The Playwright: The Escapades of JM Barrie
Chapter 8
Impossible

A/N: Here it is! Sorry for the wait. Have been busy...lots of tests and painfully hard social studies quizzes.

Notes/Thoughts: I looked up something on when typing up chapter 7 to look something up, and the word of the day was "yawp" so for the moment I was typing, it worked very well with James. :-) Oh man...I downloaded the music video to Concrete Angel by Martina McBride the other day...because it just sort of got stuck in my head, and you should have seen me crying. It's horrible! I love that song!

Notice the recent addition here in the form of a Johnnyfact. OH - and I must say this. I JUST got five reviews. I don't think that's the best you can do! Review please! And about this chapter...it's just completely and utterly sad. There's a hint of a funny part in it, but it's all sad. I realized this after reading it over. The next chapter you should get a kick out of, though - I really don't want to lose you on this!

A quote from James (in a roleplay): "Blood is wonderful!"

BARRIEFACT: One night, when the director of Peter Pan dismissed the cast after a long and discouraging rehearsal, JMB demanded that they all return to the stage.

"Impossible!" shouted the exhausted director. "Why?" James asked. "Crocodile under fourteen," the quick-thinking director replied. "Gone home." hahaha! I thought that was funny - because, you know, labor laws at that time said that children under 14 could only work a limited amount of time. XD!

BONUS BARRIEFACT: (before I forget it) I was looking up Sylvia's birthdate online today, and came across a website that told all about important families in history. Upon finding Peter's name, I found underneath that he had married and had three children - one of which was named Ruthven Barrie Davies! (The website is - look up your surname!)

JOHNNYFACT: "If someone were to harm my family or a friend or somebody I love, I would eat them," Johnny Depp once remarked. "I might end up in jail for 500 years, but I would eat them." (There is a VERY good one that has to do with a rooster on Go there and search for Replica Rooster. I DARE YOU. Then tell me in a review how hilariously funny it was. I'd put it in here...but I think I'd rather keep my entire theme here G rated.)

Inside: Two entries, a story, and a wee bit from an eight year old Sylvia...

OoOoO

Tuesday

December 1904

I think Peter's been doing alright in school. I haven't talked with him on the subject in a few days, and he hasn't brought it up, so I haven't wanted to burden him with it if he's been trying to forget. Besides, sometimes it's better to leave a child alone in times like these.

He hates living with his grandmother, that much I know. He hasn't complained about the situation to me, but his off-handed comments give me a good idea that he indeed does. The others hate it too of course, and I can understand exactly how they feel, of course. Living with Emma hasn't been much of a party for me either. It's honestly been like living in a tiny little box that I can't get myself out of even if I were to put all my will into trying. The boys and I haven't played a game in ages and I feel absolutely horrible about it. I plan on writing one for if the time comes that the old bat decides to leave us be and we're able to play.

Peter Pan is going, for the most part, well. A few lines have been a bit misrecalled, but none of the actors have completely forgotten anything. I think (I hope) Charles is happy with the progress we made yesterday. I talked to him about my new play, and he's proposed an open casting call for one reason or another. I'm almost thoroughly opposed to the idea, but with our actors getting other jobs elsewhere, it's impossible to go on without doing so. I am in fact on my way to a rehearsal now, so I'll have to say goodbye for now. I may write later.

JM Barrie

James, sitting on a park bench, closed his journal and ran his thumb over the black leather, thinking. He looked up, watched a couple of older men on another bench chatting for a short time, and simply got up to begin making his way to the Duke of York's Theatre...

OoOoO

"Hey, Peter Pan! Where'd your fairy go - Tinkle-bell? Did you forget to put her in your pocket this morning? Can't fly without fairy dust, Peter! Can't fly off to Neverland, Peter!" Peter pressed a school book to his chest, his knuckles turning white and his palms growing sweaty. He was walking across the stark white lawn of the school to meet his three other brothers at the flagpole, a group of four boys trailing behind him faithfully, all with dark grins on their faces. They were laughing now. He tried desperately to ignore them, but somehow his ears soaked up every word. They continued jeering, and Peter kept his eyes on his shoes, watching them thump deafeningly on the iced over grass, as he walked as fast and as hard as he could to keep himself from lashing out at them right there. They should all slip and fall, he thought. All four of them. I wish they would all slip on the ice and fall. He was nearing the flagpole now, and lifted his eyes for only a moment to see Jack, George, and little Michael waiting for him. Almost there. He could almost get away. He wanted to show his brothers what's been happening, so that maybe they could help in some way, and be as aware of it as his Uncle Jim was. He felt like bait at that moment, bringing the meaty fish to the fisherman to tear apart with his powerful set of excited teeth.

