Only in Neverland (under revision)

Epilogue

Funny how when you're older you notice things you once missed. Only it's sad when it's too late.

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I woke up, on my fifteenth birthday, a Saturday morning, ready to find Peter and go on an adventure for once. It had been ages since our last escapade. We hadn't done anything for his birthday, because he wasn't positive of a specific date, but now we were both fifteen, for certain, and I figured a celebration was in order.

I ran to Peter's cramped room. There was trash, clothing, food, toys, books, and even clumps of dirt all across the floor. I picked my way around the mess to his bed. I lifted the sheets and to my surprise, he was not there. I quickly stepped back out into the hall. He was probably starting early on such a fun day. He probably had the same thought I did. We were going to have an adventure, the only difference was that he'd gotten a head start.

The first place I decided upon checking was the dining hall. This was an obvious room for a fun and exciting exploit to take place. There was the broad surface of the table, the countertops, knives, candlesticks, and plenty of foods to stand as weaponry. When I didn't find him there, I set off for the laundering room, and when I didn't find him there, either, I grew suspicious. I ran back upstairs and into Mother and Father's room, but neither parent were inside.

I became more aware that this was, in fact, my birthday, and that my family members had probably gathered in the kitchen with a birthday breakfast. I ran, fast as I could to find that I was right. But Peter was still nowhere to be found.

"Happy Birthday!" Mother, Father, and Angela all cried out. I smiled, giving each of them a hug, before sitting down at a chair to eat.

After a few bites, I asked, "So where is Peter?"

"He's probably off in some other room. You know he does that sometimes," Mother said. I accepted the answer, but I couldn't help but feel offended. Peter and I had been friends for a long while now, and it hurt that he wouldn't even join us on my birthday.

I hurriedly finished my food, almost to the point where I felt sick. "I'm going to search the house for Peter."

My family collectively acknowledged my hunt for my "half brother". I scoured the house, but had yet to discover his hiding place. I finally recognized that he must not have wanted to be found, or I would have already. I went back up to my room and laid out the stuffed animals I'd had since I was born, letting the realization that I'd had them for fifteen years sink in.

Throughout the day I received calls from relatives, classmates, neighbors, my parents' colleagues, and the like, all wishing me the happiest of birthdays. I thanked them, but was sadly well-informed of the fact that I hadn't received a well wishing from the one person who really counted—Peter Pan.

By three, when Peter had still not shown his face, I became worried.

"Mother? Why wouldn't Peter have come out by now?" I questioned. I was positioned on the vanity bench in her bedroom, as she sat in an armchair with a work of stitching on her lap.

"He's quite sneaky, dear. He could have very well come and gone right beneath our noses."

"Yes, I do suppose.... But I'm beginning to worry. He hasn't ever disappeared for any amount of time as long as this before. Do you think something has happened?" I messaged the pain starting to form at my temples.

"I'm sure there is not a thing to worry about," she had paused in her work. "But if it would make you feel more at ease, we'll all search the house for him."

"Yes, Mother, that would put this headache to a stop. Thank you."

We proceeded to set out in search of Peter. Everyone looked in all nooks and crannies available for a person in hiding, even ones in which we knew Peter could never possibly fit. This took up at least an hour of the afternoon. We couldn't find him, or any clue as to where he'd been or gone.

When we gave up, Angela came up to me, water clinging to her eyelashes. My heart filled with concern. "Angela, what's wrong?"

She started shaking her head in denial. "I didn't want to believe it was true, but now I know that it must be." She took a deep breath before continuing, "Last night. I heard the window unlock—from inside, of course—and then I heard the slide of it opening. I thought it was just a dream, but it had to have been him. I opened my eyes, and the dark figure was surely him, but I was so certain it was a dream, I swear. Oh, Moira!" She burst into hysterical gasps and sobs, unable to finish, but that first half of her story was enough. Peter was gone. He had run off, back to Neverland.

The rest of the evening was sorrowful, despite the gifts and cake in honor of my new age. It just wasn't the same without Peter here. He had brought an aura of magic and foolish fun to this household, no matter how sad he was to be occupying it. Now that he had left, that aura vanished with him.

I cried that night, alongside Angela. I didn't cry nearly as much as she did, for she thought it was her fault, and knowing how much he meant to me, it broke her heart. She couldn't see the good in it. She didn't realize that Peter would be happier in Neverland, reunited with Tinker Bell, with even more fun to be had than ever before. She didn't realize that Neverland was where he had always belonged, and forever would belong. Therefore, I shall not be upset. I will miss him a great deal—I already do—but now that he’s grown three year’s time, I trust that he’ll be safe.

And maybe one day, after I’m long gone, Peter will come back to my descendants in search of me, as he had done with Wendy. Until then and after, we will both be content.

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I remember that day with detachment in my heart. Now that I am old and grey, I see how naive I used to be. I now understand why Angela hated Peter Pan as much as she did. I now know the reason Peter stayed in London, even though it was pure misery.

At twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and for a long while after, I was convinced that I was best friends with Peter. Later I’d realize what true friendship is. I’d discover that a real friend is someone that you believe in, care for, cherish, and find interesting, and they will gladly reciprocate, without a second thought. It is not, as I once imagined, someone that you detest, yet has shown you things you’ve only ever heard of before.

Angela hated Peter when we were children, because she could tell that Peter would never return the friendship that I gave to him. Angela knew this, because she was my best friend, and always had been. I was too ignorant to ever have even thought of it that way.

Peter stayed in London, not because he enjoyed it and not because I enjoyed having him as company, but because of Wendy. He thought she was full of life and magic, and he couldn’t understand why someone as wonderful as she, could stay in such a dull place as this. Peter thought Wendy should have stayed with him in a place like Neverland.

He had hoped to find some nugget of happiness or enchantment in the home in which she had once lived. So when he couldn’t find anything, he determined that it was an impossible task, and left sad, both for Wendy’s sake and his own. But not for mine.

Now, as I sit here, I find that my wish at fifteen years old will never come true. Peter Pan will never come flying back to earth in search of me.

And then I chuckle, bitterly, at the thought of the white tiger, to whom I'd forgot to say farewell.