After Neverland

              Through the window and in a small, smoky cabin I stood dripping.  I think I had never felt more exposed as I did then.  Certainly my nightgown was more see-through when wet, and my body shivered most violently. 

                The man was scrutinizing me through his knobby round spectacles as he shuffled around the room moving tables and chairs into the center.  When finally he stopped moving, a puddle had gathered at my feet.  He came to me and stuck out his hand, took it back to wipe on his pant leg, and then thrust it back out to me. 

                “Smee: First Mate to the captain of the Golden Navigator, miss.” 

                So this wasn’t the captain.  I wrung my hands together nervously. 

                “Pleased to meet you, sir.” 

                “I am not a sir, nor a saint, but a pirate.” 

                Under normal conditions I might have winced, or ran, or hidden maybe with a good mind.  But I had no place to run, no person to hide me or hold me. 

                “Why did you pull me up?”  Salty bubbles formed around my words. 

                Mr. Smee shuffled his feet.  “To rescue you, miss.” 

                “I was not drowning.” I clarified.  “Simply being… curious.”  He mumbled a quiet ‘oh’, before seating himself at the wooden table.  If I had a proper reading, his demeanor seemed rather depleted then, so I added in a praising.  “But thank you, Mr. Smee.  You have a kind heart.” 

                He nodded.  “A kind heart, but a mad head.  If the Cap’n knew you were here he might throw me overboard.” 

                “It isn’t hard to swim to shore.” 

                Smee cracked a smile. 

                “Pardon me,” I cleared my throat.  “My name is Grace.” 

                “A pleasure,” He eyed me one more time before crossing the room to a small closet.  His hands rummaged in piles.  “Let’s get you some proper clothing.” 

                He turned and handed me a bundle of cloth.  “Go on,” his head trailed to the closet.  “I won’t peek.” 

                When I emerged, Mr. Smee was mopping up the puddle on the floor which I had left. 

                “Well?” I turned around shyly to canter my new garb.  Smee smiled a toothy grin at me. 

                “You look like you belong here.” 

                I nodded satisfied.  I crumpled the soppy nightgown up into a ball.  My new garb looked worn and tough, as though handed down, yet it smelled fresh, reminding me of Mother hanging the laundry up on the line back home.  She never would have dreamed of hanging up my current wardrobe: dark leather leggings, a loose fitted tunic and brown vest.  A belt wrapped around my waist.  Along with the clothes I kept the shoes Peter had crafted for me. 

I felt free and adventurous.  The citizens of London never would have allowed me to wear pants before!  Smee prodded me to sit, and I did so, beginning to braid my course hair back. 

“Mr. Smee, how did you have these clothes for me?” 

He sat down too.  “Neverland has a way of providing for every need.  I knew a young person as yourself would be in need of clothing long before you came.” 

Peter had tried to explain that concept to me once before but either he had failed trying or I had failed understanding.  The questions were still brewing within me.  Now was my opportunity to ask, as Neverland had seemingly provided me with a counselor. 

                “What is it�"about Neverland?” 

                Smee scrunched his brow.  “You are here because of Peter, are you not?” 

                “Yes,”

                “Then you should understand.  Neverland is a figment of Peter’s imagination.  It exists because he wished so intensely that it would.  Neverland is a perfect place, but it rests on the stability of Peter’s mind.” 

                Smee could see that I was wringing my hands. 

“I don’t understand.”  I felt my words drift away pathetically. 

He licked his upper lip.  “You see, now that Peter has created Neverland and all that is in it, all cannot be destroyed�"only altered.” 

I was struggling to comprehend what was being told to me.  It seemed as though I was living in a dream, some evanescent place more flimsy than parchment.  I supposed I was, as Neverland had been created on a dream, yet here I was.  I looked at my new acquaintance. 

                “Mr. Smee?  What might alter Neverland?”  He sighed deeply.  I could sense there was a thick story to be told, one that had been hiding under rocks for generations.  “I can handle knowledge, Mr. Smee.” I assured him.   

                He nodded.  “As I said, Neverland is a perfect place�"almost.  When he first came here, when Neverland was young, Peter was happier than a turtle reachin’ the tide.  He had everything a young boy needs; adventure, freedom, the Lost Boys whom, like he, had come to Neverland to escape their lives.  You may have heard it told that Neverland never rains?  So it didn’t.” 

                “But it rained a fortnight ago!” 

“Ah!” Smee exclaimed. “That’s because Peter is changing.  A few nights ago hasn’t been the first time it’s gone an’ rained, child.  Over the past years the boy has gotten more somber, more depressed.  His downfallen spirits brings the downfall of rain.” 

“Why is Peter sad?” I all but whispered. 

Smee solemnly smiled.  “It was the Wendy-girl.” 

I gasped.  “She really was here?  But Smee, that was ages ago!  Why has Peter only fallen sad the past years?” 

“It takes time to cause a truly broken heart.” 

We sat across the table from each other in our dimly lit corner of the universe.  What I heard, what he said, was true.  I knew that much.  But the feelings in my chest frothed in waves of doubt and unbelief.  In that silent moment where truth and fable collided, I opened my mouth. 

“Mr. Smee,” I coughed.  My words tumbled in my mouth and tied my tongue into knots. 

“Wendy was your grandmother.”  He said it with all the wisdom of any old man.  I could only nod.  “I knew.  You look like her�"prettier though.  And your eyes are kinder.” 

“Thank you.”  I put my hands down in my lap. 

Peter loved my grandmother who was dead now.  He had held on all these years in love, in hopes that she might return.  It explained why he had come to my window that unsettled night.  He had been searching for Wendy.  I said this out loud. 

“Peter had been looking for Wendy.” 

Smee spoke each of his next words slowly.  “But instead he found Grace.” 

I brushed a dribbling tear from my eye and looked at Smee. 

“Will he ever let it go?” 

“You mean will Peter ever forgive himself for allowing Wendy to leave Neverland?  I wish I knew.  Even for a boy his feelings are intense.” 

Suddenly I gasped out with realization.  “That is why Neverland does not glow anymore, isn’t it!” 

“Clever girl,” Smee raised one eyebrow.  “The land ceased glowing the day Wendy left.” 

“Oh my, so then suppose Peter finds out Wendy is dead�"“

Smee put his hand in the air to cut me off.  “Do not say this.  Let Peter know of this from his own findings.” 

“Yes sir,” 

For a while we allowed the candle flicker from the air rather than our breath.  Finally the old man sighed. 

“Perhaps that is why you are here: to help him.” 

“How?”

Smee led me to the window.  “Make him learn to love again.” 

I dipped my head as I climbed out the window and down the ladder.  One last look was caught of his portly body and scruffy white hair before I dove off the side of the ship and into the glossy waters. 

 

So I hadn’t learned to fly.  But I had learned so much more.  The peace that came from simply knowing stabilized my decision in leaving my home to be with Peter.  One part of me, my selfish side, realized that I was only a replacement for my grandmamma who had abandoned the boy who made me free.  Peter was only pretending I was someone else.  Nothing else had ever hurt me more.  And then my other side, the one Smee had emphasized, told me to be calm, and free Peter just as he had freed me. 

Questions were like a river, constantly coming and going, but always of the same source.  The nature of them was similar and so in some way one question could answer all.  I longed for specifics though.  Somehow I knew Peter would never give them to me, at least not yet.  And so as I made my way back to the burrow, I made the conscious decision to keep my visit with Smee a secret. 

 

Michael flew himself into my arms when I entered the burrow.  He smelled of the sweetly rich odor of dirt. 

“Hello Grace,” Robyn chimed from across the room. 

Peter popped down the tunnel into the burrow behind me.  I startled in surprise. 

“Grace-fairy!”

“Hello Peter,” I breathed out.  “Where were you today?” 

“No matter.  I want to show you something. 

The three of us stood there waiting in silence for Peter to show us whatever it was that was that needed showing.  Finally I sighed. 

“Well, what is it?” 

“I have to take you there of course.”  He was examining me.  “Your nightgown is missing. 

“Aren’t you wondering where I got these clothes?” 

“No matter.  Neverland provides a way.”  Reaching up to his chest, he unpinned the acorn and pinned it upon my vest.  “There,” he said.  “So that a part of me is always with you.” 

I patted my new token and then reached out and tousled his hair.  “I would have kept you with me even without your acorn.” 