Jack was the first of the three to see the display and tapped George for his attention. George looked upon Peter, his face turning pale. When all five boys reached the flagpole, Peter hurried to George's side, and one of the four that had been behind him looked at his brothers.

"Do you know him?" He asked Jack.

"Are these the lost boys, Peter?" Another said.

"Leave him alone," Jack said, frowning.

"What do you care what we do?" The first speaker said.

"We're his brothers," George said, "That's why." He noticed that all four of them were of his age and size, and found that it was easy to talk to them. He wasn't afraid anyway...more angry.

"That's funny, I thought Peter Pan was the only child in his family."

"No, these are the Davies orphans," a slightly smaller boy said.

"We're not orphans," George said heatedly. "We have a father."

"Oh, the playwright? James Barrie?" The shorter one laughed at this recognition. "You know what I've heard about JM Barrie and the four of you?"

"Whatever you heard, it's not true."

"I heard my father and my mother talking the other night about him." The shorter boy again. "I've heard he's - "

"It's not true," George was speaking through gritted teeth now and found himself smack in front of the largest one of the group, a boy with blonde hair. "He's good to us. He wouldn't dream of anything like that."

"Are you sure about that?" The blonde boy chuckled. "I heard that he took you in for other reasons. I heard that he argued with your grandmother so he could have the four of you all to himself."

"That's not true at all!" Jack yelled.

"Why do you live with him then?"

"We live with our grandmother." Michael said. The shorter one nodded mockingly. "And I suppose you're going to go and tell me fairies are real now," he said. George's stomach flipped uneasily, but he stood his ground and raised his chin defiantly.

"They are," he said.

"Are they?"

"That's right," Michael said.

"Shh," came Jack.

"Why don't you prove it then?" The blonde boy smiled after a moment, and spat at George's feet when he didn't answer. Then he turned to walk away, his three friends following. But this was enough for the oldest Davies boy. They insult his brother and his Uncle Jim? He clenched his fists, waiting until the blonde one was far enough away. And when he was, he ran at him. Leaping at him, pinning him to the ground. Michael jumped, and hugged Jack's waist, burying his face in his coat. Peter watched, his heart caught in his throat.

"RUN, PETER!" George managed to shout.

"GET HIM!" the short boy shrieked, getting ready to pounce on the terrified boy. George was too fast though, and threw a free arm at his legs, knocking him into the grass.

"RUN! GO!" So he did. Peter ran. He dropped the book he was carrying in the snow near Michael's feet, and ran. He ran as fast as he could, shedding his school bag as he went. Flinging his cap off into the snow. His legs carried him away from the school, far away from the school. He didn't think once about looking back. He didn't want to see. He didn't want to see what was back there. He didn't want to see George tearing those boys apart. All for him. Just for him. He didn't want to see.

OoOoO

"James."

"What, Charles?" Frohman approached James quietly and sat next to him in the third row, looking puzzled at his script. Up on stage, Nina and Gerald du Maurier were in the middle of a sword fight. Gerald was at a bit of a loss with the hook he was clutching in his right hand, though, and was struggling through, trying to remember the footwork that the choreographer had given to him months ago.

"I'm a bit curious as to what you wrote in my script."

"Can't you read it?" James asked, leaning into the producer. Charles looked at James, seeming a bit offended. "Of course I can read it."

"Then you're unable to comprehend the point," James looked up at him, that annoying twinkly smile on his face. This only made Frohman more aggravated.

"I'm perfectly capable of comprehending the point, James, I just don't understand why you want Peter to fly up into the tree instead of atop the boulder. What's the difference where he flies? He's just trying to get out of view."

"If you were Peter and you were trying to hide from pirates, where do you think you would be more exposed? Atop a boulder with nothing obstructing you from another's view? Or inside a tree where leaves and branches may cover you. It was foolish of me to write 'boulder' in in the first place." James finished his statement, and moved his eyes back to the stage to watch the scene. Frohman sat for a while, staring at his profile, then got up and began walking up the aisle to the back row muttering something about James being able to change the script but he not being allowed to add to the picture of the play. The playwright heard this, and said loud enough for Charles to hear, "Do remember that I wrote the play, Charles." Charles plopped himself in a chair and hid his face behind the green colored script, with not one more comment to add.

