Have you been here before? Nanna is always barking, at night, and the neighbors are starting to complain. Father says it is because she is old, but I told him that it was because you were visiting us. He laughed at that, but I thought it was true, and it was!" Wendy chattered excitedly, her formerly pale cheeks now full of a rosy hue. "Do you plan to return to Neverland, or will you stay? Oh, won't you stay? Even for just a night, the boys have missed you terribly. Mother would like to meet you, and I'm sure Father and Aunt Millicent will be just as excited!"
Peter tried to remain confident, but all of her chatter was starting to make him lightheaded. Was he to stay in London? Even if it were just for a few days? He would not mind seeing the boys again, he missed them almost as much as he had missed Wendy. What unnerved him was the possibility of staying in London for good. He reminded himself that he was always to be a boy, and to have fun, but as Wendy's questions began to seep in, and their meaning understood, he began to wonder if even Neverland could save him from growing up.
"I-I do not know what I will do." He stammered, his blue eyes round with puzzlement. "I-I...I.."
"You what, Peter?" Wendy asked, trying to hide the tiny smile that was creeping up on her. She had never seen him so bewildered.
"I-I...oh, nevermind." He muttered, trying to save some of his dignity after all of the stuttering.
The large clocktower (Big Tim, Peter thought it was called) bonged the three o'clock hour to them. Peter wondered how long her had been in London. He had not bothered to check the time before leaving Neverland, because it entailed that you would track the crocodile down, and wait near it until the hour chimed. he had not wanted to waste that time.
"Peter, it is dreadfully late. Tomorrow is a Tuesday, so I will have to go to school. Mother might let me stay home tomorrow, if you stay with us, but I need to rest, in case you are not here when I wake up. Tell me, Peter, will you be here when I awake?" Wendy asked, trying to hide the sadness that crept in her voice.
"I-I...I will be here, Wendy." Peter replied assertively, nodding his head.
"Thank you, Peter! Thank you!" She rushed at him, hugging him hard, and taking him by surprise. "You may sleep wherever you wish tonight, and I will see you in the morning!"
Wendy crawled under her heavy comforter, smiling broadly all the while. Peter sat at the foot of her bed, watching her until she fell asleep. Once he was sure she was asleep, he started to creep toward the window, hoping to make a quick escape. He turned to glance at his Wendy, and he realized that he could not leave her. He had told her that he would be with her in the morning, and he did not plan to break that promise. Peter Pan was always good for his word.
Upon his decision to stay, Peter looked about the nursery for a place to sleep. He glanced on all of the nine beds, noting how civil Wendy appeared in her sleep, while his Lost Boys were splayed about as if they were tossed ragdolls. He spotted a blanket folded on the shelf, and the empty space at the end of Wendy's bed. He retrieved the blanket, and spread it out. To his surprise, it appeared to be some sort of quilt. Tiny stitches covered the large top, takinng two glancces to be recognized as a map of Neverland. Peter could easily identify every landmark on the map, and noted that the large rectangular map was lined with figures. Each figure had a different appearance, and under each figure was a name, stitched as neatly as the figure themselves. He recognized each of the Lost Boys (he recognized their appearances, not their names, as he could only spell his own name and Wendy's, as Wendy had taught him in their adventures), Tootles, Nibs, Slightly, Curly, Twins, John and Michael. In the corner, there were two unfinished figures. The names had already been stitched, but the figures themselves were only half finished. WENDY AND PETER was stitched as carefully as could be, underneath the two figures. In the opposite corner, initials had been stitched. He recognized the letters (he could not spell or read to save his life, but he did know the alphabet - once again, as Wendy had taught him) to be W M A D. He had no clear idea what these letters meant, but he knew that Wendy started with a W, and also had a D in it, but these letters did not spell WENDY. Purely mystified, he settled on not dwelling on it, and tried to remind himself to ask Wendy about it in the morning. In the meantime, he was ready to sleep. He told himself that he was staying in London because he was too tired to fly back to Neverland. He carefully flew above Wendy's bed, and sdoftly deposited himself at the foot of her bed, curling up like a small kitten, and covering himself with the quilt.
Once he was comfortable, he settled into a calm sleep. A calm sleep that was all too soon interrupted by the shrill shouts and squeals of eight little boys, all too happy to see that their leader (former make-believe father, and the love of a brother) had returned to them.
"Peter has returned!"
Many nights she had spent staring into the stars, trying to remember which one was the passage way to Neverland. She remembered the address, "Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning!" as well as she remembered her own name, but she could not remember which star was the right, or which was the second. She sometimes wondered if she had ever been able to identify it, in the initial trip to Neverland. She felt that the directions were lost upon someone who was following Peter, who knew his way through the cosmos better than anyone in both worlds.
