The Playwright: The Escapades of JM Barrie
Chapter 4
Terrible Masterpiece

Inside: A story and an entry.

A/N: Tell your friends, people! If you really love it that much, then tell your friends! The more people that know, the more reviews I get, the faster I write, and the faster you get the next installment!

Special Thanks to oi-oi-oi who actually went on and read my story, Authoress. And what's more, she actually had a few of her friends read it and voice their opinions as well! If anyone else wants to read, it's only a chapter long so far because of lack of reviews, and it's on My penname is the same as on here, "meredithajones." Tell me what you think/if I should continue, please! 5 reviews for chapter 2 of it! Thank you so much!

Sorry for the late update...I went to All County Chorus thing (ECMEA) and it took away all or Friday and Saturday and I would have finished this within those 2 days...but I did write some, there, so you should be happy about that!

I JUST NOTICED...I have passed my 1 year anniversary on March 4th was it. Thank you to everyone for keepin me on here! Wish me a happy anniversary! And luck to stay on!

9 DAYS (from today) UNTIL NEVERLAND ON DVD!

A FUN QUOTE: "You're even more of a bitch than my dog." -JM Barrie (lol KatrinaKaiba)


Wednesday

A man like J.M. Barrie could use a million words to describe the park covered in snow, but today he chooses only one word:

Perfect.

Each crystal settling in the right place, on the right objects, lightly dusting the trees and powdering the benches. It didn't stop anyone from going out, though. Children were running around and rolling around on the ground while their parents sat on the benches with umbrellas, not wanting to ruin their perfectly tailored and cleaned clothing, and reading a book, or the day's newspaper. James was sitting on the exact same bench he almost always sat on, his journal in his lap, and his pen flying over the pages of it, while the boys were busy building a snowman in front of him.

"Michael, give me your scarf," Jack said.

"No!" Michael whined, "Use your own!"

"Boys," James said. The three looked at him. "Don't be undressing in public." Michael and Jack giggled, and their guardian looked up, a smile stretched across his face. It vanished though, when he realized that someone was missing. "Where's Peter?" He spotted his cap on the bench next to him.

George shrugged. "He wandered off a few minutes ago," he said. James sighed, closed his journal, and tucked it into his coat pocket.

"Watch Michael and Jack." George nodded, and James set off through the park, keeping his eyes open for a short boy in a black coat. Peter wasn't visible, though, through the anything but vacant park, which was, today, (and was almost always for that matter) filled with chattering women, laughing children, and men who had gotten the day off from work and had decided to spend their fortunate break with solely their own company. Just snow...and people. Lots and lots of people. This wasn't a problem, though. James liked people. He didn't like being alone often. Unless he was writing, he'd think. He'd think about everything, and then he'd only depress himself. People were good to be around.

But where was Peter? James walked on through the park, checking the fronts of people when he saw that their backs looked like the boy, so if he tapped their shoulder, he was sure if it was the right person.

He was nearing the edge of the park now. You knew it was the edge, because at the edge there was a long slope. So the only place Peter could be now, would be under the branches of the tree at the bottom.

James rarely went down there, and, regularly, neither did anyone else. 'Regularly', because the only time people went down to the tree, was to think. Because of this, James dubbed it the "Thinking Tree." it was an appropriate name, he thought.

He peered down the slope, and saw a small black smudge, just at the bottom of the "Thinking Tree." He smiled to himself. Completely opposite to James, Peter would be happy away from people, on his own. He must like thinking, James thought. He must like depressing himself.

So now James trekked down to the bottom, with much caution, careful and very much aware of the chance of slipping. Once he got to the bottom, where, it seemed, it was much colder, he shoved his hands into his pockets, approaching Peter slowly. The boy was just sitting in the snow under the tree, back against the trunk, staring off into space. Snow caressed his hair and eyelashes as it fell on him, and previously fallen snow sat on his head and stayed nestled in his eyebrows as though he hadn't moved an inch in at least two hours. James stayed silent for a little while, letting in the silence, and watching Peter for signs of life. He cocked his head, moving his eyebrows together as though he was concentrating very hard on a tiny spot on his carpet.

"You know," he started. Peter jumped, with a sharp intake of breath, and snapped his head around to look up at his Uncle Jim. "One's backside gets extremely wet when sitting in the snow." He smiled, the confused expression completely vanishing and his regular playful one taking its place. "It's only logical that one should join the other in getting their backsides extremely wet." Peter looked down, not willing to spare even at least a smile; but James took this as a 'yes' and sat beside him under the tree. He kept his knees up, draping his arms around them, and stared off where Peter was now looking. A deep silence hit them both, and he decided to look at Peter, to try and read his thoughts through his eyes. But that boy was someone who was completely unreadable. James would look at him, and find absolutely nothing displayed on his face, so he'd try and talk to him. It was hard to talk to Peter, though. He'd try, nonetheless.

"What's troubling you, lad?" Peter still didn't wish to make eye contact, and remained silent. James sighed.