Behind us, Michael and Robyn had crept away in boredom to go back to their thoughts and mindless games.  What Peter had to show was not worth leaving the warmth of the burrow.  I thought otherwise.  Peter took hold of my hand and we fled the makeshift home. 

 

Outside was midnight black.  Other stars gleamed�"besides Neverland�"in the midnight sky.  Neverland had two moons, but both were only slivers in the chasm of space above us and all around.  It was because of this beauty that I resented only a little leaving the warm orange glow of the burrow.  Being with a content Peter was warmer than any fireplace had ever felt to me. 

“Where are we going?”  I yelled to Peter.  He flew us up through the bedroom window of the treehut. 

“I left it on the bed but I can’t wait to show you.” 

I went over and picked up the small charm on the bed.  It was a rabbit’s foot, a little brown one, with a leather strip for a strap. 

“It’s from the hare we hunted all those nights ago.  I made it into a charm for you.” 

I had never bothered to wonder what happened to the rest of the animal.  Instead of worrying, I tied the strap around my belt and let the rabbit foot dangle down. 

“How do I look?” 

Peter proudly flicked the acorn pinned to my vest, and then the rabbit foot. 

“Like you belong.” 

I finally felt as though I looked the part of Neverland.  My nightgown had been abandoned somewhere between pirates cove and the burrow, and I figured in some ways I was stuck there between with it.  But that was the last of my former life.  We ran to the window. 

“Now, for that something I have to show you.” 

 

 It was not midnight blue; no; it was darker than that.  The atmosphere felt thick and misty, dark as if we traversed the depths of a cave, yet the night was clear as any night in Neverland.  We alighted on a shelf of rocks near a cove on the far eastern coast of the island.  Here the water glimmered brighter like liquid silver.  The air had a curious edge of wonder.  I felt my heart beating fast as it had the night I trustingly leapt off the Iron Gate on my window.  As I looked out over the cool collection of rock and water, I wondered what could be hiding within the depths.  In this strange land there were many things hidden, some causing me to become far more distrusting than others.  But I knew for certain that wonders lay hiding in the water, for that was the place where humans never did venture. 

I knew that much as I grimaced at the tiny tidal waves.  Peter was breathing heavily over my shoulder.  He stepped forward and let a pebble crunch under his foot before crouching before the waters.  My premonition of fear caused me to scurry behind him, though I stayed standing. 

“Mermaid Cove,” he whispered in an ironic delight. 

I shuddered.  I had always wanted to see the mermaids.  Before Peter dipped his hand in, he turned back to me looking grave. 

“Grace, don’t listen to close to what they have to say.  They lie.” He warned. “And,” he added with an almost undetectable hesitation, “don’t show any affection towards me.  They get jealous.” 

My pale skin blushed easily.  “Have I ever?” 

He stepped back.  I watched his lips purse in thought, and then the water lapped his heel and he flew up in the sky, startled.  The water pulled back like low tide had suddenly fallen upon the sea, and waves tumbled over each other while Peter landed on a stepping stone some ten paces off. 

Suddenly, a head nudged out of the surface.  It glided closer to me until the water became too shallow for it to travel further.  And then two eyes peeked out.  At the sight of them I gasped and clutched my chest.  Her eyes, for it was a woman, looked like two glowing orbs humming in energy.  The pupils were dilated.  They were black; pitch as night. 

The urge was strong, and I could not help myself.  I found myself kneeling down and looking deep into her eyes.  Swirls of blue lightening wavered within the overgrown pupils. 

“You aren’t Peter.” She sung.  Two more prodded out of the water behind her.  “What is your purpose here, land girl?”  She chuckled at my lack of response.  “Let me show you then, what your purpose is.” 

The swelling black eyes cleared of the lightning storm and began playing pictures for me.  I saw myself playing a lute while a satyr danced around me.  We danced to the edge of a cliff and I tripped over the side.  I was calling, screaming for Peter, who came to me.  I fell and he flew.  But he never came to my aid as he always had, and a new girl came to his side.  They went off, leaving me hopeless. 

Blinking awake, I tumbled back over the stones and looked away. 

“Over here!” one mermaid chimed in the distance, and she slithered over to Peter’s stepping stone.  The woman in front of me eyed me curiously then, propelling herself around, she dove into the water.  Behind her, the tail reaching at least five feet in length glimmered like the moonlit back of a sea serpent.  There were three mermaids now gathered at the base of Peter.  He was skipping rocks off the water. 

“Hello girls!” he said cheerily.  A fourth mermaid slipped into the air and began combing her hair that was tinted purple like a wet stone. 

“Peter!” they cried around him.  “It’s been so long since you came to visit us!” 

“Oh, why don’t you come anymore?” 

“Peter…” 

I covered my ears.  The sing-song chord of their voices struck devastating music in me.  I could never be as beautiful as they, nor as wanted.  Yet I watched as Peter glided to me and uncovered my ears tenderly. 

“Girls, this is my Grace-Fairy.” 

The mermaids’ faces fell.  Eight accusing orbs swept over me in a fury.  I hadn’t shown any affection, but it seemed that Peter’s attention had had an even greater effect, as jealousy rippled from their auras. 

I didn’t want to be seen anymore.  I wanted to be rid of the mermaids.  The one with the jet black hair pet Peter’s fingers and stared at me expectantly. 

“Come for a swim.” 

I flipped my gaze between them. 

“Yes,” they lured. “We’d love the company.” 

They moved and spoke in a flock, one that was persuading and all but terrifying.  I forced my leg to move away. 

“No, I…” As I stepped back, a rock rolled out from under my feet and my legs flailed out from under me.  In a fury the black-haired one yanked my ankles into the sea.  I screamed out and Peter took my hand.  He pulled me free of the mer-girls’ slick hands and we flew high away. 

“Good-bye girls!” he crowed down to them.  “I’ll see you soon!” 

The last tail flipped back into the water.  They were gone but my fears were not. 

 

Where there should have been doubt laid hope.  Two nights previous I had feared for my life.  Now I was awaking to a new morning and I yearned for another adventure.  I knew that, just as Smee and Peter had said, Neverland would find a way.  This truth assured me that no harm would come to me as I did wander through the strange land. 

I planned to go back and visit Smee, for I had many questions for him.  But I waited.  Peter would have to be away for me to visit Smee.  I knew if he discovered I was associating with his worst enemy’s first-mate he would send me away. 

I braided back my hair, cinched up my belt, and climbed down from the tree hut.  Still I could not fly, and it bothered me.  It was like a mosquito bite that would not cease to itch and seemed to stay for eternity.  I sighed.  Nothing could be done of it anyway. 

I found Robyn and Michael in the dirt behind an overgrown fern.  They were placing rocks carefully by each other and drawing with sticks in the dirt, and for a moment I thought them to be playing chess. 

“Good morning boys!”  I wrapped my arms around Michael’s shoulders. 

Robyn grinned.  “We’re making a battle plan.” 

“Oh?  Whatever for?” 

“For Tomaben.  He switched out our arrowhead collection for seashells.  We’ve got to get them back.” 

“Is Tomaben another Lost Boy?” 

Michael was concentrating so deeply on their map.  He merely shook his head.  Robyn brushed the seat of his pants off as he stood up. 

“No, not a Lost Boy�"he’s one of the Indian Warriors.” 

I moved away from Michael and ran my hands over my braid.  “Why can’t you simply go up and ask for them back?” 

They both scoffed.  “That would ruin the nature of the game.” 

The relationship between the Lost Boys and the Indians was one I had never considered.  The pirates were obvious enemies, and pixies indifferent, but the Indians were so very reserved.  It was hard to ever tell where they stood. 

Robyn was scampering up a tree, hanging upside-down when he had found a stable enough branch.  His floppy hair hung down in clumps off his head. 

“Tell me then, Robyn.  Are you angry with one another?” 

“Who?  Us and the Indians?  Oh, no,” he shook his head.  “It’s all fun and games with the Indians.  Our battles and pranks have been going on as long as I can remember.  We are a nuisance to them, at best.” 

It seemed silly to me to hear a boy who was in appearance younger than I talk about ‘as far as he could remember’.  I reminded myself that Robyn and Michael�"and even Peter�"had lived far more years than I had, though I knew not how many exactly. 

