A Choice Best Left Unspoken
Peter Pan sat in his hammock, rocking back and forth with utmost grace. In his hands he was balancing a knife pausing every so often to toss it up in the air and then catching it. Nothing exciting ever happens anymore, Peter thought humphing in disappointment. With a parting toss of his knife, he glanced at the Lost Boys who were playing in the seas of Never-Never land. Even though he knew it was wrong, Peter hoped Captain Hook's ship would appear on the sea causing mass panic within his platoons.
What happened instead was better then anything Captain Hook could have dreamed up.
A fairy flew straight towards Peter, catching him entirely by surprise. Peter chuckled and held the small person in his hand. "What can I help you with?" Peter asked, a smug grin lifting his cheeks. Even among the fairies, he was irresistible. Of course, this fairy swooned before realizing her mission for the Trickster King. Frantically she waved her arms shouting at the handsome man. However, she could tell he did not understand a single thing she was saying. With an annoyed sigh, she took out a small note and handed it to Peter.
While Peter looked at it, the small fairy flew up and away, flying back to wherever she called home. Peter looked at the small piece of paper that had to have been folded at least twenty times. He carefully undid every fold, surprised to see some symbols on it. Blushing, Peter called over George, the newest member. Peter was fairly certain he knew how to read and wouldn't question why Peter couldn't read. He handed the paper to George and with his most authoritative voice commanded him to read out loud.
"Dear Peter," George began, his voice shaky underneath the pressure. "This is Robin Goodfellow, or Puck as I am most widely known." Peter grinned, imagining the cherub face that was Puck. It had been a while since Peter had last seen Puck since they had left each other on the worst terms. However, Peter was glad to hear from him- a person who was much like himself. He remembered how angry he could get Puck with a simple well-timed prank or a maneuver that made Puck look stupid.
George carried on, "As infuriating as it is to say, I need your help. Please meet me in Manhattan, New York at the Hans Christian Anderson statue. Further Instructions will await you there. If you do not come in a week, I will invite someone else." Peter closed his eyes, pranks flashing on his eyelids like movies. Although a small part of him was extremely suspicious, a larger part of him knew this was a once in a lifetime meeting. Not only did Puck practically beg for the most humiliating prank to be played on him, he asked for help as well. That would make the prank about ten times worse.
With a grin, Peter winked at George, "I guess I'm going to New York."
The flight to New York was a long one, however not much longer than flying to London. Still, Peter ached and wanted nothing more than a hot bath. Despite the pain, Peter wanted to get to Puck as soon as possible. His prank was so amazing, the thought made him vibrate in excitement. Although Peter knew showing up the day after he got the letter would make Puck suspicious, he needed to complete the prank soon, otherwise some unsuspecting soul would have a really bad day.
Ignoring the odd looks, Peter finally made it to the statue and collapsed onto the bench nearby. Just when his eyes started to close an old man sat down next to him. Peter's eyes jumped open, inspecting the man in case Puck was in disguise; however, the man sitting next to him was not an illusion and actually old. Peter's lip curled in disgust- aging, the worst disease that had ever hit the Earth, claiming thousands of victims per day. The humans walked around, believing it was normal to have this sickness. The worst part was that the sickest people looked horrifying.
"How are you?" the old man asked him, mistaking Peter's glances for interest rather than fear.
Peter shrugged, his mouth clamped tight, and angled himself away from the geezer. Rather than forgetting Peter, the old man continued to talk.
"Now, exactly how old are you?" the man questioned, his bloodshot eyes probing Peter's face.
Trying to put as much space between him and the man- in case aging was infectious- Peter answered, "Eleven," even though he was actually over two hundred years old.
"Ah," replied the man, finally taking his eyes of Peter. "I remember when I was eleven. I never wanted to grow up." A small smile fell on the man's face, as though he remembered happier times. Peter wasn't surprised, who could possibly be happy looking like that?
However, never growing up was something Peter was very familiar with. "So why did you grow up?"
The man looked over at Peter again, his blue eyes holding a hint of mockery in them. "You remind me of myself." Part of Peter knew that might be a compliment but the thought of being like an old person made him vomit a little. The man turned towards the statue and seemed deep in thought. While Peter argued with himself- should he ask his question again and perhaps restart a conversation or ignore the man and wait for Puck to arrive in silence?- the man sighed and made the decision for Peter. "Everyone has to grow up eventually. Although being eleven in great, it's also safe. It's hard to get hurt over love if you never grow old enough to experience it."
And with that, Peter was officially upset. What he experienced over Wendy, although at least one hundred years ago, was real and scary. Sure, he may have been "young" compared to this elderly man, but he knew about the pain and misery. "I know the hurt love can have on someone," Peter spat out, "and I'm eleven. You don't have to be old to know that."
The man laughed, laughed, at what Peter said. "How long did you know her?" the man asked, a hint of malice beneath his words.
Sitting up straighter, Peter narrowed his eyes, "A month."
With an eye roll, the man exclaimed sarcastically, "A month! Oh, how deeply you must have fallen for her! So tell me Lover Boy, why did you let her leave if you were so in love."