Peter crossed his legs, and floated in the seated position a few feet above the balcony floor. He never liked the cold, but he felt that if he imagined that he was warm, imagining with all of his being, that he would indeed feel as if he had his own toasty fire warming his frigid bones. The cold had never bothered him before, when he had sat outside the window, listening to the stories of Cinderella and Snow White. After he had left Wendy and the Lost Boys to London, he had never planned to return. He felt it better if he remembered Wendy the way she had been - young and beautiful, full of imagination. He did not want to see her age, as he knew she inevitably would, and go into the world of suitors and parties, only to be separated by the way of the world as she changed and evolved into a beautiful woman, her hidden kiss waiting for him - a kiss he knew he would never be able to have, as long as he was Peter Pan, and she was Wendy Darling.
He worked his dirty fingers under the knob that was the end of the lock on the window. The cold iron pressed into his fingertips, leaving rust colored indentions upon his hands. The lock pushed free, with only a small squeal of iron on iron, as rust broke free. He remembered Wendy telling him once, that the window would always be unlocked, if he ever cared to return - for the stories she assured him. It pained him to think that she had forgotten the promise, so he amounted the locked window to Mrs.Darling's carelessness. Wendy was never one to break a promise, and it was very likely that Mrs.Darling had indeed not known of the promise between them, and locked the window. He slid the large pane upwards, remembering how heavy it had seemed before. Once he had achieved enough room to get through, he crawled through, as he did not want to hit the creaky spot if he were to open it all the way. The creaking spot was one detail he remembered quite well, as he had narrowly escaped Nanna's snapping jaws numerous times when he had snuck into the nursery, when it was occupied by three.
He turned quickly as a long sigh escaped Wendy's lips.
"Peter?" Wendy whispered, her sleep-filled eyes clouded with dreams still swimming in her head. "I dreamed you returned...I've had this dream many times before. I shall resign this dream, as I know it cannot be."
Her small speech was followed with another sigh, though this one was filled with sorrow, and not the dreamy quality of the first. Peter remained frozen for moments after she had apparently drifted back to sleep. Feeling that he was once again safe to roam the room, he tip-toed to her bedside.
Her hair was spread like a halo around her face. She had not changed since his last visit. That comforted his lonely heart. If she had not changed, then maybe there was still a chance that he could be with her. He risked exposing his presence as he sat on the edge of her bed. Her auburn hair softly glowing against the soft, pale complexion of the girl he had often dreamt of. Her perfect lips were placed neatly on top of eachother, the hidden kiss creeping out of the right corner, as if luring Peter to take what belonged to him.
He leaned down, his face nearly six inches from hers, resisting the temptation to return the thimble she had given him on the Jolly Roger, not so long ago. He had longed for another thimble since she had returned to her city of skyscrapers and fog. He had spent many nights outside her window, watching as she stared into the night. He was careful to conceal his presence every time, unlike this visit. He had yearned to see her face not marred by the distortion of Victorian glass, nor her large, wonderful eyes glistening with unshed tears. His boy's mind liked to have pretended that he did not know why Wendy cried, but his heart knew why she had cried, and made him, yes, the great Peter Pan, want to cry also. But he had resisted, assuring himself that he would see her again someday, and she would no longer be crying of sadness, but of joys that he did not know.
He leaned closer, giving in to the temptation that had lived in him for what he though was forever. His lips grazed hers, and he imitated all that he had remembered from the thimble she had given him. He would have liked to consider this thimble a returning of the favor. But alas, once again, he knew in his heart of hearts otherwise.
He was jerked from his thoughts as a small squeak escaped from the creature below him. His first instinct was to fly up, and he did so, straight into the ceiling, nearly cracking his skull on the painted cloud. Wendy had sat straight up in her bed, her fingers lightly touching her lips.
"If this were a dream, I would not have felt that kiss!" She whispered excitedly.
"A kiss? That was no kiss! It was a thimble!" Peter replied somewhat indignantly, slowly descending down to the nursery floor.
"Peter, you are really here? I am not dreaming that I felt the ki- the thimble?" Wendy asked, her large clear eyes no longer clouded with sleep, but full of curiousity and wonder.
"Would you like to be dreaming?" Peter asked, wondering if there was actually a correct answer to this question.
"Peter, you haven't changed a bit! No, I wish to be awake, and you to really be in my nursery, standing there in front of me." Wendy told him with a giggle.
"Well, then, yes, you are awake." Peter answered quizzically, having no idea where this conversation was headed, or what she had meant.
