The Playwright: The Escapades Of J.M.
Barrie
Chapter 13
Popcorn Ropes
A/N: (May 28 - 4:11 AM - can't sleep again) I think chapter 12 is my new favorite chapter LOL. For some reason, I went a little wacky for a week or two. You should have seen me writing that chapter; I wrote it at school and uploaded it into my Doc. Manager so I could fetch it back when I got home - but the funny thing was, they were only tiny segments because I wrote at every free computer lab moment! Hope you enjoyed it all. I applied for this writer's workshop for this summer. I submitted Chapter 5, with it being one of the shorter chapters, and one of my more creative ideas. If I don't get submitted, I have no reason to live and might fall into the toilet and drown. I'll keep you posted.
(May 30) Yay! Fast update, huh? Short chapter too. Hope ya like it! And what's up with me JUST getting enough reviews! Send em in! I love hearing from all of you! And...I would have had this posted a little earlier, if the Login was actually working. Grr.
Check out the new website! t h e p l a y w r i g h t . w o r l d b r e a k . c o m
Inside: A story, and an entry
OoOoO
Saturday
Emma duMaurier woke the unsuspecting party of James and the four boys up at seven. She helped them all (even James) dress in their formal clothes, claiming that they could easily be on time for the 8:00 Christmas service at the Catholic church downtown.
A half an hour later she woke him up, she wandered into James's (more appropriately, since she had called the room her own first, Sylvia's) room and began to tie his tie, without his protest. He stood still patiently and willingly, his eyebrows set normally, and he watched her, without an amused or sarcastic expression on his face. He just stood.
She straightened his collar, smoothed out his shirt and suit jacket, buttoned the jacket's buttons, reached down to his head, fixed a stray bit of hair, and with what might have looked like a motherly smile, she exited the room. Nothing was said; Nothing needed to be said.
She found the boys in a state of confusion in their bedroom when she got there. Apparently Jack stole Michael's pair of black socks James had gotten him a while ago, and when Michael had asked for them back, Jack told him that they're just socks and to stop acting like a baby. Emma immediately stepped in, stole them back, scolding Jack and telling him all about his newly developed attitude in fast sentences. With James's help, she got them all squared away, and they got out of the house finally at 7:59. With Mrs. duMaurier being so paranoid about being late, she shouted at the cab driver to "make that thing go faster," and he in turn sped up the horse so it might have been going about fifty miles per hour.
Finally they walked into church, at 8:07, and sat in the back. Emma kept her head held high and her back straight in the pew, picked up a missalette, and began to follow along as though she had been there for the last seven wasted minutes. James scratched his head, utterly confused about the woman. Here she was in her "High Society" mode, and she had just tied his tie a few minutes prior. And, surprisingly, she didn't starch the suits of the four of them.
After the mass, they all trooped back home, changed into more comfortable clothes, and began to pack a few things in their suitcases. What with only going overnight, they only needed a pair of nightclothes, some undergarments, and some clothes for the next day. (and possibly work clothes for when they would chop down the tree)
It was 9:42 when the doorbell rang, and James hopped down the stairs to answer it.
"Charles!" Charles smiled wearily, and something occurred to James. He looked behind him to check for the presence of Madame duMaurier.
"You're sober, aren't you?" he said in a low voice.
"Yes, yes. Here, you annoying little midget." Charles smiled with James on this; this was a running joke between the two of them. He held out a package, wrapped in decorated paper, with a scrawly James on top. It was only appropriate: Charles had so many gifts to give out, he needed to keep track of which was which.
"Oh, Charles, I feel horrible - I didn't get you anything!" James took the present anyway, and just stared down at it sadly.
"Don't worry about it. What with you and the boys struggling through your first Christmas with Emma, I was almost positive you might forget."
"No, it's not like that at all. I just wasn't sure you'd get me something. Then you'd be the one embarrassed and I'd feel guilty of something." Charles blinked, his face turning confused, like he had eaten what he thought was a strawberry danish, and was sure that was what it had said on his order, but had turned out to be a raspberry one. He wasn't in the mood for James's philosophy.
