"Peter," Mamma called me. I was perched on the roof, looking over the rooftops of London. Smog hung heavy over the rooftops. I coughed. "Peter!" Mamma screamed when she saw me. Her swollen belly heaved when she sucked her breath in.
I closed my eyes.
I can do this.
I can fly.
I will fly.
The fairies told me that I can if I believed.
I stood up and held up my hands lengthwise. I can fly. I will soar above smoggy London. Below me, Mamma screamed for my step-father. "William! Peter's gone mad again! William!"
William, my step-father, came out from inside our house. He was a shoemaker.
I jumped. Wind rushed past my face and I landed feet-first onto the cobble-stone road. Pain exploded in my left ankle and darkness engulfed me.
"He will be all right, Mrs. Tinker. It's just a sprained ankle." I opened my eyes. I was lying on the Big Bed, the light of a flickering candle making the room glow orange. I saw Dr. Blyton smiling at Mamma. "I suggest you send him to the mad-house for inspection. He might have a mental disorder."
"The mad-house!" Mamma gasped the dreaded word. Dr. Albright, Dr. Williamson, Dr. Boyle, and Dr. Calamy all told Mamma to send me to the mad-house. They said I was mad in attempting to fly. "Men will never fly," William told me. "Git that into your head, lad." I don't believe him. We will fly some day. We must.
The mad-house was where all the mad-people go. People are kept in cages, chained to walls, and so forth.
No one saw my eyes open. I kept my eyes close.
Mamma and William sat down at the table outside the Big Room where they slept. They ate in silence. "We cannot let this go on, Enid," William said.
"Let what go on, Will?" Mamma asked. She spooned stew into her mouth and dabbed her mouth with a corner of her apron.
"Peter's madness. This is the fifth doctor that has come and the fifth that suggested we send him to the mad-house. He must go for inspection. This cannot go on." He hissed the last words.
Mamma's eyes were full of horror. Her face was chalk-white and her eyeballs bulged out of her head. "Clearly," she whispered but I could hear her, "you do not care about him. For he is not your son."
My real papa, Peter Jonathan Pan, was a miner. He went to Scotland to work in the coal mines there. Mamma told me the mine blew up, killing everything in it. I was only ten months old. Mamma says I am in every way like him. She says I am a ten-year-old version of him: curly red hair, bright brown eyes, a freckled nose, a strange sense of humor, and a head full of dreams. Mamma married William Tinker when I was six. I loathed him.
A thought came to my head: What if William wanted to get rid of me, because Mamma was expecting another baby? He loathed me too. He wants to get rid of me. Well I will not let him be rid of me. As soon as the ankle is mended, I will leave 143 DoLittle Street and be rid of William forever.
I closed my eyes and went to sleep.
"Peter," Mamma whispered. I woke up. "Where is William?" said I.
"At the Salisbury Arms with his friends. Why?"
"Why does William hate me, Mamma?" I asked. I sat up in bed. She had a plate of stew in her hands. She spooned some onto a wooden spoon and fed me. I ate slowly. Mamma sighed.
"I dunno, Peter. Maybe because you are not his son." She stroked her belly. I looked at it and loathed the baby within.
"Mamma. If this sister or brother is born, will you love it more than you love me?" I asked and stroked the belly. I thought I felt the baby squirm. I recoiled.
"No Peter. I will love you as much as I love this baby." Mamma leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "But please do not go jumping off roofs again. You nearly gave me a fright!" I giggled and Mamma giggled with me. Mamma touched my hand. I looked out the window. "You've grown taller again, Peter. Please don't grow up so fast." She held me close. "Please stay my little Peter Pan."
I looked at The Star. I have always felt a connection to it. Maybe because the fairies told me about it. It was called Neverland. It was the second star to the right. One day, when I fly, I will fly there and stay young forever and ever.
William thrust a piece of paper at me. Mamma picked it up and looked at it. "What is this, William?" she said. I swallowed. I knew what it was. I had written many times on this paper: i bleev in farees.