The rehearsal had a half hour left, and James was beginning to get anxious. He would have just enough time to get out of the theater and home for the boys' return. He'd be constantly looking at his pocket watch, his knee moving up and down nervously, and his index finger tapping page 22 of his script compulsively. The thing he was most worried about was the boys coming home to Mrs. du Maurier. She'd be overjoyed to do what she wanted to do with the boys without having James in the way to interfere with her plans to make them young gentleman by the time they were all 15. He in truth wanted the boys to grow up. Everyone should grow up, and he knew of course, that everyone had to. Even he realized that he had. It was unstoppable, of course. But he didn't want them at all to grow up inside. And she wanted that for them. That's what was horrible.

A click of a tongue brought him back to the present, and he heard Charles rise from his seat.

"Wait, James...what about this? Charles should - " At the exact moment, the back curtain flew open. In ran a young boy, nearly bowling the producer down, who in turn dropped the green book with a curse. James turned to see the commotion, and found a very upset Peter, just a few rows up the aisle and quickly lessening the space between them. He stopped abruptly beside the playwright, tears on his face that had frozen to his scarlet cheeks by the cold wind that had smacked them in his travels downtown. James stood.

"What's wrong, Peter? What happened?"

"George! It's George - he - the school! He's at the school with Jack and Michael! He's gotten into a fight!"

"A fight with whom?" Peter couldn't say much more and just shook his head frantically, his dampened hair prickling his cheeks and forehead. "We have to get back there, Uncle Jim! We have to! It's all my fault!"

"James - "

"Finish the rehearsal, Charles. This is just as important."

OoOoO

They didn't speak at first. Just sat on the hard bench outside of the office of the headmaster. Peter didn't want to be sitting there. He wanted to be in there defending his brother. Explaining that it wasn't George's fault, but instead his. James seemed to be reading his mind.

"Why did you say it was your fault...Peter?" Peter kept his eyes away, and kept to his side of the bench without a sound. "It wasn't," James added, but Peter was not convinced, still showing no response. "Talk to me, Peter. Just talk to me." James gave up for a minute and gazed off absently to watch a teacher shuffle down the hallway reading a leaflet of paper in her hand. She turned the corner with ease, not having to look up, and as the sound of her shoes bouncing off of the hallway walls faded out, the silence began its slow return. Peter looked at his shoes and drew his body tight, making him appear much smaller, and looking as if he were in a tiny bubble with no room to stretch his limbs, and that if he moved an inch, the bubble would burst.

"Because," he said quietly. James returned his attention to the boy on the opposite side of the bench. He didn't prod him, but instead only sat there knowing that Peter would elaborate if it came to his mind that he should confide in his Uncle Jim, and that he might as well continue if he had already spoken. Peter did look up at the playwright's calm and listening face when he failed to answer. Then he started going back in his mind as far as he could go to where he had messed something up. When he found himself counting back a great too many years back, he decided on, "If I was never born, none of this would be happening."

"Oh, don't say that, lad."

"It's true."

"It most certainly is not. Now you come here right now." Peter hesitated. "Come on." He slid across the bench and next to James, who put a comforting arm around him.

"Now you listen to me. Your mother loved you - "

"This has nothing to do with mum - "

" - and I'd be blown off the face of the Earth itself if she had heard you just now and didn't cry her eyes out." Peter looked away from his guardian.

"It wasn't your fault about George, and it wasn't your fault that your mother died. And I know you think it was, don't you?" No answer. "Don't you? You know, just because someone is dead, doesn't mean they're gone. Hm? What did I tell you the day of the funeral?" James leaned toward the boy's ear when he didn't move. "Neverland, Peter. Go to Neverland." He straightened himself, looking at the small one, who still refused to react. He sighed. "Things are better now, Peter."

"Better? Better than what? Why would you say that?" Peter moved away, James growing stiff, thinking how he could explain his feelings to the boy without leading him down the wrong path of his thoughts. "It's better that my mother died? It's better that way? Better than it was while she was still alive? It's better that we live with Grandmother instead of at your home?"

"Better than how it was after your mother died." He put a bit of a stress on 'after' to be sure Peter understood. This calmed him down a bit.

"Oh," he said quietly, "I thought you meant..." his cheeks turned red and he looked away.

"No, no. I would never say that it is better now than it was before your mum left us." He paused for a moment, re-gathering his thoughts for the second time. "I'm trying to explain that...that it's impossible."

"What is?" Peter mumbled.

"It's impossible...it's impossible to live life to its absolute fullest - to get everything you possibly can out of it - when you're dwelling on the events that occurred in your past life that have brought you down...that have weakened your spirit." Peter looked up. "You can't concentrate on the bad, boy, only the good. That's what I'm saying. You shouldn't blame yourself for anything." James, having settled his point, left the young one alone and began tapping his cane on the floor.