I crouched by Michael.  “I would like to join you in your quest for the arrowheads.” 

“Oh boy!”  They shouted and both scrambled to get as near to me as possible. 

Michael looked at me seriously.  “You have to take the oath to secrecy and alliance.  We have to be sure you aren’t a spy for the Indians.” 

“Whatever it takes,” 

They glanced at each other and then spat into their hands before tossing them in the middle.  I could only laugh, for I should have known that spitting was the way that pacts were made here. 

I spit into my hand and slapped it against theirs.  We wiped our slimy hands onto our trousers. 

“Now we have to gather the supplies.  The plan is almost perfectly set into action.”  Michael assured me.  He seemed to be the mastermind of the two, despite being the smaller one. 

“Don’t I need to know of the plan first before we begin?” 

“We’ll explain it on the way, miss.  Come on Tink!” 

Out of the bushes brushed the tiny girl fairy.  I hadn’t seen her much since I had come to Neverland.  She followed faithfully behind us as we started along, and by the way she flitted around excitedl, I got the feeling she got as much a kick from the child’s war as the Lost Boys did. 

 

We had only been out a few hours when I grew weary of collecting seashells.  We had no baskets; we had to fill our shirts full and then carry them back to the old hut.  When I had just dropped off my load and everyone else was somewhere between trees, I slipped away and headed for Pirates’ Cove.  Only three days had passed since my run-in with Smee.  But I could not resist going to see him again. 

It was easier following along the beach rather than pushing through the jungle foliage that reached for me and tripped my clumsy limbs. 

When the ship came into view I contemplated on the beach to see if there was a better way onto the boat than wading through the shallow ocean shore.  My encounter with the mermaids had made me wearier than I first realized, as now I knew what was in the water.  In any case, there was no other way onto the ship but the ladder Smee had left dangling out for me, so I waded in and sighed. 

 

Smee graciously welcomed me back to his cabin: it looked exactly the same all around, perfectly exact all the way down to the three lit candles on the table.  His snowy scruff seemed more unkept like he had not slept well the night before.  As Smee handed me a rag to dry down, he admired my lucky foot around my belt.  To me it had a sort of affectionate significance, as I had been there when the rabbit had died and saw how greatly Peter cared for each creature in Neverland.  And he had cared enough to give me a part of it. 

I tossed the now damp rag to the corner. 

“Peter gave it to me.” I flushed, and then realized something.  “Where is that boy?  I haven’t seen him since the mermaids.” 

Smee stroked his eyebrow.  “Does he oft go missing?” 

“I don’t know.”  I sat down.  “I suppose.  But I hide away sometimes as well.  And he is not the only one with secrets.” 

Smee shook his head.  “Perhaps the boy has plans he has not shared with us.” 

I knew this could not be true.  Peter was fickle, but never a liar. 

Something inside me sparked, and I raised my voice.  “And what of your captain?  Peter told me how he hides away, fearful, plotting!  His anger will consume him.”  My fist pounded the table.  Smee shushed me whilst checking over his shoulder.  His eyes were swimming with emotions and explanations, all too long for me to be patient to hear. 

“Smee,” I put my hand over his.   “Where is the legendary Captain Hook now?”  My heart fluttered. 

“He is in his cabin.  He hasn’t left in months; I try to help him but he refuses visitors.” 

“Why does he stay there?”  I pitied the villain whom I now realized I would never meet.  Smee looked past my shoulder. 

“I think he is angry.” 

“With what?” 

“Never succeeding in capturing Pan.” 

“Mr. Smee,” I tried to be as gentle and clear as I could be. “Anger is a secondhand emotion.  Some other feeling has caused this anger.  If you care for your captain, would you not free him of his hold?” 

After I had spoken these words, I realized how contradictory they were to my convictions.  There I was, instructing Smee to free Peter’s worst enemy when, in reality, I wanted Hook to stay in his misery.  It sounded to me that Captain Hook had so consumed himself in trying to defeat Peter that his entire being had simply given up when he failed.  If my theory was true (and I thought it might be) then I was betraying Peter by encouraging Smee to help his Captain. 

But then my mind wandered to another more questioning matter. 

“Would one ever defeat the other?”  I asked Smee. 

Their battle�"Peter and Hook’s�"had gone on long enough with no triumph.  After the many years of their rivalry it seemed unlikely that neither came out on top.  It was an even battle. 

Smee rubbed his brow again.  “No,” he said.  “There would never be a conqueror.  Because Neverland is existing as a result of Peter’s mind, there can never be true pain here.  It isn’t possible.”  He grunted loudly.  “Never could know pain.  Peter’s recent moods have thrown the island in a loophole.”  I could tell the information was pouring out faster than he could describe.  “Hook could never destroy Pan, nor Pan destroy Hook because it would cause true pain.” 

“Is true pain death?”  I whispered. 

“You haven’t hurt till you lose something you love.” 

It made sense now, how Peter lived forever why he never feared.  I put my head down in my arms and could feel Smee’s hesitant palm enclose a few of my fingers.  Smoke-filled air watered my eyes.  I tried not to cry, and I didn’t, if for only a few tears.  Coming to Neverland, being here, had caused confusion.  It seemed ironic that a place created as a refuge for happiness had been fused in a complicated black hole of emotion and I didn’t think anyone quite knew how to escape it. 

I wiped a tear away.  “Why is there a Captain Hook then?  If this is Peter’s haven, why would he create an enemy?” 

“You misunderstood me.  True, Neverland is free of death, but there must always be an enemy, an opposing force wherever you walk.” 

“Mr. Smee,” I hesitated.  “Captain Hook is no longer a threat.  Where is the opposition now?” 

There was a change in Smee’s voice then.  I detected a reverent simplicity in his words.  “Peter is his own enemy now.” 

We sat in silence.  The antagonist of Neverland was no longer a physical being�"a Captain Hook, if you will�"but a personal struggle: a struggle of Peter’s.  It was too late to run now though.  I had a purpose, and that was to save Peter.  In my mind I doubted it would be a hard task to commit to, as I was drawn to Peter so irresistibly.  My fear now was trying to keep my sanity all the while Neverland lost its. 

 

In the burrow, the Lost Boys and Tinkerbell were lounging lazy bears, comparing scratches and bruises they had attained over the past week.  I paced into their cozy corner with my hands on my hips.  It was not too hidden that I had cried recently but I tried to conceal it with my question. 

“Where is Peter?”

Michael looked at me innocently and shrugged, just as Tinkerbell fluttered about.  She chimed. 

“Tink says he’s not here.”  Robyn yawned. 

“’Here’ meaning Neverland?” 

“I dunno. She didn’t say.” 

                Fronted in my mind was the possibility, what I knew to most obviously be the truth, that Peter had been leaving Neverland.  This only explained where he had been running to over the past while.  He often went missing, rarely took me anywhere with him, and was secretive even in moments of happiness. 

                I turned away from the oblivious Lost Boys and fairy.  My tree hut seemed like the only sanctuary. 

                With my head cuddled deep into my arms, and all on my mind was what a mess I had been thrown into, I wondered again why I stayed.  It was too hard to find Peter with enough time to help him.  And he most likely would keep searching for whatever it was he was missing. 

                Smee had been right when he told me that Peter loved Wendy so deeply, still after all these years, yet he could not understand that she had gone and died.  I was only a shadow of what Peter wanted to relive.  Like warmth of the sun creeping into my body, I realized that I had never come to Neverland by fate, but by chance.  How silly I had been to think that I would be able to show Peter to love again.  It was not so.  The land was still dull, and Peter still hurtfully longing. 

                Somewhere far, far away in the distance, thunder rumbled and I knew that Peter had returned.  I didn’t want to see him, or anyone.  And considering going back home made my stomach wretch, and I could not fly there anyway.  So again I concluded it was Neverland where I would stay, only now it was just not Peter who longed for something more. 

 

                The accidental parallel behaviors of mine and Peter’s were quite astonishing.  We never talked much except for the occasional nod of the head or hello.  Peter spent long periods of time missing, as did I.  Only I was with Smee, not foolishly frolicking through England as Peter was.  And aside from the lingering loss of purpose in me, I somehow managed to be lighthearted.  Most of that happiness entered my life through one specific incident�"an accident. 

