Remembering Neverland

The square outline of light shines in the distance as I approach the familiar window of the old brick building. Landing just outside, I can't help but ponder about what her life would have been like if I had never been involved all those years ago. I can't ignore the fact that our time together left some scars: her nightmares were proof. Each night as I approached I could feel the terror emanating from her room. While I had hoped her time in Neverland would have been a positive adventure, she had taken some terrible memories home with her.

Her face contorted as she tossed and turned in her bed, making me ache with guilt for what I had done. I often try not to interfere with her life: she made it very clear that her place was here with her family. But, just this once, I can't help myself as I reach into her dreams to alter and replace them: an attempt to provide some calm relief. But, as soon as I did so, she jolted upright, obviously aware of what I had done. She turns to the window immediately, seeking out my outline from the moonlit night. As soon as our eyes meet, I can't hold back the smile on my face as I gingerly wave at her. Wendy.

"Peter!" she exclaims, seemingly thrilled to see me. The truth is, though, that I am often far more excited about our meetings than she is.

As she opens the window, I can tell that something is amiss. My usually radiant Wendy is trying to hide her dreary mood. I frown at the realization and ache with the knowledge that something is wrong.

"Peter," she begins, having seen my reaction, "tonight is my last night in the nursery," she explains, "Tomorrow I have to move out, and grow up."

"Oh, Wendy," I begin, at a loss for what to say. I have no knowledge of growing up: I am going to be a child forever.

Wendy seems to notice my loss for words and reaches in to hold me close to her, a proper goodbye hug.

"Peter, you can't keep coming to visit me," she explains. I can almost hear the pain she is trying to mask in her voice. "I do need to grow up. I can't keep living this childish life."

"I understand," is all I can manage to get out. Wendy is my closest friend and I can't imagine my life without her. "I guess..." I begin, "I guess I will be going back to Neverland, then." It hurts to turn away, but I know that I need to get home. I cannot beg her to stay a child with me forever.

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(Many years later).

The sky seems perfect tonight as I make my descent back to Earth. I can't remember the last time I made the trip and breathe in the air that I have so desperately missed. I'm not sure why I have returned, honestly. She grew up, Peter. I shake away the feeling of sadness that grows as I dwell on the fact. Earthly visits just haven't been worth it since Wendy left my life all those years ago.

Flying over the city, however, an odd sight sets alight a forgotten feeling deep inside of me. That same window is lit up: the nursery where Wendy used to stay.

I approach it with trepidation, not enjoying the familiarity it brings when I know that when I look inside everything will be different. As I near the glass, though, something completely unexpected fills my view.

In the corner rocking chair, a face that looks vaguely familiar sits quietly, humming a soft lullaby to the bundle in her arms. The small nose and beautiful voice let me know that this woman, with the greying disheveled hair and aged eyes, is my Wendy. As I sit on the windowsill and watch her with the small baby in her arms, I realize that her life has been beautiful since I left. Perhaps growing up isn't the worst thing after all.

I turn around to go back, but am stopped by the opening of the window.

"Peter," she whispers, careful not to wake the sleeping child in her arms. "It's been a long time." The smile on her face warms my chest makes my feet come off the sturdy building as the Pixie Dust reacts to my joy.

Then, without warning, she leans in and kisses me softly on the cheeks, spreading the warmth I feel even further.

"I've truly missed you," she smiles; My whole world has become so much brighter.