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Neverland Part 1 - Peter

Mary Herdman

Neverland

  Mary Herdman

  Copyright 2013 by Mary Herdman

  Episode 1 - Beginnings

  _______________________

  Her name was Gwendolyn Angela Darling, but most people knew her as Gwen. Her mother called her Gwendolyn Angela, and her father referred to her as Gwendolyn. But there was one person in her life that knew her by another name.

  His name was Peter James Banning, and he called her Wendy-bird.

  Wendy's father worked as a clerk, and her mother was a secretary in the law offices of Mr. Banning, who was Peter's father. Peter and Wendy used to play together when they were toddlers, and eventually went to the same elementary school. They took the bus home from school together every day, and were virtually inseparable.

  Peter used to spin stories for Wendy, and she loved to listen to him. Together they played at fighting pirates and searching for treasure, as real to them as this story is to you.

  Then one day, a few days before Peter's eighth birthday, trouble came in the form of one Jack Terrance, schoolyard bully. It was recess, and Peter and Wendy were playing on the jungle gym when they heard a foreboding sound: “Oi!! Get off the bridge, you little twit!!”

  Looking around, momentarily distracted by the scene, Wendy rolled her eyes. “Jack again,” she told Peter, sharing an exasperated look with her friend. Neither of the duo was afraid of the bully, but still had never given him cause to come down on them. That day, however, Jack was pushing his way up to the highest part of the jungle gym – where they were playing.

  Wendy started to make her way to the slide, but Peter held her back. “We were here first, Wendy-bird,” he told her, “We shouldn't have to move for him.”

  “Is that so?” came the growling voice from the bridge behind him. Jack stormed over to Peter and grabbed him by the collar. “You still think you should be here, punk?” he asked, roughly throwing Peter back down on the floor. Wendy ran over to him.

  “Come on, Peter,” she said, tugging at his arm, “We can play somewhere else.” She knew Jack would just hurt them more if they stayed.

  Peter was being stubborn, though. “I can take it, Wendy-bird,” he said, “He shouldn't push us around anymore.”

  A crowd gathered, chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” Jack looked a bit nervous; bullies get their reputation from intimidating younger kids. If Peter stood up to him, then more kids might start standing up to him. He may have been tough, but he wasn't stupid; he had to show his power. So he stomped over to where Peter lay...

  and grabbed Wendy by her hair.

  Two of Jack's lackeys held Peter back as Jack dragged Wendy to the side of the gym. Holding her over the edge, he gloated, “Hey, Wendy-bird!! You want to get down, right? Why don't you just fly down, then!!”

  Wendy stared over the edge, fighting to get back up with tears in her eyes. Peter could see she was terrified, but he couldn't do anything to stop it. “Let her go, Jack!!” he cried, tears streaming from his own eyes as his own helplessness took over, “Please!! Let her go!!”

  “What's that, twit?” Jack said, hand to his ear in mock deafness, “I can't hear you.”

  But his hold on the struggling Wendy wasn't as good as he had thought. As he turned back to gloat over Peter, his hand slipped and Wendy fell over the edge. When he realized what had happened, Jack and his cronies scurried away from the scene, leaving Peter to slide down to the sobbing Wendy.

  A few kids called the teacher over, and Wendy was taken to the hospital. Jack was expelled that afternoon, and none of the other kids heard of him again. Peter was fretting all afternoon, because he couldn't find out what had happened to Wendy until that evening. As soon as he could, he sneaked over to her house to see her.

  Wendy's left arm was broken, but luckily that was the only damage done. Peter climbed up the tree outside her room to see her, but she wouldn't look at him until he was in her room.

  “Wendy-bird, I'm so sorry,” he said, clambering through the window, “I never should have dragged you into it...”

  She cut him off. “Could you tell me a story?” she asked, sitting down on her bed. He sat next to her obligingly and told her about mermaids and fairies and pirates, the stories he knew she liked the most. He didn't care much for the girl-stories, but right then he felt more contrite than anything else.

  He paused when he got to the part about the fairy dust. “Why'd you stop?” Wendy asked. Peter just looked at her.

  “Fairy dust makes people fly,” he finally said, “It's how the fairies fly.” He stared down at his knees, wallowing in self-pity again.

  “What's wrong, Peter?”

  He kept his gaze down as he answered softly, “If I had some fairy dust, I could've saved you.”

  “Peter James Banning,” Wendy looked at him sternly, awkwardly crossing her good arm over her cast, “You stop that thought right there, mister, I mean it. It wasn't your fault; Jack's just nothing but a big bully and that's all he'll ever be. You stop blaming yourself for his issues, right?”