                I had been in Smee’s cabin as I was near every day, and we were jesting about the way I looked so much like a pirate instead of the English gentlewoman I was brought up to be, when suddenly the unlocked door burst open with a young pirate running through it.  He looked flustered, and even more so when he spotted me.  Smee told him to pay me no mind, and the man continued to tell Smee that a baboon had gotten itself stuck in the ratlines.  My curiosity pulled me along after them, and it was certainly a hoot to watch all the sailors hollering and firing off guns from the deck while the braver few dodged bullets in the sails.  They never got the baboon�"he ran off�"but they found me in the midst of it.  And they took to me really well, too.  As the days went by it wasn’t only Smee who cared for me but the rest of the pirates as well.  They weren’t the feared sailors my grandmother’s journal had put them out to be.  We were careful though to never let Peter find out. 

                I remember a specific day that happened among my months of laziness.  I was wandering the west jungle inlet with Ewing, the pirate who had found me first that silly baboon day.  He was the most unique out of all the pirates I knew and the one who had clung to me.  He was handsome enough, in his twenties I supposed, and an explorer at heart.  I thought he would love the Lost Boys very much as he acted like an overgrown one himself.  He made me relax the most, and yet with Ewing I thought the most.  With him I discovered that doing nothing in particular was important.  In Neverland, especially after Peter’s frequent departures began, there was not much to do.  I had to find activities that tested my abilities and through this ironic combination I learned.  I never could have guessed that to lead a lazy life I would be taught more than in a school house.  I was learning endurance skills, and as Ewing pointed out, life is all about enduring. 

                After that day, I felt changed.  I wondered to myself if my purpose had changed.  I still knew I needed to be in Neverland, and added to that knowledge I knew I needed to learn. 

                Ewing patted my back and handed me a hibiscus that didn’t glow in fairy dust.  But it was still beautiful.  That day was my day of confidence. 

 

                I was up in my hut braiding my hair back when I heard multiple high squeaks and hollers. There was no reason to be alarmed, but the whooping continued.  I clambered down the rope ladder and rushed to the burrow.  About twenty yards off from the overgrown tree, Robyn, Michael, and Peter were struggling to click a tightly wound lever into place. 

                “Help!”  Robyn sweated and grunted. 

                “What on earth…”  I rushed over.  Peter had his hands gripping the paddle and his feet wedged him in the air.  I could see their hands trembling. 

                “Push the catapult into the lock!  Push it!” 

                “Push it?” I yelled.  Without thinking I leapt into the catapult.  My weight alone forced the lever into the lock, and the catapult was set to be released.  All at once the three boys collapsed in the dirt and panted like overworked sled dogs.  I looked at the contraption that had caused so much turmoil.  It was straining, ready to burst forward. 

                “What are you all up to?”  I questioned all three of them.  Michael leaned forward on one of his elbows.  He had a real serious look in his eyes, one like Tillie used to give me when I was late for dinner. 

                “The catapult is for the siege.  We will use it to shoot the seashells into the Indian village.  That’s where the center point of the attack will come from.” 

                I noticed while I questioned the Lost Boys, Peter had slowly picked himself up and was sauntering away from the scene.  I had not seen him for nearly a week, and before that we had not even been bothering to talk much.  I brushed the boys aside and ran over to him. 

                He was at the edge of the burrow clearing.  The jungle shadows were just barely reaching his eyes. 

                “Peter!”  I touched his arm protectively and he flinched.  “Where are you going?”  I noticed his eyes never met mine exactly. 

                “I need to go talk to the mermaids.” 

                “No you don’t, Peter.  You needn’t go get drunk off their false illusions.  Peter,” I forced him to look at me.  Something seemed different in him, in his face.  “I don’t know where you’ve been hiding, but I know that we all need you here.  Neverland is your place.  Without you it cannot exist!  I need this land, and I know perfectly well that the Lost Boys need it too.”  Peter was slowly advancing away from me.  “Peter you cannot abandon your home even if you are fearful or sad, or whatever it is that you’re feeling!” 

                I knew right well why Peter was abandoning ship.  He longed for Wendy and was hoping to find her back in London.  I felt trapped, for I could not let Peter know that I was aware of his intentions yet I yearned to comfort him. 

                He was walking away shaking his head so fearfully.  I knew he could not fly away.  No happiness was seen with him.  I took advantage of this knowledge and ran to him, grabbing his wrist and tugging it. 

                “Don’t run.”  I pleaded.  “Please, I need you.” 

                I ceased talking then to avoid choking on tears.  Peter’s eyes said so much.  He peered at me longingly, but his wrist slipped out of my hand and he ran away hard.  For a moment I considered chasing after him.  That desire lasted such a brief time.  Instead, I went in the direst opposite direction to the Pirate’s Cove.  It was all I could think to do. 

 

                I greeted Ewing with a hug and a face full of hot tears.  He held me tight and shushed me like I was a helpless crying infant while I rubbed my cheek on his dirt brown shirt. 

                “I wish I knew what to do.  I want so desperately to help him.” 

                Ewing carried me over to the ship side and let me look out on the water.  I always liked the way the ship rocked and lulled all that was on it.  It felt like a lullaby, like mother’s voice was singing from the waves.  They were uneven, the waves.  I clenched Ewing’s shirt and looked down in the deep blue. 

                “Grace, all you can do is wait.  Sometimes when we find ourselves in the middle of an ocean and there isn’t any wind, all you can do is sit and wait for the tides to turn.  And trust me, Grace, when I say that they will soon turn.” 

                I nodded.  Ewing’s simple nautical words were truth. 

                “Where is Smee?” 

                “In his cabin.” 

                He patted my back away. 

 

                “Mr. Smee?  It’s Grace!”  I kept walking into Smee’s cabin.  He looked rather flustered to see me.  He scratched his stubble beard.  I sniffled up the last bit of my sad runny nose.  “I wanted to see you.” 

                “Grace…”  Smee fumbled over his feet and came over to me.  I watched him adjust his red cap.  “Would you come over later tonight?” 

                “Pardon?”  I was praying silently that Smee was not upset with me too.  His eyes were too soft though to be angry. 

                “I have something for you, here on this ship, but you cannot see it until sunset.” 

                “Is it something good?” 

                “Tonight, Grace,” he patted my back.  “Off you go.”  I turned to leave.  “Sunset!”  He called out behind me. 

                “I shan’t forget!” 

 

                The Lost Boys were crawling in the burrow with Tink in utter excitement.  They informed me that their siege to regain their stolen arrowheads was to happen at dusk the following day.  I knew it all to be playful, and yet their seriousness in it all created anxiety in me as well.  I found wonder in realizing that Tinkerbell was as thrilled about the siege as Robyn and Michael were.  The three of them trounced around the burrow making Indian calls and pretending to shoot arrows.  Tinkerbell was laughing and when she did, those bells rang. 

                As the afternoon wore on and I laid on a bear rug observing their frolicking and wrestling, Tink’s light became the only light glowing in the burrow.  She yawned and stretched, fairy dust falling down, and curled into a nook in the wall.  Michael came over to me, sleep in his eyes. I felt satisfied as he drooped down and rested his head on my legs.  Robyn came and sidled up next to me.  I was reminded of my first few days in Neverland.  It had rained, and we had been scared.  Now I thought us just vulnerable, not scared. 

                “What can I do in your attack?”  I asked. 

                Robyn huffed.  “You can sneak into the village with me and Tink.  Michael will distract the Indians by manning the catapult.” 

                “Yep,” 

                “You never told me all the particulars before.” 

                “That’s cause I hardly see ya.  You’re gone a lot.” 

                His words weren’t disdainful, but rather matter-of-factly.  It was true, though.  Before Peter’s disappearing I had spent long days with the Lost Boys. 

                “I’m sorry I haven’t been around.” 

                “It’s alright.  We have all the time we need.  Can you tell us a story now?” 

                All the time we need.  But I questioned if we did have all the time in the world.  What would be the last straw for Peter?  What would destroy him and all of us in the process?  I shuddered.  Robyn sensed my discomfort and reached for my hand. 

                I sighed.  “I have a good story to tell.” 

                Once there was a young girl.  She wanted nothing but to stay a girl.  And there was a boy.  This boy stayed a boy forever.  The girl went away with the boy, and they had many adventures together.  It could not stay happy for the girl though, for she had other things besides childhood that she loved more.  And so the girl left the boy�"and her childhood�"and she grew up. 