"Little boys who open up to Uncle Jim get pastries from Hollinger's," he said, almost desperately. Peter could hardly care about Hollinger's Bakery, but decided to speak anyway, in a quiet and shaky voice.

"They won't stop," he finally said.

"Who won't stop?"

"The boys at school."

"What are they doing?"

"They keep calling me Peter Pan." James blinked, clearly confused.

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" he said, "Your name was used in a famous play! They're probably just jealous. That's what they are. Jealous." This notion made Peter's blood boil. Why would anyone be jealous of that?

"No! You don't understand!" It was like night and day. The boy's voice rose, and he turned his head to face James. Tears were welling up in his eyes, willing themselves not to fall. "They don't mean it as a good thing! They think of me as a child! That I'll never grow up! A pet to a playwright!"

"Peter, you're not - "

"No! Why did you have to use my name? Why mine? You used Michael's for a smaller role, why didn't you use George's for the lead one? Now I'm picked on for it! All because of that - for that - that - that terrible masterpiece of yours!"

"Peter, I wasn't meaning to do any harm when I used your name in my play. You wanted me to, you said so. You said yes." Peter didn't respond this time, only got up from the ground and ran off up the hill. James was shocked. It had happened so quickly, and out of no where, out of the blue. Peter had been happy the past few days. Where was all this coming from? Had this been occurring before yesterday, and had been covered up with a happy face, only for it to burst later on?

Peter ran towards the bench his brothers were in front of, snatching his black cap up from it as he ran.

"Peter!" Jack called after him. "Where's he going?"

"Come on, boys, we're going home," James said, walking fast behind Peter, not wishing to lose track of him.

"But Uncle Jim, we're not finished with the - " Michael started.

"Let's go!" James said over his shoulder, his accent flaring so that the human ear could barely tell what he was trying to say. Jack sighed. "Come on," he said. Michael jumped on George's back, and the three followed James and Peter all the way home.


Dinner was a silent affair. No one spoke, just ate. Michael, George, and Jack would look up at James occasionally, but he just continued staring down at the silver scaled fish in front of him, his fork delicately picking out the meat, and not daring to make contact with the plate. Once, Michael dropped his fork, but still no one moved a hair, nor breathed a word.

"Alright - everyone in bed, lights out," James said, as he walked into the boys' room to tuck them in. He was in a considerably better mood compared to the one he was in during dinner, but that didn't stop him from thinking about what Peter thought was a huge mistake of his. He had spent the time after the meal in his parlor, in front of the fire. He felt guilty now, and hiding himself meant hiding his guilt.

Where had the summer gone, anyway? Why couldn't it have been the way it used to be, forever? Just fun and games all the time? But school had to come, and with it, came to James, the realization that he had to be a father to these children. He had to make sure they bathed, and brushed their teeth and hair, and cleaned their room. But he couldn't. It was almost unthinkable. And if the time came, he knew he couldn't bring himself to punish or scold any of the boys. It was already difficult to put them to bed at night...

Once everyone had crawled into his bed, James went around giving kisses goodnight to each boy.

"One for you...and one for you...and one for you - " he blew a raspberry on Michael's chubby cheek, as he did every night, and every night Michael would giggle, his head hitting the pillow and putting the rest of his body to rest. And then, he came to Peter's bed, beside which the only three candles left in the room that hadn't been put out, were. He blew them out, then gently kissed the boy's forehead.

"Goodnight, Peter." Peter shook his head, and spoke for the first time that night.

"Why, Uncle Jim? What does it matter if a character's named after me? What does it matter? What should make them tease me so?"

"Go to sleep, Peter," James said sadly, making his way to the door. He exited the room, and as he closed it, he heard Peter whisper: "That terrible masterpiece..."
December 1905

Guilt. It's horrible, it really is. No human being should ever feel this way. Why do I feel it, though? I'm not the one who's been teasing him. If you think of it from an adult's point of view, it doesn't seem so horrible. But from a child's point of view - oh, that's entirely different. Bad things take away very much from a child. Depending on who you are, it either makes you weaker, destroys you, or makes you stronger, and hardens you; toughens you. Peter's strong, I can tell he is. And although he doesn't display it to the average human witness, his spirit is almost the exact equivalent of a caged lion: wishing to be free, but very much unable to; inept to finding a loophole.

I was a bit like him, in fact, when I was a lad. Though, unlike he, I didn't even have my very identity to depend on. I was trapped in my brother's spirt. My brother's character. And this I was poked at for, the same way Peter is poked at for because of my play. But of course, I was also picked on because of my height and size. I was a wee bit over five feet - and have been since I was thirteen years old. Needless to say, I wasn't in the direct interest of the females.

Terrible masterpiece, he called it. Is that what it is? I suppose maybe it is, if it's tearing me away from him like this. I can't stand it. Maybe what I'm doing, or at least, trying to do, will make it up to him.

The downstairs parlor was cold. James had decided to write down there instead of in his bedroom, late, and had only just lit the fire, whereas if he had had his mind made up earlier, the fire would have already been lit, and the room, warm. He was only dressed in a white shirt (which was messily untucked from his pants and by now wasn't fully buttoned) and a pair of black socks to match said pants. He was lacking a blanket, partially because of laziness, and the other part having to do with that he knew the parlor would warm up eventually, and his need for a blanket would be eliminated, making him too warm. All of this was very important.