"I believe in fairies!" William spat. "There are no such things as fairies. Goshallmighty I'll send that boy to the mad-house!"
Mamma's arm wrapped me around protectively. "No William. We will not send Peter to the mad-house. Is that understood?" she hissed. I have never seen Mamma like that. William recoiled. His face flushed a bright red and he stormed out of my room.
Mamma, with trembling hands, picked up the paper. "Did you write this, Peter?"
"Yes Mamma." I broke into a whine. "But Mamma. I do believe in fairies! I can see them! They twinkle in the night, flitting about here and there. They tell me wonderful things, Mamma. They told me that I can fly if I believed. William just killed a fairy. They told me if someone said, 'I don't believe in fairies.' There is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead! Mamma, Mamma, are you okay?"
She was trembling. Her whole body was trembling. Mamma smiled. "Where are they now, Peter?"
I blinked. The second I opened my eyes, gold lights filled the room. They flittered on their wings, as thin as dragonfly's. I pointed. "There. By the bedpost. That one. Her name is Tinkerbell. She is the prettiest and my friend. Actually Mamma, they are all my friends. And that one over there is Silverdust. She is a bit mean sometimes. Oh!" I gasped. I got out and limped to Mamma's slippers. Little Twinklestar was dead. Her light had gone out. Tears brimmed. I picked her up. I brought her back to the bed. "Oh Mamma. William killed Twinkle! Can you see her, Mamma?"
Mamma extended her pinky. She touched Twinklestar's gold hair. "Yes," she whispered as if she could not believe it. "I can feel her Peter..." Tears rolled down her cheeks and she kissed my forehead.
Three men dressed in white came home with William. "Enid," William explained softly. "The men are here to inspect Peter." Mamma went rigid. My ankle had mended. I stood next to her, practicing my reading.
"We won't hurt you little boy," said one with a bushy beard. "We are just going to do some test."
They brought me into my room. They stripped me down to my waist and told me to open my mouth. They poked me with little things. They tested my reading and my reflexes. I was healthy. William looked angry.
"Gentlemen," said he. "May I talk to you?" They went into the Big Room. They were there for a long time. Mamma came in and gave me a biscuit. When I ate, they came back out.
"I am sorry, Mrs. Tinker," said Bushy Beard, "but little Peter here is to come with us."
Mamma gave a cry of anguish and sank onto her knees. They dressed me gently. They were taking me away. I could hear my mamma crying. They made Mamma cry! When I was dressed, Bushy Beard took my hand but I bit his hand. I darted out the door and into the cold London streets.
I curled up on a bench. I was shivering. Where were the fairies? I have not seen them for nearly a year. I was eleven now. The child of William's will be a year old. Maybe I could go home... and see Mamma. But William will take me away to the mad-house. I shivered. I had no choice. I had better go home lest freeze to death.
The houses became familiar. I saw 143 DoLittle Lane. I quickened my pace. I lifted my hand to rap on the door when the knob turned. I panicked and fled to behind a wall. William and Mamma came out. A babe was in Mamma's arms, wrapped tightly. Mamma smiled and kissed the baby's nose. I choked on tears. Mamma had lied to me. She loved the baby more than me. She had lied to me.
William was smiling. I cursed him. He had gotten what he wanted. A child of his own without me in the middle. I turned and ran, the wind whipping my hair.
I heard a tinkle at my ear. I turned and saw Tinkerbell. "Tink!" I exclaimed and held out my hand. She rested on my palm. I kissed her tiny head. She tinkled.
"What are you saying? You mean I can fly now? Really? How?" I closed my eyes and started believing. I can fly, I will fly, I must fly. I was lifted two feet into the air. "Goshallmighty! Where are we going, Tink? Second star to the right and straight onto morning? Neverland," I breathed. I smiled and flew over the smoggy rooftops.
Second star to the right and straight onto morning.
Thus began the adventures of Peter Pan in Neverland.
The End