                I stretched out catlike and pet Robyn’s shaggy blonde head.  Michael stirred. 

                “Was that story bout you?” 

                “No, it was about my Grandmother Wendy.” 

                “Wendy?!”  Michael bounced out of my lap with wide buggy eyes.  “Wendy is my sister!” 

                “Wendy?”  Robyn perked up too. 

                I shook my head in disbelief.  “But Wendy was my grandmother!”  

                “Was?” 

                “She died, only a few years ago.  I’m sorry Michael.” 

                Michael placed his hands over mine.  “It was your loss too.” 

                I looked into his deep eyes.  All that time ago, time which I had forgotten till now, I had recognized Michael as family.  It seemed only fitting to now realize in my time of loneliness what Michael meant. 

                “Michael,” I sighed.  “This means that you are my uncle!” 

                He grinned. 

                Robyn moved over into our tender silence and set his shaded doe eyes on me.  “Did you know Wendy?” 

                I smiled, perhaps sadly.  “Not like you did.” 

                We three huddled in a vapor of thick thought that covered the expanse of the room.  Tink hummed a chorus of church bells.  Her warm light echoed throughout the burrow and I suddenly realized how late it was getting.  I gasped. 

                “Smee!” 

                What?”  They looked at me in the broken silence.  The Lost Boys knew nothing of my pirate relations.  It would shatter them to discover that I was friends with the enemy�"former enemy.  But then again, it might shatter them even more if they found out through accident rather than me telling them.  And Peter was not there to tell me otherwise. 

                “Come with me.”  I shuddered.  “I have a surprise for you.” 

 

                The sun had just shivered behind the canopy.  It was the time of day where shadows switched to silhouettes.  I had always liked this time.  It felt to me that at night Neverland was most alive.  I guessed that was because Neverland had many secrets, and secrets like darkness, and darkness was night.  This did not frighten me.  I was an inhabitant of Neverland and I knew its ways now. 

                Michael and Robyn trudged along behind not bold or maybe not curious enough to ask a question.  They knew where we were heading. 

                I stopped three hundred paces from the pirate ship that was now visible.  Robyn peeked out from his tree cover where the jungle stopped and the sand started.  I could just barely make out his matted scruff atop his head.  I looked back to the pirate ship.  Music was wafting over to us in the light breeze, their heavy rhythmic footsteps echoing off the planks.  The board walk was laid out awaiting my arrival.  I went to move forward. 

                “Grace!”  Robyn was hesitant.  “We don’t oft come to Pirate Cove.” 

                “I do.” 

                Michael came around and tugged at my ruffled tunic.  They were even more quiet than before, and Michael was shivering like an abandoned dog.  He was my uncle.  I thought life seemed even more backward.  But life had been backwards the day I came to Neverland anyhow.  I gathered my courage for them. 

                “There is nothing to fear.  I have a surprise.” 

                Robyn came over then too.  We three walked to the boardwalk.  I made sure to remember how delightful the feeling of massaging sand felt under my feet. 

                At the boardwalk, the very short boardwalk reaching over the waves, I rubbed both boys’ backs. 

                “Change is good,” I assured them. 

                We crossed the planks.  The whole crew of pirates rushed out at me to greet me.  They were jumping and leaping and hollering.  Ewing came at me and gathered me in a hug, and then from behind I heard the music.  Four of the pirates had gathered in a corner and were starting a new tune.  I recognized the accordion, my favorite harmonica, and their rough, playful voices singing. 

                “Is this the surprise?”

                Ewing nodded and rushed me over to Smee who had stayed back from the crowd. 

                “What is all this?”  I gestured to the dancing that had broken out on deck.  The pirates were clapping and skipping along with the music.  “Is this for me?” 

                He wore a schoolboy grin, peering through his thick brow.  “I thought you might like some good humor to help you forget your struggles.” 

                I knew Smee was a hesitant man.  I could not help myself though, as I was so pleased with my surprise, and I reached up to hug him.  “How did you know?” 

                “I told you once: Neverland will provide a way.” 

                I let him go.  “Then I do believe that Neverland knew more than anyone that I needed some cheerfulness.” 

                Suddenly I remembered Michael and Robyn whom I had abandoned on the boardwalk.  I called out to them and ran over.  To my surprise I found that they were not cowering from the scruffy pirates, but seemed rather curious.  Robyn more so than Michael was fidgeting, trying to find his place in the new world. 

                “Lost Boys!” I called out.  Michael came prancing to me.  “Boys, this is dearest Smee.  He is first mate of the pirate ship and my very good friend.  You have nothing to fear here.” 

                Robyn shook Smee’s hand.  “Hello sir,” 

                Never had Robyn stooped to so humble a manner. 

Michael came round to observe the new man.  “I’ve seen you before�"with Captain Hook.” 

                As Smee fidgeted in response to Michael’s observation, I lowered my head closer to the boy’s and shushed him.  “We do not talk of their fallen captain here.  These men are not like Hook.” 

                He nodded his understanding to me then turned to Smee.  “Pleased to meet you.” 

                Our conversation was being drowned out by the ever constant music around us.  The ship deck was flocked with dancing men.  Their flashing colors and striped, crawling with personality attracted Michael and Robyn as easily as night bugs to a fire.  They were soon a part of the frolicking and I moved away to the ship side to watch.  The dance was to lift my own mood but I was content enough with observing rather than participating.  It meant more to me seeing the Lost Boys belonging with someone else rather than themselves. 

                A humming glow had been creeping through my body since I had found out about Michael, but it was still increasing more.  The feeling felt like what Tink looked like: golden, glowing sparkles of radiance.  It was warm. 

                I leaned out over the ship edge so that all I could see was ocean and sky.  My breath steadied. 

                The sky was blood red, with not a spot of blue visible.  Looking into the mango sunset I forgot what was behind me.  The ocean�"it was reflecting those deepened red shades.  The waves wobbled the colors around like a melting pot of some mysterious metal.  Neverland was truly beautiful.  And, as I was realizing, it really did always find a way. 

                I felt a gentle hand on my back.  The pressure comforted me, adding warmth, and Ewing came around to my right side.  His eyes reflected the sun and the sunset as well, like two seeing fruits.  His cheeks were flushed with pleasure. 

                “Grace,” he said. “This all is for you.”

                “And I cannot express how pleased I am with it all.” 

                I continued looking out over the sea.  I knew my hand was tapping the ship side along with their tunes and I couldn’t stop.  Ewing heaved a sigh. 

                “Why are you not dancing?”  When I did not answer right away, he gave me an explanation. “We pirates can’t sing a love poem or cook up a meal for a king.  But I can tell you miss that we know how to have a good time.”  His hand moved from my shoulder down to my hand on the rail.  “Smee knew you weren’t feeling all well.” 

                I shrugged him off but sighed.  “No words can really say�"it seems the problem lies deeper than myself.  But I am still taking responsibility for it.”  Ewing nodded.  I continued.  “In any case, this time is meant to be a happy one.  I should not pester myself with problems.” 

                “Aye,” 

                We smiled at one another.  Then I laughed.  Inside I felt so happy, and so terribly real.  Ewing took my hand again. 

                “Would you dance with me miss?” 

                “In a heartbeat,” 

                We walked out to the center of the deck.  Michael was up on one pirate’s shoulder waving his arms around grinning.  It was still a mass of sweaty, hairy, dancing men but I didn’t mind much.  Ewing grabbed my waist, I his shoulder, and we pranced around the other pirates, dipping and laying our feet to the beat of the accordion.  The both of us were laughing a storm up, and I imagined my eyes must have been sparkling like fairy dust.  Ewing picked me up and twirled me, then let me back down to continue our rhythm.  I glanced flashes of Smee doing an Irish-jig , Robyn and Michael giggling and dancing around.  The pirate dance was a never ending mass of song and footwork. 

                A raging scream pierced the sky.  I dropped my arms from Ewing and turned toward the land.  Around us, the pirate dance was dwindling down like a dropped spool of thread leaving a trail of thin string along the ground. 

Out from the trees a figure stepped out.  It was a silhouette.  It was Peter.  The bloody light now reached his face as he stepped forward.  On the ship all was silent.  Music hung in the air in condensed droplets, but they could not fall.  We watched him skulk up the boardwalk and hesitate as he stepped onto the ship.  His brow was heavy and posture limp.  He opened his mouth a bit but closed it quickly, for his scream had fled with all his voice. 

