Wendy's Peter

Chapter One

“Okay, so once upon a time…”

“No! No more once upon a time stories.”

“Yeah, Wen, it makes it sound like such a long time ago.”

“Fine. Alright. A few days ago –”

                “Like Wednesday? I think it should happen on a Wedesday.”

                “Okay, Michael, it happened last Wednesday. Are you happy?”

                Michael nodded his head excitedly at me. I laughed.

                “Go on, Wendy…” John urged, obviously anxious for my story to begin. He’d never say that, though. At fifteen years old, John was a ‘mature adult’ or at least that’s what he’d said

                “Once upon a, er, I mean last Wednesday…”

                I’m not going to lie to you: it was entirely my fault for what happened next. I usually save tales about pirates for after our parents leave for one of their eloquent, seemingly weekly, parties. The boys like to act out different scenes and as much fun as it is, something always gets broken. Usually I can just super glue them back together – or even buy a new one – but nothing hides the sound of a lamp hitting the floor; hence the reason I wait until after mom and dad leave.

                When I had finished my story Michael and John were both yawning. I heard mom and dad talking downstairs and knew they were close to leaving. I smiled at my luck. The boys were too tired to cause any ruckus and our parents were just about to go. I was free to watch R rated movies and stuff myself with junk food. After a quick goodnight to the boys, I scurried off to the entertainment room to check my Facebook.  Mistake number one: Always make sure the boys are asleep before assuming they won’t make a commotion. I started chatting with a friend via IM and turned up some music. Mistake number two: Always make sure you’re able to hear everything that’s going down in your house or else something can easily go down.

                I was jamming out when my father came bursting into the room.

                “Wendy Jane Darling.” It was always bad when my dad used my full name. It was worse when he didn’t yell it. He used the voice: the eerily calm voice that dad’s use when they’re super pissed. They don’t yell, they don’t scream, they just speak and it’s terrifying.

                “Y-yes?” This was bad.

                “I need you to come with me for a moment.” I quickly got up from the computer and followed me father out of the room – not even bothering logging out. I followed him down the hallway and into the boys’ and my room. Did I mention the three of us share a room? Don’t get me wrong, it’s a large room, much bigger than most master bedrooms, but, yes, it is a little cramped. It’s been this way our whole lives though, I can’t imagine sleeping alone. It was also a lot easier to babysit when I slept in the same bedroom. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I actually like my brothers. However, at seventeen, it was a bit awkward at times.

                When we reached the bedroom, all chaos had broken loose. Feathers from pillows littered the floor and broken glass from a variety of objects was scattered about. John and Michael were hopping from bed to bed with handmade wooden swords shouting “argh!” and “you’ll never catch me alive, Pan!” I laughed a bit, but quickly shut up when dad gave me a glare.

                “JOHN! MICHAEL!” our father yelled. The boys immediately stopped what they were doing and stared wide-eyed at each other. Our mother stood in the doorway, watching with a bemused expression.

                “I CAME BACK IN FOR A TIE AND THIS IS WHAT I FIND?” His face was red with anger.

                “S-sorry, father,” John whispered, lowering his head. Michael cowered from behind him.

                “As for you, Wendy,” dad said, turning to me, “there will be no more of your stories eating away at their minds. We will discuss separate living arrangements when we get home. I think having you out of this room would be best.”

                “But father!” I exclaimed. I couldn’t leave the room. This was our room. It held so many memories. I could barely fall asleep without telling a story!

                “No buts, Wendy. This is the last straw,” he told me sternly. Michael started to cry.

                “Wendy can’t leave, daddy!” He wiped his eyes with a map the boys had drawn onto a piece of cloth.

                “Michael, what are you holding?” That wasn’t just a piece of cloth. That was dad’s tie.

                “A map,” Michael exclaimed, un-crinkling the tie to show father his work of art.

                “That’s. My. Tie.” His words were separate and sounded angry. I gulped.

                “Oh, hush, George,” our mother butt in, “you have plenty of other ties and this one will wash out.” Father seemed to calm a little bit, but his face was still tomato red.

                “Like I said, we will discuss more when we get back from our party. We’re already late as it is,” he told us sternly. All three of us nodded. Mother said goodnight as they walked out the door and we listened as they drove away. Michael dove into my arms.

                “You can’t leave, Wendy! You just can’t!”

                “Ssh, Michael, it’ll be okay. Father needs time to calm down. Let’s just work on getting this room cleaned up a bit, alright?” I told him, nodding at John as well. The boys agreed and started to help pick up some broken things. I stuffed feathers into pillows and John worked on super gluing miscellaneous items back together. The room was glowing dark as the candles dimmed and shadows jumped across the walls as they flickered. It was funny how human-like some were.