  He seemed intent on his knees, but he nodded. Changing the subject he said, “My parents think we shouldn't be friends anymore.”

  Wendy gasped. “Why not?”

  “Dad said you made me into a scandal. I'm changing schools next year.”

  “They can't do that, though!!” Wendy protested, “You're the best friend I ever had, Pete.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered, “Some friend.” He caught a glimpse of the look on Wendy's face. “Okay, okay, I'll stop!!” he said, facing her. “But you're still coming to my birthday party Saturday, right?”

  “Of course!!” she said without hesitating, “I wouldn't miss it for the world!!” And just to prove it, she pulled out an old thimble and gave it to him. The two friends had traded that same thimble back and forth since they were little, as a symbol of a promise given. Wendy used to call it “giving Peter a kiss,” when describing it to her girl friends.

  With that assurance, Peter went home. Wendy said goodbye, but again wouldn't look at him as he climbed back down the tree.

  * * * * * * * *

  Wendy didn't go to school for the rest of the week. Her parents allowed Peter to bring her homework to the door, but they seemed to agree with the Bannings on the subject of the kids' friendship. The Darlings, after hearing about the fight, thought that Peter was a bad influence. Mrs. Darling's recent unemployment did not help matters in the least.

  But come Saturday, against the express wishes of her parents, Wendy still went to Peter's house for the party. She had bought him a set of pan pipes, or “fairy flutes” as he had called them, because he mentioned his heroes playing them in his stories so much. Arriving at his house, though, she noticed that there were no balloons, no cars, and no music playing.

  Tentatively, thinking that she might have gotten the wrong day, she knocked on the front door. Mr. Banning answered.

  “The party was canceled,” he told her sternly, “and we would prefer it if you would stay away from our son from now on. You have a habit of getting him in trouble.”

  Wendy wanted to protest at the unfairness of it all, but under Mr. Banning's arm she saw Peter in the front hall. He was trying to get away from his mother to go to her, but Mr. Banning quickly stepped in and shut the door.

  Clenching her good fist, Wendy knocked on the door again. Mr. Banning opened it slightly, saying, “I thought I told you to go away, girl.”

  Wendy held up the box containing the pipes. “At least let me give him this.” After a pause, Mr. Banning grudgingly took the box from her. Wendy caught one more glance at Peter before his father shut the door on her again.

  That was the last she saw of her best f
riend. Peter ran away from home that afternoon, taking the pipes and the kiss with him. Mr. Banning came around to the Darling's house that evening, asking if Peter was there. Wendy spent the rest of the night and the next day looking around their favorite hideouts and calling for him, to no avail.

  Late Sunday evening, as she came back to a spot in her backyard, a ring of mushrooms that Peter had always called a “fairy circle,” she slumped down to the ground in defeat. Her eyes started misting up when she realized that Peter was probably gone for good. He hadn't even tried to see her before leaving!! But before she could work up a good cry, a sparkle caught her eye. There, lying in the grass in the center of the circle, was the kiss she had given him. Picking it up, she knew that he had come to say goodbye. The tears she had been holding in all day finally erupted, as she knelt in the grass, knowing that her friend was gone for good.

  * * * * * * * *

  “We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of a good boy, a good friend. May the grace of God keep him safe in heaven.”

  It had been three months. Peter was presumed dead, and now Wendy was sitting at his funeral.

  She wouldn't cry. The coffin was empty, so she wouldn't waste tears on it. She had cried herself out over the weeks, and now, sitting at his funeral and staring at the white lily they had placed in the box instead of a body, she wouldn't cry.

  Wendy couldn't accept it at first. For two months she refused to believe that he was dead. But even she had to give up at this point; a seven year old with no money couldn't have survived on his own for three months.

  The kiss was now in a pouch on her belt, a leather one Peter had given her for her last birthday. She promised herself that she would always keep it with her, from that day on, to remind her of him. The last Wendy saw of Peter was a sad, dejected little seven year-old boy who loved fantasy stories. That was how she'd remember him.

  Still, she couldn't help closing her eyes when she thought of the stories he told. He'd have made a wonderful writer when he grew up. Or maybe an actor. Wendy tightened her face, almost bawling again when she realized the saddest part of her friend's death, that he would never tell another story, that he would never grow up to live out his adventures...

  That Peter would never grow up.

  * * * * * * * *

  “Hey Tink,” Pan called to his partner, setting aside his pipes for a minute as he sought advice.

  “You're a girl, right?”

  “Right.” Pan leaned back in his hammock, blowing a few notes on the reed pipes he always carried. After another minute he sat up again.

  “It's this girl,” he told her, “I can't stop thinking about her. We were friends in my last life, and she's always been my biggest 'what-if,' you know?”

  the fairy scolded,