Michael scampered behind Smee somewhere off to my left.  I felt the ship and the sea beneath me but all else besides was still. 

I went forward two steps before Ewing grabbed my arm to hold me back.  And when I looked at him he was shaking his head in a warning.  I shook my head back at him and tugged my arm free. 

“It’s alright.”  I said.  My feet carried me over to Peter.  When I was near, he took steps back and glowered at me. 

“Don’t come!”  He yelled. 

I rubbed my chilled arms.  “Peter, please!”  I pleaded. 

“How could you?”
                “How could I what?  Find happiness?  Discover new things?” 

“Friend the enemy!”  He snarled.  “You friended the enemy and betrayed me!” 

“They aren’t the enemy, Peter!  They are good men.” 

“They are pirates and they try to kill me.” 

“They aren’t the enemy!”  I cried out again. 

The two of us were breathing hard.  Peter threw his arm in dismissal.  “Who is then, Grace?  You?” 

Peter’s bare feet turned and padded down the boardwalk, muted by the sand that followed.  I broke into a run after him.  It was a desperate race.  My braid whipped behind me, but that was the only part of me that held back. 

I chased Peter across the beach and into the cover of the trees all the while calling out his name whenever I had the breath.  He ignored me, and soon he was out of my sight. 

The blood red sunset was gone now.  It had either set or was lost between the trees, and now under the foliage cover I could see naught but shadows.  I kept running along anyhow and soon enough there came a sob.  It was quiet and gentle, and one would not have heard it in the vast jungle, but I had been listening. 

Peter was sitting atop a boulder with his legs pulled in and his head down.  I didn’t know if he wanted me but I climbed up next to him anyhow. 

The atmosphere felt cool and wet.  I let the fresh air steady my breathing, and when it had calmed I put my hand on Peter’s back.  At my touch he turned his head to see me.  Something in his face was different.  It was only a miniscule detail, maybe somewhere in his bone structure or the color of his cheeks.  My hand went doubtfully to touch his changed skin that was rough now and no longer boyish.  He shrugged me off but began to cry again.  We were both thankful for the veil of darkness which clobbered our features to nothing more than pasty shadows and shapes.  Resulting, Peter could not see my own silent tears. 

My voice eased out.  “I’m sorry Peter, so fretfully so.” 

The palm of his hand swept his cheek.  One tear, though, he missed, and it dribbled down to hang from his chin.  I reached over to swipe at it.  He coughed a laugh.  “Look at me, sobbing like a little boy.” 

I cocked my head.  “Isn’t that what you wish?  To be a boy?”  He didn’t answer.  “Why are you crying?”  I asked the obvious looking for an answer much deeper. 

Peter shook his head, then lifted it to stretch out his neck and back.  His shoulders relaxed and he fell back on the boulder with his head facing the sky. 

The sky was a sea with fish hiding as frozen stars.  They were shards tempting to fall on us below.  But then I remembered that we too were a star, precarious as the others.  Looking out from the small island it all seemed so vast and unreal, yet I had been in that black space with those stars, as had Peter.  I couldn’t fly now and neither could he. 

All I had ever wanted were the answers to everything.  Sometimes I thought that was too much to ask for.  Peter was a boy of secrets and luring him to tell me all was something I couldn’t decide if it was deceiving or honest.  So we lay out flat as I waited patiently to hear his story.  And as I knew, it came. 

“You knew Wendy.  But I loved Wendy.  I found her one night when I was exploring London.  She was looking out her window�"your same window�"looking awful sad.  So we came to Neverland together with her two brothers, and I loved her.  Wendy was a free mind with an attached spirit�"attached to London that is.  She told me she had to grow up, that it was her responsibility.  I don’t think she ever belonged here forever.  She was too structured. 

I took her back to London with her youngest brother, but Michael stayed here.  He became a Lost Boy and Wendy hated me for that.” 

This was where the story would get painful.  Peter stretched his spine long across the boulder.  I watched his bare belly rise with each breath.  My head moved into his chest and I intertwined my fingers in his.  We were passing time.  But we had all the time in the world. 

At last Peter felt the urge to continue, and his breath became words. 

“She hated me and I loved her.”  His voice cracked.  “I went back to her window some nights, but soon it was closed.  I never saw her again.”  Peter sat up.  I slipped off his belly.  His brow was intense, darkened.  “I could never understand how she left me as though I had never come to know her.” 

“Peter, I’m so sorry.” 

“No.  I went back  even though I knew she was grown and I found you instead.” 

“Peter, and thank goodness you had…” 

“No,” His voice was becoming more intense.  “I never should have found you.  I never should have gone back.  I only fooled myself into thinking you could be Wendy.  You aren’t the slightest alike.” He let out a sad laugh.  “After my illusion was broken, I began going back.  I can’t stop.  I’m scared.” 

After all had erupted from his lips, the air did not seem so still.  His memories had flooded the atmosphere like marshy waters between the reeds.  If there was solace to be found it was no longer in the quiet words but in the spoken ones. 

“I need to share a few things with you.”  I took his hand again to draw his fickle attention.  “I am not Wendy.  I am her granddaughter.”  He looked away.  I said his name, a warning for him to listen, and he turned back.  “Secondly, Wendy will never come back, nor can I bring her back.  She has passed away.” 

I shocked myself with so blatantly sharing the very piece of information that was capable of destroying Peter.  His face had fallen, all posture gone, yet I continued on with hopes to move him forward with me. 

“Wendy never hated you Peter.  If you could have read her diaries about you and Neverland… they were dazzling.”  I squeezed his hand.  “And I have never once regretted coming to Neverland with you.  I am meant to be here.” 

We shivered on the cold rock that seeped a chill into our bodies.  Peter stood and, helping me to my feet, we faced close and sighed with relief.  Peter caressed the acorn pinned to my chest and smiled. 

“Come with me.”  He whispered. 

 

Midnight Blue.  I should have known every fanciful creature reined in the cover of it.  There were places I never would go.  In Neverland there was a valley, a sort of sheltered hollow on the land that I had only dared skirting once and never again.  One time at night I speculated what power might be hiding within the gorge.  Maybe it was the heart of Neverland. 

What I saw now could never have been imagined, sculpted, painted, contrived.  To see truly was to believe, for I knew in my heart that such beauty would not possibly be created in a human mind. 

We stood at the ledge of a hollow the size of God’s fist�"large enough to be disorienting but small enough to see across.  The thickest trunked trees created a fence around the hollow, tracing black sentinels to the night sky.  Their branches stretched, twisted, and finally connected to create a lid for the enchanting globe below.  The trees were silhouettes in the sky.  Nature had painted a mural of bough shadows that entangled to make an oriental masterpiece.  Way up in the sky it was the blackest blue, and that dark paint dripped into the hollow below into a golden-bronze melting pot of light.  The source of that night was the hundreds of fairies who glimmered down below in their hollow.  They had a land that was glossy with fairy dust, and not even the trees and the jungle could cover their light.  A tinkling music was dainty to me, yet I imagined to them it was a beautifully deafening celebration. 

Peter’s face was lit up and for the first time in days his feet lifted off the ground.  Happiness found him again.  I was so enwrapped in Peter that I failed to notice my own feet rising.  I hovered, shocked. 

“Peter!  I’m flying.  I’m flying!”  A laugh escaped me gleefully. 

He grinned.  “Grace-fairy!” 

The hollow was the heart of Neverland.  Warmth and light was flowing from it and could not help but flow into everything with a heartbeat.  I was still rising beside Peter.  He twirled me.  My hair rose and fell with the breeze. 

Soon beneath me was the moving picture of perfection and I found myself higher still in the darkest parts of the hollow.  The light under my feet was just a hum.  Peter came to me and grabbed my waist and hand, twirling me again before we lilted atop a branch high enough in the sky it could be a cloud.  I felt like I was on my metal rail again, Peter calling out to me to come.  I had.  Now he was calling out once more with a new voice. 

Fairy music wavered below us. 

“Grace-fairy, you remind me of her.  I thought you would be her, and now that I know you will never be her, I am so grateful that you are you.  You gave me all when I returned nothing.”  We leaned in.  “Grace-fairy,” He kissed me soft and sweet.  It was the kiss of a boy.  But I shall never forget its meaning. 