Who did this man think he was? "For your information, I tried to make her stay, but she wouldn't listen. She choose her family over me, she did, not the other way around."
"You knew her for a month," the old man said ferociously. "If you really loved her, you would have followed. You would have kept in contact, visited her, because when you truly, honest-to-god love someone, it physically hurts when they leave. When they do, you can't stop thinking about them, wishing they were with you. At night, you ache, begging that they could be beside you. You'd do anything to have them there, even if it meant they hated you. As long as you got to see their face everyday you'd be happy. That's true love, not some silly puppy dog romance with a girl you barely know. You have no right to call that love- that's barely even friendship!"
Peter couldn't take it anymore- screw Puck and his prank. Jumping from the bench, he hissed, "You don't know me so don't pretend you do! I'm nothing like you!"
"Don't you get it, Peter?" the man whispered angrily, setting his bony elbows on his knees. "I do know you."
Peter stopped breathing, starring at the face in front of him. How did he know his name? Then, it clicked. "Puck?" Peter questioned quietly. Desperately, he looked for any similarity between the man in front of him and Puck. Now that he stopped to actually look, the man had the same whimsical eyes and smirk that Puck did. Closing his eyes, Peter asked, "What happened to you?"
Puck forced a smile. "I fell in love."
Peter collapsed next to Puck again, an overwhelming sense of loss creeping up inside. "Why did you invite me here then? To gloat? Because from where I'm sitting, it doesn't look that awesome."
Although Puck laughed, there was no humor in it. "I don't suppose it does," Puck agreed. "But I'd do it all over again." The two, one young and one old, sat in silence, processing. "I have kids you know," Puck blurted, turning to look at Peter. Shocked, Peter raised an eyebrow, prodding Puck to continue. If he had a point to make, Puck better make it soon. Peter didn't know how many more surprises he could take.
"Three, a daughter and two sons." Puck took out his wallet, and handed four pictures to Peter. Reaching across, Puck pointed to an aged photo, at least fifty years old. "That was when they were young. I must have been forty years old then." Again his eyes glassed over, lost in the past. "That was my wife, Sabrina." A pretty enough blonde, Peter thought, with mischievous eyes and a smile that glowed. "And that is Hannah, Dylan, and Spencer."
Looking through the photos, Peter felt himself grow immensely tired. It was like the world got turned upside down, then sucked into an alternate universe. Puck, the one person Peter thought himself most like, had grown up. When Wendy left, Peter told himself Puck wouldn't follow her, so he shouldn't either. What would Peter have done if he had know Puck would not only grow up, but have children?
"I still don't get it," Peter confided. "You seem to be living the 'perfect' life. Where do I come in?"
Puck looked at the photos, gently rubbing his thumb over Sabrina's face. "About six months ago, Sabrina was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer. According to the doctors, we caught it in the late stages. They offered her experimental drugs, but she didn't want to deal with the side effects because, and I quote, 'I don't trust those damn doctors.' She quickly died from there." Peter waited, sensing that Puck wanted something more than a person to discuss feelings with. If he did, Puck sure could've picked somebody better.
After putting the pictures away, Puck sat up again. "She made me promise, that I wouldn't kill myself after she left. Something about how if there is a heaven, she wanted me there-," both males rolled their eyes, remembering all the terrible things they've done, "-so I should just wait until something kills me." Puck turned to Peter, his eyes grave and his mouth tight. "I want you to be that something."
All Peter could do was stare. Sure, he hated Puck at times, but at other times, he loved Puck like the brother he never really wanted. "I-I can't," Peter chocked out.
Puck looked at him with big eyes, murmuring, "Please, Peter. I have no one else to turn to. You know I wouldn't ask if there was any other way." Peter wavered, trying to ignore the imploring look Puck was sending him. Desperately he bit his lip, hoping the pain would wipe the fog in his mind away. Sensing his weakness, Puck slipped a small knife into Peters hands.
Frozen, Peter could do nothing but stare at the cold weapon. Intricate runes were carved into the blade, powerful enough to kill an immortal. The reality of what Puck was asking him to do finally set in. Rather than tears, Peter felt a calm disassociation. The man in front of him was not Puck, the hand holding the knife wasn't his, and the face he saw starting back at him from the blade was another eleven year old boy. Just when he was about to set the knife down and walk away, Peter remembered Wendy.
What if he had gone with her?
What if they'd fallen in love?
What if she'd died in front of him and there was nothing he could do?
Numbly, Peter remembered a quote of Tennyson he heard when he explored London, looking for his shadow. " 'Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all." At the time, the words were empty, but now he got it.
A deep sadness descended upon him as he mourned what he never had. Before, he felt mighty over Puck, looking down on him for his age. Now, those wrinkles were like battle scars, showing the world he had lived and loved, that he had gained and lost. They were something to be admired rather than feared. For once, the humans had gotten it right: Age wasn't a sickness, it was a rite of passage. A rite, Peter thought bitterly, that he hadn't gotten to experience yet.
Starring at the knife, he remembered the quote until it became a mantra. Puck sat patiently by, pleading with his eyes. Coming to a decision, Peter looked up, meeting sad eyes.
"I'll do it."
The unusual pair left the park, the prank Peter prepared forgotten.