"Just open it." The playwright pulled the ribbon and took the lid off (which Charles then held for him, saying he might want to have two hands free). His eyes filled with tears. "Well, don't cry! I didn't think you'd get all emotional like that! Take it out!" James separated gift from gift box, and held it in his arms protectively, as if it were a dying baby. "It took a very long time for me to get that, James," Charles said, as if talking to a child. "The artist was out of town for what seemed like years, and the printer got upset with me numerous times when I bothered him about space on the pages in which to place the drawings. I payed money for every protest of his." James ran a hand over the cover of it. It was, which you may have figured out, a book. But not just any book. It was Peter Pan, a special edition meant for no one but the author of it, bound and in hard cover, a picture of the boy who wouldn't grow up on the front, his fists on his hips, and that familiar cocky smile on his face. He opened it and began to flip through. Page after page, the artist's perfect drawings of the scenes in his play looked up at him, eager and anxious for his approval. Charles smiled, and pat the awed little man on the back. He took out his handkerchief and handed it to him.
"It's beautiful, Charles," he said, his throat raw.
"I wasn't sure if you'd like it...you being you." James laughed unsteadily, past the tears.
"I like it. Thank you."
"Happy Christmas, Charles."
"Happy Christmas."
OoOoO
The drive was long and quiet, much unlike the drive that had gotten Sylvia, James, and the boys to the cottage so long ago. They had managed to get out of the house at an earlier time, very much earlier than Emma expected that they would.
Once they got there, at 11:34 AM, James and the boys put their things in their rooms, changed, and went back outside in search of a possible candidate for their Christmas tree, accompanied, of course, by Porthos, who spent the walk into the forest sniffing the snow and the bases of trees. George and Jack carried the ax, and Michael walked alongside them importantly, with James and Peter at the rear. They had a hard time finding a tree, as most of them were old and seemingly infinitely tall and weighted down with obscene amounts of snow.
"That one!" Michael cried finally. He was pointing at a large, but not too large, pine tree. James looked at Michael, then at the tree, and scratched his head.
"It's too big, Michael," Peter said. It was very much taller than George, who was five feet six inches now, and even more taller than James, who still remained at five feet one inch.
"Do you think so?" James said, walking around and surveying it. Jack hitched the tail end of the ax into an indent in his hip.
"And how do you suggest we carry it back to the cottage?" he asked. James looked around at the group of them, thinking for a while, then shrugged. Porthos licked his nose, and looked behind them, in the direction of the cottage.
"Well, let's try chopping it down, shall we? It's a beautiful tree. I'm sure it'll fit somewhere in the living room. We'll pick out a nice spot for it when we get back, yes? Of course yes," James said enthusiastically, and smiled.
It was George's duty to fall the tree that was chosen, and it looked like this was the one in question. Jack let go of the butt of the ax, and wished his older brother luck as he walked toward the tree, and began to chop at the bottom.
"It's too difficult!" George groaned.
"Come on, George, you can do it," Peter said, excited.
"Put all your strength into it, George!" Michael practically screamed into the air. After a very long time, the tree gave way, and began to tip down towards the ground, bending the trees in its way. Porthos whined as it crashed to the earth, and as the boys jumped up and down, cheering.
"Alright, we do have to get this back to the cottage, don't we?" James said. "I think I may have a solution to that." James directed Peter back to the house, and he returned a few minutes later with a few feet of rope. They all worked on tying the tree tightly to Porthos's neck and body, then all moved to the back to help by carrying the top of it. It was hard work, getting the entire thing into the living room. Emma heard the shouting and the commotion downstairs, and hurried downstairs from the bedroom. She had meant to tell James something, but forgot completely when she saw the tree-scouting party, plus the new tree, being shoved through the door.
"Push!" George and James bellowed. The branches quivered as the dog pulled at it, and the rest of the group pushed from the back.
"Oh, my word," Emma said, her heart caught somewhere in her throat. A few pushes later, everyone came tumbling through the door onto the floor, to see Mrs. duMaurier with her eyes wide, and her mouth opened a crack like she had just eaten a fly that had been in her dinner.
"Hello, Emma," James said, saluting her from the ground. "We found a tree."
OoOoO
It took a great deal of manpower to hoist the tree into standing position inside the Christmas tree holder, and required even Emma to share some of her strength. A few inches of the tip were bent against the ceiling, and once the six of them stood back to look, they immediately broke into laughter, tears growing in their eyes.
They all climbed up to the small attic, where James had near fifteen boxes full of Christmas decorations and ornaments. He and Mary had gone to the cottage years ago for Christmas once, bringing them all with them, only to find that after they were through hanging the decorations, the cottage looked like a Christmas tree itself.