That night one might have looked to the heavens and seen our silhouettes framed by the two moons of Neverland. 

Grace-Fairy.

 

It was morning.  Light was reserved to only the very edges of earth.  I was crouched low beneath a coconut tree, Robyn to my left under another.  Somewhere far up in the hilltops above the Indian Village was the catapult and Michael, little Michael, manning that machine all on his own. 

The boys had the system worked out to the smallest of details.  I was just a follower.  Peter was their watchman.  He was flying way up with Tinkerbell, and when the Indian warriors left camp to hunt, Peter would call down to Michael having him release the catapult onto the village.  It was at that time that Robyn and I would race into Tomaben’s hut and retrieve the arrowheads. 

The attack plans seemed polished�"clean�"enough in my mind.  There would be no violence, only trickery and chaos, two things I knew the Lost Boys were good at. 

Reminding me where I was, Robyn snickered beside me.  He was leaning forward in preparation to run.  I could see his calves emerge from his legs and I knew the time had come. 

As on cue, Peter crowed from his flying perch.  We fled like deer startled by a shotgun.  I did not know where Tomaben’s hut was so I followed closely beside Robyn to let him guide me.  We were in the range of the village.  Robyn trotted to a stop behind the first hut and we watched the chaos unfold.  Suddenly off to the right, hundreds of seashells rained down on the people below.  As the men were gone, it was only women and children who screamed and ran to cover their heads from the vengeful seashells that sought out the earth.  I was far too flustered to act, but Robyn chuckled and tugged me forward.  Amidst the people we ran.  I too was pelted by the seashells. 

 Robyn and I entered a hut near the western side of the village.  It was small with not much inside, and Robyn fumbled straight to a burlap sack.  He moved to go, but uncertain of the weight, he dumped the contents and moaned.  There were no arrowheads, but pinecones.  While we constructed a hasty search of the hut, the screaming outside suddenly raged.  I halted. 

“Something’s wrong!” 

“What?”  Robyn had to shout.  I pulled him by the wrist to the doorway. 

“The seashells should have stopped falling by now!  They shouldn’t be screaming!” 

Realization and fear hurtled over his face.  We trotted outside the hut, horror filling my gut as I watched our homemade catapult tumbling down the hill.  It gained momentum, ripping and tossing.  The majority of the Indians had cleared the way, but their hands were to their mouths as they watched the scene unfold.  Nothing could be done to stop the catapult from destroying the huts in its path. 

I moved forward, kicking seashells from my way to rush closer and inspect the damage.  A new scream pierced the air, this one young and brutish.  I could not help but startle. 

“Michael!”  Robyn was breathing hard over my shoulder.  “That was Michael!  I know his scream!”  He sobbed.  “I know it!” 

He was drowned out by the deafening roar of the catapult smashing into a tree.  Woos splinters shattered into the air.  It stopped, groaned in terror, and ceased.  People were drawing closer now, more curious than frightened.  I hadn’t a chance to see their relieved expressions, grateful that their families had been spared.  Instead, I picked up one of the seashells and followed Robyn up the side of the mountain in hope that what we feared was only imagined. 

 

I found Robyn crying over Michael.  I could hear his sobs over my heavy breathing.  My hands went to pull him off but he refused. 

“We can help him.”  I tried to sound firm though my voice wavered.  “Robyn,” I warned. 

He sniffled and sat up.  “No, he’s dead.” 

There was a blood red, swollen gash on his forehead. 

“No,” I knelt down.  “No, no, no…”  My mind was set in a compulsive state of denial.  My fingers touched his cheek.  “Michael,” I called.  It was a worthless cry, one that already knew the outcome.  “Please,” 

My tears did not come as freely as Robyn’s did, but my screams were plentiful.  It seemed a backwards reality that my uncle whom I had only ever known as my fellow adventurer was dead.  He looked so small and rosy. 

Robyn laid his friend straight and tucked his loose hands over his chest.  “Come, Grace,” he instructed me.  I shook my head. 

“What of his body?”  The corpse was still flush, young, trying to live.  Robyn pulled me farther away and I turned my head. 

“Neverland will find a way.  We need to leave now.” 

“Wait,” I sniffled.  In my waistband was tucked the tiny seashell.  Robyn released me and I tucked the shell in Michael’s clasped hands on his chest, ready to leave without a fight. 

 

Our rage was hardly containable.  Peter alighted wistfully on the ground but his face showed something far less graceful.  It was agony and pain.  He ran to Robyn and shoved him back.  The boy fell to the earth. 

“How did this happen?  It’s your fault!”  He snarled. 

“Peter!”  I stepped between them.  My fists twitched nervously at my side.  “It was an accident!” 

“How do you accidentally let a boy die?!  This was no accident.” 

“The catapult slipped somehow�"Michael was hit by it.  There was nothing anybody could have done!” 

Peter glared at me.  The way that he looked must have mirrored the way that I felt.  My only source of complacency was in remembering that Peter knew Michael deeper than I.  His pain was deeper. 

“Wake up and see the grown up world around you.” 

Peter huffed out but contained himself.  “I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

“We will all mourn his death.  Him dying doesn’t make sense but what more can we do?” 

“Grow up,” Peter mumbled. 

Behind me, Robyn scampered to his feet and ran off towards Cavalry’s Cross.  He was alone.  We all felt alone.  Somehow this haven of ours had betrayed us in the events of Michael’s death, but truly, when I thought of it deeper it was Peter who had betrayed us, for it was the stability of his mind which governed us.  I was angered at Peter mostly then.  This angry fire had been in me for some while, tamed by the rainstorm that was my sadness.  But the clouds ceased to rain now, and I felt the fire raging. 

 

“How could this happen?  This wasn’t supposed to happen!”  I screamed violently and cried hot tears between bursting sobs.  My feet kicked the nearest chair over while my fists hit the wall.  “You told me true pain couldn’t exist here!  You said we couldn’t die.”  My face was contorted with pain.  I sobbed harder and fell to the floor against the wall, my head in my knees.  Peter had fled again, Robyn was hiding, and I refused to be alone.  It was only hours past his death, and I had somehow stumbled into Smee’s cabin.  He had his head down at the table and silently watched me burn off my anger until it was only hot smoking embers that would eventually smolder into dust.  Hidden away, far away, I recalled my first encounter with Smee where he had explained Neverland to me.  I felt myself blaming him for everything, though it was silly.  He grunted. 

“I also said that all of Neverland’s rules are based on Peter’s stability.” 

“I have failed us then, in helping Peter.  This is my fault.” 

“Not necessarily.  I feel that your presence saved Neverland.  Peter will take time to heal.  I fear this death was untimely but necessary for him to feel peace.” 

“I saved Neverland?” 

“Yes, Grace, I believe so.  Things for all of us will only get better from here.” 

Shivers began to roll down my spine and I shook on the floor.  Unexpectedly, Smee came over and sat next to me.  He did not touch me or play with words, but I knew he was with me. 

 

At dusk I felt it was time to return and find the whereabouts of Peter and Robyn.  My farewell with Smee had been brief but I turned it over in my mind again and again to draw the comfort from it.  As for Peter and Robyn, I did not expect to find either of them but my nervous heart could not stand to hide away any longer. 

In the clearing by the burrow I could see my dark tree hut.  There were times spent in there that I had to forget.  My legs moved sluggishly to the hatch door which I opened and jumped through.  The lit room surprised me.  All was in order, the lanterns lit, and Tinkerbell in her bed asleep.  A small smile came to me, then I saw Robyn laying on his stomach alone facing a checkers board.  There came the sadness again.  He was just breathing, staring at the pieces.  I laid down on the other side and moved one of my pieces to a new square.  I looked up.  Robyn smiled at me through his ruffled hair.  He blinked quickly and thoughtfully before sliding a piece of his own.  The game had begun. 

I moved a new piece.  “Do you feel sad?”  It was a simple question with a simple move.  He went next.  His black checkers piece cornered mine. 

“Mostly scared.  What if something is to happen to me next?” 

My piece blocked his.  “Nothing will.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Neverland will find a way to keep you safe.”

Robyn caught me by surprise and jumped my nearest piece.  “It didn’t keep Michael safe.” 

I advanced with a new piece in the right corner.  “It was his time to go.” 

He was thinking. 