Peter didn't say anything, but sat next to his Uncle Jim for the remaining few minutes until the door of the office opened and Jack, George, and Michael, all with sullen faces, emerged from it, the headmaster following. But his face was smiling, and when he looked at Peter, he asked politely for him to step into his office with a cheerful way about him. Peter stood and went to the door. When he reached it, he gave a look back at James, who gave him a shadow of a wink. The boy smiled in the same fashion and let himself be taken inside the room without protest.

OoOoO

"He only gave me a detention for tomorrow," George muttered on the way home. He and James were at the front of the group, with Michael holding Jack's hand in back, and Peter following them, carrying his newly returned knapsack and class book, and wearing his black cap. James looked down at George, not expecting him to speak. He looked up through a black eye, and spoke again through a scabbed lip, a scratch on his cheek protesting his movements.

"It could have been much worse." James looked forward again, but George continued watching his blank faced profile. "Are you angry with me, Uncle Jim?" The older man shook his head and continued dragging his cane through the thin layer of snow that was recently being slightly added to as they walked. Nothing was said the rest of the way.

When they came to the doorstep and opened the door, it was much louder than it had been outside. Porthos welcomed the five of them from behind the closed door of James's bedroom, and Mrs. du Maurier in her own way - galloping toward them with a tightened look of anger and worry on her face, voicing her concern loudly.

"Where have you all been? You all should have been back here an hour ago!" Her eyes found George, but even though his didn't meet hers, she let out a squeak of surprise.

"There was a bit of an accident," James said. "Come into the parlor with me, Emma. I'll explain everything. Boys, why don't you all go up to your bedroom? Help George clean his face please, Peter." Peter nodded, and was thanked.

Emma du Maurier didn't respond lightly to the matter, though calmly and without a high volume to her voice. Words were enough to tell, though. She argued that it was unacceptable for him to act in such a manner, and that "someone with blood of the du Mauriers flowing through their veins shouldn't conduct themselves in the way that the commonfolk do." James simply asked of her definition of "commonfolk" with a cocked eyebrow and a sarcastic grin, but received no response in return, as was suspected anyway.

To avoid the pervious subject over dinner, James allowed Emma to chatter to him the entire meal over her mashed potatoes and specially-made vegetarian dish, about her friends, their jobs, the other people that worked at their jobs, those people's friends, the relatives of the friends of the people at her friends' jobs, all of the husbands of the women included in that group, and the ones that were without one, who were suspected as harlots. He merely nodded, corrected her few grammar slips, and inserted his opinion and knowledge when she came up for air. The boys remained quiet, eating bits of their turkey only to show that there had been a difference on their plate since they had been served, not once looking up from them.

OoOoO

"I'm sorry, Uncle Jim," George whispered when James bent to kiss his forehead.

"Don't be, George. You did what I would have done. I respect you for that."

"Thank you."

"Thank you. Goodnight, George."

"Goodnight," George said, pulling the covers over his shoulder. James went to the door and began closing the door.

"Uncle Jim?" He turned.

"Yes?"

"The words are gone."

OoOoO

George was right. The words had vanished from James's face. He was a bit disappointed when he went to look in the mirror in his bedroom. He had a brief thought that he should replace them on purpose, but knew that it would take away from the fun of it. So he sighed and went to his bed, sitting on it and taking in his hands the blue book that he had found the previous night. But where was the key to the tiny lock? He searched the cover of the book, and hit the back of it lightly, but only when he jammed the bottom of it into his hand, did a small silver key fall out of the pages into his palm. Delighted with his discovery, he united lock with key, and unlocked a time capsule from 32 years ago. He opened the book, and it cracked mercifully. He was sure that a few of the pages might fall out because it had stayed unopened for so long and beneath a mattress, but they stayed pasted in there like a fly in honey.

James flipped through, finding that every page except for the very last one in the book was written on. He didn't dare peek there, though, and decided to start from the beginning. He'd read a few entries every night until he got to the very final page. So with this decision finished, he went to the very first page and read.

October 5, 1872

Hello! This is my first time writing in my brand new notebook. My mum got it for me for my birthday today and I was so excited to write in it that I had to right before I went to bed. She said that I can write anything I want in here, so I will! I found a big fluffy caterpillar today. I named him Herbert. He's really nice. I walked to the park with him on my shoulder in the new green dress I got. Some people were looking at me kind of funny, but I didn't care. They were probably just jealous that they didn't have a friend like I did.

