Peter Pan and the Mermaids

We Were Only Trying to Drown Her

Wendy followed the spry Peter Pan as he leapt from treetop to treetop. Not nearly as gracefully as him, of course; she still hadn't gotten this whole flying thing under her belt. But Peter acted like he had been practicing for a millennium. And for all Wendy knew, he had.

Peter was a bit of an enigma to Wendy. He wasn't like anyone she had ever met, whether children or adults. He was clearly older than he appeared at first glance. He looked her age, sure, straddling the fence between childhood and adulthood—after all he had stolen her and her brothers away on the very night she came of age, her last night in the nursery. But even as she watched him now, as she gazed for longer than a mere moment, something about him made him look even older than that.

It was his childish mannerisms that made him seem younger, and for this she found him charming. But he carried himself with the regality of a wisened man ripened by decades of experience, yet with the wild, untamed vigor of youth of Robin Hood or some faerie prince. And with her younger brothers, when he wasn't engaging in some game or another (which he usually was), he would take on the persona of an older brother or perhaps an uncle, taking charge and leading them with surprising maturity.

It was this startling maturity that had begun to stir feelings in her she wasn't accustomed to. Something beyond the many schoolgirl crushes she had had over the years. Not love, she didn't think, nothing so committed. But it wasn't lust either—heavens forbid. She couldn't quite put her finger on the feeling or give it a name, but she knew she felt a strong sense of affection and admiration for Peter. She felt at home with him, like they fit together somehow.

But his maturity came from more than mannerisms and behaviors. He said things now and again about London—for, he had told her, he had lived there for some time with the fairies in Kensington Gardens, before Tinkerbell had brought him to Neverland—that reminded her of things her parents said; places that had been when they were young but were no longer there, that only continued to exist in their fond memories and the stories they told.

Peter had lived a long time, Wendy was sure of it. She just didn't know how all that worked with Neverland's influence or the effects of pixie dust. But he had the body of a young man, and his spirit was caught between maturity and childishness, and perhaps it was this in-between-ness they had in common that drew Wendy to him.

"Did you hear what I said?" Peter said, breaking her concentration.

"What was that?" Wendy asked, looking up at Peter, who floated in mid-air a few feet above her, hands on his hips. "I must have been daydreaming. Mother says I do get lost in my own head sometimes..."

Peter laughed warmly.

"What are you daydreaming in your head for? All of Neverland is a daydream! Come on, I'll show you the mermaids!"

He led her now to the mermaid lagoon. He had been reluctant to take her earlier—he said it wasn't safe—but she had made him promise to take her. There was no way she would leave Neverland without seeing the mermaids.

All Peter's former protests were forgotten now, and he forged ahead confidently and gushed about the beauty of the mermaids as if showing her the lagoon had been his idea the entire time. Wendy felt a small twinge of jealousy to hear him describe the beautiful mermaids, but she couldn't help but be amused by his enthusiasm.

"And remember," Peter called back to Wendy, his tone suddenly turning serious, "We can't stay long. The lagoon is beautiful by day, but... by night..."

"What happens at night?"

"It's best not to find out."

"Oh." Wendy wasn't sure what he meant, but she didn't get to ask. He had already shot ahead like an arrow, arching down to the lagoon. To Wendy's surprise they were already there.