They carried a box each downstairs, and while Michael and Jack decorated the tree, Emma, James, and Peter dressed the living room. James paused for a moment to tie a bow into the fur on Porthos's head, and smiled.
"How are we going to get the star on top of the tree?" Michael asked, unraveling a rope of garland. James laughed.
"We might have to put it on a branch near the top," he said, and Emma smiled, as she set a Santa Claus figure on the mantle. Michael giggled, then looked at his grandmother. A thought came to his head.
"Santa Claus isn't real," he said, and everyone in the room looked at him, besides Jack, who bit his tongue and continued with the ornaments.
"Who told you that, Michael?" James said, though he was almost positive it was, indeed, Jack.
"Well, Jack did. And I thought that maybe it was you, Uncle Jim, who was Santa, but then I thought for a minute and decided that he maybe isn't real after all."
"I didn't say he wasn't real," Jack said defensively. "I said he might not be real."
"No, you didn't," Michael countered. Little children didn't normally lie. It didn't occur to them, because all they knew was the truth. They hadn't discovered lying yet, unless they were brought up by liars. Otherwise, the word "lie" wasn't even in their vocabulary. James smiled.
"Don't believe anything Jack says," he said. Jack gave him a dirty look. "Santa Claus is real. And any little boy who doesn't think so won't see any presents under the tree in the morning." Emma chuckled, looking at her little wooden Santa figure.
"Where's George?" she said.
"Oh, he's in the kitchen making popcorn," James answered, getting a hammer and nails from the table.
"Popcorn?" Peter said, puzzled.
OoOoO
"Tonight, I'm going to teach the four of you something that my mother taught me and my brothers when we were lads your ages." The group sat eagerly on the carpet near the Christmas tree, crowded around George's bowl of popcorn, while the dog lounged, bored, on the couch behind them. James took out a spool of black thread, and a sewing needle. He unrolled a very long line of the thread, and broke it with his teeth, then proceeded to thread the needle and poke it through one of the pieces of popcorn, so that the popcorn stayed on the string. The boys oohed and aahed, then began to make their own popcorn ropes, with the help of Emma and James. They did this until late at night, and before they all went up to bed, they wrapped their popcorn strings around their Christmas tree, and put the star near the top.
OoOoO
December 1904
What a very worthwhile day. Charles visited this morning to give me a Christmas gift. It's wonderful: he's given me a hardcover copy of Peter Pan. He even hired an artist to do the drawings and the letters at the beginning of each chapter. I've never received a better gift in my entire life - and yet, I didn't get him one in return. I'll be getting one to him without a doubt.
We drove to the cottage today. Emma was the only person to talk during the ride, when she entertained us with factoids about the family who had held the party last night. I still don't know exactly who hosted the party, and I'd feel silly asking, so I guess I'll never know.
The boys and I put a great deal of effort into chopping down the Christmas tree this afternoon! After we forced it through the door and into the tree holder, we decorated it and I showed the boys how to make popcorn ropes. We might have had another one if the four of them didn't eat the rest. Ah, I don't care. I ate a few too.
Happy Christmas!
-JMB
A/N: REVEW!
REVIEW REPLIES FOR CHAPTER 12:
H.M. Chandler - Haha your review - short, sweet, and to the point. Thanks for reading, and continuing to read!
KatrinaKaiba - Charles never ceases to be amusing. He is so fun to write, and I can do anything with him and he'll be just hilarious. LOL no, James did not skip, no matter how much his character may allow it. I laughed when I saw that in your review. I've been online! Do you have my new screenname? FuNnYLilAuThoR91? If not, put it on your buddylist and I'm sure I'll show up online a lot more often. Hah - I suppose I kept putting your 'advertising' in the story because you remind me of Charles. HAHA!
XHeartofaDragonX - Hah - drunk people are great to write about, and Charles is adorable, yes. I'm glad you're starting to like him. Preggers. hahaha.
Lizella - Yay! I'm glad you'll keep reading! It's coming to an end, anyway, so I hope you'll read til the end! Thanks for all the nice comments, hope you enjoyed the fast update!
Kris - Haha YAY CHARLES! Yeah, that social studies thing sucked. My teachers kept telling us that we were so special because we were one of the chosen schools that were smart enough to be able to take it. I was like: oh yeah, real lucky. Good luck on the final.