"Oh, joy! I had wished you would come back. I wished every night since we returned. Have you done the same for me?" Wendy asked, leaving her bed, her white nightgown falling to her ankles, a luminous glow surrounding her.
"Why does that matter?" He asked, backing away as she started towards him. "I wished to see you, so I came."
"Have you been here before? Nanna is always barking, at night, and the neighbors are starting to complain. Father says it is because she is old, but I told him that it was because you were visiting us. He laughed at that, but I thought it was true, and it was!" Wendy chattered excitedly, her formerly pale cheeks now full of a rosy hue. "Do you plan to return to Neverland, or will you stay? Oh, won't you stay? Even for just a night, the boys have missed you terribly. Mother would like to meet you, and I'm sure Father and Aunt Millicent will be just as excited!"
Peter tried to remain confident, but all of her chatter was starting to make him lightheaded. Was he to stay in London? Even if it were just for a few days? He would not mind seeing the boys again, he missed them almost as much as he had missed Wendy. What unnerved him was the possibility of staying in London for good. He reminded himself that he was always to be a boy, and to have fun, but as Wendy's questions began to seep in, and their meaning understood, he began to wonder if even Neverland could save him from growing up.
"I-I do not know what I will do." He stammered, his blue eyes round with puzzlement. "I-I...I.."
"You what, Peter?" Wendy asked, trying to hide the tiny smile that was creeping up on her. She had never seen him so bewildered.
"I-I...oh, nevermind." He muttered, trying to save some of his dignity after all of the stuttering.
The large clocktower (Big Tim, Peter thought it was called) bonged the three o'clock hour to them. Peter wondered how long her had been in London. He had not bothered to check the time before leaving Neverland, because it entailed that you would track the crocodile down, and wait near it until the hour chimed. he had not wanted to waste that time.
"Peter, it is dreadfully late. Tomorrow is a Tuesday, so I will have to go to school. Mother might let me stay home tomorrow, if you stay with us, but I need to rest, in case you are not here when I wake up. Tell me, Peter, will you be here when I awake?" Wendy asked, trying to hide the sadness that crept in her voice.
"I-I...I will be here, Wendy." Peter replied assertively, nodding his head.
"Thank you, Peter! Thank you!" She rushed at him, hugging him hard, and taking him by surprise. "You may sleep wherever you wish tonight, and I will see you in the morning!"
Wendy crawled under her heavy comforter, smiling broadly all the while. Peter sat at the foot of her bed, watching her until she fell asleep. Once he was sure she was asleep, he started to creep toward the window, hoping to make a quick escape. He turned to glance at his Wendy, and he realized that he could not leave her. He had told her that he would be with her in the morning, and he did not plan to break that promise. Peter Pan was always good for his word.
Upon his decision to stay, Peter looked about the nursery for a place to sleep. He glanced on all of the nine beds, noting how civil Wendy appeared in her sleep, while his Lost Boys were splayed about as if they were tossed ragdolls. He spotted a blanket folded on the shelf, and the empty space at the end of Wendy's bed. He retrieved the blanket, and spread it out. To his surprise, it appeared to be some sort of quilt. Tiny stitches covered the large top, takinng two glancces to be recognized as a map of Neverland. Peter could easily identify every landmark on the map, and noted that the large rectangular map was lined with figures. Each figure had a different appearance, and under each figure was a name, stitched as neatly as the figure themselves. He recognized each of the Lost Boys (he recognized their appearances, not their names, as he could only spell his own name and Wendy's, as Wendy had taught him in their adventures), Tootles, Nibs, Slightly, Curly, Twins, John and Michael. In the corner, there were two unfinished figures. The names had already been stitched, but the figures themselves were only half finished. WENDY AND PETER was stitched as carefully as could be, underneath the two figures. In the opposite corner, initials had been stitched. He recognized the letters (he could not spell or read to save his life, but he did know the alphabet - once again, as Wendy had taught him) to be W M A D. He had no clear idea what these letters meant, but he knew that Wendy started with a W, and also had a D in it, but these letters did not spell WENDY. Purely mystified, he settled on not dwelling on it, and tried to remind himself to ask Wendy about it in the morning. In the meantime, he was ready to sleep. He told himself that he was staying in London because he was too tired to fly back to Neverland. He carefully flew above Wendy's bed, and sdoftly deposited himself at the foot of her bed, curling up like a small kitten, and covering himself with the quilt.
Once he was comfortable, he settled into a calm sleep. A calm sleep that was all too soon interrupted by the shrill shouts and squeals of eight little boys, all too happy to see that their leader (former make-believe father, and the love of a brother) had returned to them.
"Peter has returned!"