“What of us now?  You are the last Lost Boy.”  I noted.  Robyn shifted, his fingers twitching above a square, then he changed and moved a piece blatantly exposed in front of mine. 

“Am I?”  He questioned. 

“Yes,” I jumped his piece. 

“Take the bait.” He murmured.  And then he double jumped two of my own pieces as a result of taking his. 

“Are you?”  I licked my lips and measured him carefully.  “Where is Peter?”  Robyn looked away, and I would have thought him to be sad, but instead he buried a grin.  “What are you up to?” 

Outside the burrow I heard Peter crow strong and proud.  Tink woke and flustered out the doorway.  Robyn reached across the board, set his piece on the far squares and grinned.  “King me,” 

Checkers: a kid’s game easily lost and easily won.  Robyn had taken a step towards winning.  I was about to find out what it was as I ran out after him to greet Peter.  Somehow I knew, though, that I would win this game. 

 

Peter grinned lavishly at the both of us, his hands on his hips and his feet spread apart.  It was barely nightfall, yet he seemed to have moved forward quite naturally after Michael’s death had yet been a day.  I rocked on my heels and waited for his announcement. 

“Robyn, Grace-Fairy,” he announced for an audience of hundreds. “Meet our new Lost Boy!” 

Little Tillie came running out from behind the tree; my little Tillie, so precious and out of place.  He ran straight to me and I held out my hands to catch him.  He snuggled into my neck and held tight. 

“You’re safe now.  I promise.”  Standing up with him in my arms, I turned to Peter.  My anger was exhausted and my sadness had run itself weary.  There was nothing left in me but sensibility when all around me there was none.  Peter looked so proud of himself, so terribly satisfied.  I shook my head. 

“What do you think, bringing a five year old to this place?  He is the most innocent creature I know, and you bring him here, away from his bed and home?”

“We needed a new Lost Boy.” 

“No, Peter, you thought wrong.”  I shifted Tillie in my arms.  “He is better away.  And I think I am too.” 

Robyn called to me.  “Grace, no!  I need another Lost Boy and I need you!” 

“Shh,” 

Both boys’ faces had fallen. 

“You need to take us back, Peter.  It’s time.” 

“I want to go too then!” screamed Robyn.  “Don’t leave!  Not you too!” 

The night had fallen completely on us.  Those two moons were but slivers in the sky providing no light for us.  It was hard to face the thought of leaving, but I couldn’t stay in Neverland with such pivotal emotions swimming around inside, and I certainly could not stay with Tillie there.  Besides, my task had been completed.  I had saved Neverland from an overall fate worse than death.  If there was anything else to be done, it only seemed reasonable to assume it was not my duty. 

Peter came over and took Tillie from my arms.  He set him on the ground, shushing me, and took me away into the sky.  We flew up the mountains onto the ledge where we had once watched the Indians so long ago.  They were already recovered in just a day’s time, and they lazily swept about their campsite in preparation for bed.  Not much damage had been made to their people.  Peter turned away from them though and held onto my forearms. 

“I know you can’t really want to go…”

“But I do, Peter. I need to.  I’ve been living in chaos for too long now.  It scares me.” 

He nodded.  It was a still and peaceful in the night.  I looked away at the ground, grateful for the peace yet afraid of his searching eyes.  They swept over me knowingly. 

“I’m sorry… so fretfully so.  I never meant to hurt you or anyone.” 

Peter squeezed my arms, breathing out heavily so that I could breathe in his warm air.  “You saved more than you ever destroyed.  That is reason enough to love.” 

We were there longer than I realized and shorter than I wanted.  All the time in the world was no longer ours. 

 

Peter and I alighted in the clearing.  I announced the inevitable.  “It’s getting late.”  Robyn set Tillie down on the ground and fell into me much like my younger brother had earlier.  He was limp and pale in the moonlight. 

“Don’t forget who you are.”  I whispered in his ear.  “You are Robyn, the bold warrior.  You are your own master.  Don’t you forget it.”  His tears wet my neck.  I reached to my waist and unclasped my lucky rabbit’s foot.  His hands embraced it willingly as I handed it over.  As I stood up to walk away, I envisioned a smile on his face where there was none. 

Peter was waiting for me.  With Tillie holding heavy in my arms, Peter took my hand wordlessly and we lifted away.  I don’t remember the way Neverland looked, floating in the water, on a star, in the sky; only that it did.  It did exist, if only a silhouette in my memory. 

 

He was waiting for me at the window as I tucked Tillie away in his bed.  The late hour had put him soundly to sleep already, and had made my own mind weary.  The nursery was just as serene as when I had left it, if not more empty.  But my bed was waiting for me made already, the sheets tucked taut and the pillow fluffed as though I had never left it.  I touched the bedpost, reminiscing, and then recalled Peter at the window. 

He was standing straight and tall, his head looking out at the moon�"one lone moon.  I never studied him as intently as I did then.  His hair was that same sandy blonde with a tint of red, his skin tanned and always glistening lightly from his sweat.  For just a boy he was sturdy and tall.  Peter was his own.  He had never needed anybody until Wendy and now me, and it didn’t seem quite right that such a free creature should be held down by a complex maze of emotion. 

I stood in the middle of the room.  He could feel my eyes searching him from behind, so he moved away and walked towards me.  We were there inches apart, and I knew I needed to be strong.  There was no going back to Neverland with him, not now when it was so unstable.  But that never meant that I didn’t want to go back. 

His glistening eyes looked back at mine and suddenly I startled myself with the burbling of tears which fell out of my eyes.  I sobbed so hard that it hurt and stung and pierced my chest with saddening emotion.  Peter never reached out for me. 

I cried harder still, the tears dripped down and ran down his bare chest.  My hands raised and pressed against his body.  “Don’t leave me.  Don’t leave.” I whispered. 

At last Peter moved away and went back to his watching place by the window. 

My eyes blinked to rid the rest of the damp emotion from my vision.  Feeling more calm, I went and rested my head on Peter’s warm shoulder only to let him stare out unmoving at the sky that he had explored so many times before.  We sighed. 

“Call to me Grace, won’t you?”  I nudged into his shoulder.  “Remember when I told you I was fearful of attachment?” 

“Yes,” 

“I fear I have become attached again.  But you are my Grace-fairy and I shall not lose you.” 

Peter lifted himself onto the rail and then alighted into the sky, that midnight blue sky.  I looked out at the stars and never wondered if, but when. 

 

Epilogue

 

What if Wendy had stayed in Neverland?  Many months later I still asked this to myself over and over again, tossing it in my mind like a loose stone in a river, yet the only conclusion I seemed to find was that I would not be living the life I did now.  It all came back to destiny.  It seemed that it was not Wendy’s destiny to stay with Peter.  In the dark of the unchanged nursery I sat straight up in my bed with that sudden realization.  Suppose it had been Wendy’s destiny to pave the way for me to get to Peter, not stay with him.  For without her I certainly would not have ever adventured in Neverland. 

Though the nursery was very much unchanged I knew that I was different.  I had been different the second I had returned from Neverland and there would be no going back to my old self.  Even if I had oft felt restless in Neverland at least I had known it was where I needed to be.  Neverland was home. 

I rushed over to Tillie and kissed him gently on the forehead.  What a tragedy if I were to waste Wendy’s destiny by staying in London, and destroying my own as a result.  That’s what it had always been about anyway�"destiny�"and now that I had found it I would not let go. 

Neverland was in my grasp.  I knew it, I felt it.  A long lost phrase found shelter in my mind; “You are my Grace-fairy and I shall not lose you.”  I ran to the window and stared, flushed, out to the sky in search of something.  A star. 

I stepped boldly out onto the railing under the midnight sky.  Peter was waiting for me through all the time, I prayed that he remembered me just as he said he would, through the time that was altered in the space that separated London and Neverland.  My feet flew off the rail and I hurtled into the sky laughing and crying and calling to Peter, just as I knew he had never ceased calling for me. 

 

This time Neverland was home.  My eyes burst into remembrance and I let out a laugh.  Neverland was glowing.  In the darkest part of the night I could see the shining outline of a land now blossomed once again in its redeeming glory.  Neverland, indeed. 

That night, if one would have peered into the heavens, they might have recognized the silhouettes of two children who struggled and fought and pleaded with fate, and who wanted nothing more than to never grow up.