Porthos was sleeping on the carpet in front of the fire, as if he didn't have a care in the world. James looked at the enormous dog, searching desperately for inspiration, but found none. He stared at his journal entry he had written to clear his mind and warm up his hand (though it had done neither), became frustrated, turned it over, and only found the bane of an author's existence - the blank page. On this blank page he wanted to write a new play. For Peter. He couldn't stand the boy being angry with him any longer and hoped this would make it up to him, to somehow erase his anger toward his Uncle Jim. But it wasn't easy. For one, the play had to be good enough to please Peter, who wasn't particularly easy to please. And the second point was that no writer should ever force himself to write. Usually the writer would get bored and waste time by doodling in the margins of the paper, or write something of poor quality. I should just go to sleep, he thought. But he couldn't. He had to begin this play now.

So he lay there on his stomach, tapping his pen on the pages of his journal, eventually lying his head on top and closing his eyes to think. What to write, what to write...well I need an opening, to set the tone, and tell a little about the setting...then I'd need a Narrator. That's fine. Charles won't mind paying a bit more money for an extra actor. He smiled at the thought, picked up his head from the pages, having to peel the top one off of his cheek. Then he began to write. Words were coming slow, but at least some were coming to mind...

He imagined himself in Scotland, where he had decided the story would take place. A carriage was bumping down a dusty country toad, riding over the rocks that were pounded securely into the hardened mud...

NARRATOR/MR. BARRIE: And who is inside but a traveling musician, coming to the town to perform at a party for the birthday of Sir George del Prince. Who is he, you ask? Well he's only the most powerful man in all of Scotland. He owns nearly everything in our little town. The inns, the parks, the shops and markets - everything. And of course he's respected by the good people in the town. Not very much liked, but respected...
A/N: Here's a little something the rest of the Depp fans I know might be interested in...

(Courtesy of zanichellihappening.it)

How did Depp get along so well with the young English actors who played the Davies boys?

There was a little secret: Depp had a little device which made strange noises when he squeezed it.

"It was really useful because we were acting with these kids all of the time," Radha Mitchell, who played Mrs. Barrie, said, "English children are so educated and they don't ever say anything out of turn. So he squeezed it during scenes and you could see them trying not to laugh. It was great for what we were doing. So he has a lot of fun on set."

I almost died when I read that. Ok - that's all for now. hee. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Stick around.


REVIEW REPLIES FOR CHAPTER 3:

emmyruth - I'm glad you like this! I hope you continue to check back so you can read this chapter! I was very sad about the Oscars too. Johnny totally deserved to win Best Actor, I think he did an amazing job in Neverland. Anywho - thanks for readin and being my first of the five reviews i need to post this chapter!

Sam's Cotton Socks - Hahaha! If you stab me, it BETTER be with love. And BE HAPPY - I updated! GOSH!

H.M. Chandler - Soooo much planned. I'm glad you're enjoying it, cuz there'll be a lot more! Thanks for adding me. I looked under my Stats yesterday and was surprised to find i was on the Author Alert list for 33 members! It's a lot to me lol! Sure, I'll read your story, I'd be happy too. I took a look at it, and it'll probably take me a while to get through the whole thing with school and writing my brains out, because it's kinda long...but that's ok. I wrote a 16 chapter story once (Harry Potter and the Golden Bell) and I got a lot of reviews saying things like: "My eyes are burning, because it's so damned long!" Well anyway, thanks for readin, as always, and I can post this chapter as soon as I get one more review...

KatrinaKaiba - I'm a very talented writer? I write descriptive and heart-filling? Aww! (hugs!) Thank you! I am very happy with myself! I hope you enjoyed the update, though it really wasn't much. Don't worry, I've got a bit more of a storyline comin along, so just keep being as patient as you have been. ;-) And yes, you're quotes are in good use. lol! You have so many good ideas too - I loved in your story when Porthos stole James's shoes - and then the party - it was all so great. That chapter stalled me from getting out the door when we were traveling to Albany! Thanks for staying with me from the very beginning, I appreciate things like that very much!

oi-oi-oi - Oh, it's alright. I'm sorry for not updating fast enough! The journals are so fun to write...you get to really get into his mind and it's just so great to write things from his point of view...and he releases a lot of his anger, or annoyance into his journal. So he expresses a lot of emotion in there, and if someone were to read it they'd know exactly how he feels...kind of like reading your little sister's diary! And oh yes, I've got some plans for the Tooth Fairy...that should be chapter 6, maybe..so keep readin. Yeah, I was thinking about Arthur there...I was pretty careful about that part because I always stay faithful to the movie when I write things. I was thinking about making them kiss but that would be too far...and her saying that she loves him back would actually be going even farther because she really loved Arthur and all that. Thanks for another review - just how I like em, good and long and full of "i love yous" lol!