Mum curled my hair today for my party. I thought she was going to burn it all off and I was crying all over the place! She showed me what it looked like in the mirror and I realized that all my hair was still there! I feel so foolish now. If anyone reads this, I'm sure I'll never talk to anyone again!

October 6, 1872

I'm going to try and write every day. I just love this notebook! Mum says when I get older, I can read it to myself and I'll be able to remember everything I did when I was a little girl. I'm afraid now that if I don't write everything down, I'm going to forget it! I do love being a child, I hope I still have all of these memories!

Herbert and I took another walk to the park today. I took a piece of thread out of Mum's sewing kit and tied it around what I thought was his neck. I tried walking him like a dog tied to a leather leash, but he wouldn't move. I didn't want to hurt him, but screaming at him didn't work either. I got angry and sat on a bench and watched him. He started walking after a while and I realized that I had tied the thread to his backside!

After dinner, he looked sick, though. He hadn't moved from the same place I had set him when we got back from the park, but when I touched him, he moved his head in.

Gerald stole my blue hair ribbon today! (James laughed at this. Gerald du Maurier, of course, was playing Captain Hook in his play) He still hasn't told me where he's hiding it, but tomorrow, I'm going to make him pay for it!

October 7, 1872

Herbert died today. I can't believe I've only had him for two days and he's already dead. When I showed to Mum that he wasn't moving, she said that she thinks that he had died. I asked her what death was, and she told me that it's when someone gets very old and they go to sleep forever. Forever's a very long time.

I asked her what to do with him, and she said we could have a funeral in the backyard and put him in the ground. I didn't want to at first, but she said that it would make him sleep better. I really hope Herbert has a good sleep.

Dad said tonight that when people die, they go to Heaven, where there's no sadness. He said that you will see your friends and family again if they have died before you. I don't think there is such place, though. There's so much sadness in the world, I don't think that anywhere has no sadness.

I think that Heaven is a dark place with no light at all, and you sit there forever in complete darkness all alone. I suppose you'd get used to it, though. I'd have to be with Herbert because he would make sure I wasn't lonely.

I hope I never die.

A/N: Don't bug me and say her spelling's too good for an eight year old please. Thanks very much. Reviews are appreciated as always.


REVIEW REPLIES FOR CHAPTER 7:
(and 1)

cornishxxxpixie: (for chapter 1) haha the nits in the wall thing...that wasn't even in my first draft of the story. I started this story in my second black notebook (now I'm on my third...which is amazingly cover to cover with Neverland screenshots!) and it didn't include a lot of the good stuff. I wasn't even sure of the first chapter when I read it over, but I know from experience with Harry Potter and the Golden Bell that you absolutely have to make the first chapter the best, so it's the hook, and you gain readers and they STAY with you. I really hope you'll get all the way up to this chapter to see your reply! I would love it if you continued! Thank you so much for taking the time to read!

KatrinaKaiba: Hahaha! Charles is AMAZING. I added parts to the "I'm writing another play" bit and when I read it over, I cracked up. I can't believe that came out of MY brain. lol. MY SICK, UNIMAGINATIVE BRAIN! The other part that made me laugh was a part I added before going to school one day: "Mrs. Dickonson is head of the committee for City Replenishment," Emma said, as though it was the most important position in the entire world. James knit his eyebrows and nodded seriously.

"I see. Well, every time I see a new building, or a new coat of paint, I'll say," he did an exaggerated double-take at the mirror on the wall, "'Well, blow me down - I imagine this was the work of Eva Dickonson!'" hahaha for some reason that just really made me laugh picturing it all in my head. Anyway, yes you are scottish you lucky piece of shite. I may consider doing that Nazi thing...look out.

AMY: lol what a STUPID name. Nah, I'm kiddin. Now to address the issue of losing Jim's character...it's mostly the lack of seeing it all in my head, or hearing him say things, that I'm worried about. It's getting better now that I get to be him more often than i could be on vacation lol. haha Just. What a horrible candle snuffing word. Anywho, yes, Porthos is a doll, and you just read chapter 8 so you don't even have to ask me when its being posted! lyl xox.

Destiny-TQoP: (for chapter 1) Thank you so much for reading! I'm glad you read this - and again, if you get to this chapter, you'll see the reply:-)

H.M. Chandler: Yay! I have 5 reviews now! (hugs you) Hope you liked my long review I sent aaand Chapter 8 of course. ;-) And you found out about the diary too! Hope you liked that idea as well! There's so much more in store for chapters 9 and 10 and I'm SO excited to finish 9 (which is already started) and post it, and write 10, because I've got some ideas that are going to be just great if I write them right! Thanks SO much for reading again, I really appreciate it!