PETER PAN REVISITED
by Finney
finneysea@hotmail.com
comments and criticism welcome!
Part 1
Every morning in September and October, the dew beaded, pearl-like on spiderwebs outside Lucy's window. On sunny days, she would waken slowly, rolling over to gaze at the softly vibrating globes until her sleepy mind emerged from dreams. Her blue eyes blinked calmly and reflected the silver spheres almost perfectly, as they stretched across the glass.
The spiders themselves never emerged from their window sill sleep, tucked deep in cracks, until the strands were completely dried. Then they would busy themselves repairing any night damage, restoring their sticky deathtraps to their former lethality.
That was how Lucy knew immediately when someone had been at her third floor bedroom window. She remembered old Darling snuffling a quiet, almost bark in the night. Dismissing it as an old dog's dream of rabbit or mailman, she murmered "hush", without ever opening her eyes. It didn't take long for her to sink back into dreaming.
Now she was startled. Her dark curly hair stood up in all directions, eyes blinking sleepily as she surveyed the window ledge. The webs were absent. Well, not completely. There were, upon closer inspection, a few ravaged strands waving like tentacles in the slight morning breezes. The ruffled spider-architects were emerging with what Lucy imagined as shock on their tiny round faces. What devasation to all of their hard work! Spiders however, seem to recover from surprise quickly, and set to work forthwith.
Get those traps built up again, and fast, or there'll be no breakfast for you ladies!
Speaking of breakfast, the arthritic black bear of a dog was nosing a wet gentle reminder at her hand. In the angular morning sunlight, it was easy for Lucy to resolve not to worry. It was probably just a strong gust of north wind, a precursor to winter, carrying off her beloved webs. Or, more fancifully, an errant bat who mistook the weathervane for a lover. He would have tumbled down the sloped roof onto her sill, and after a moment to catch his breath, lurched homewards with an arial limp, thinking to himself, "Thank God nobody saw that!"
Whatever it was, Lucy felt safe in her family home. With uncle on the floor below, her enourmous dog, and generations of ancestral ghosts in the house, she found it impossible to give it another moment of consideration.
"Come on love, lets eat."
Lucy took up her robe and herded the dog out the door and down two flights of antiquated oak staircase to the kitchen. After feeding the old girl, she poured a cup of coffee and sat down in the sunbathed nook overlooking the gardens. There was a fine morning mist over the pond, where ducks were waking and calling to each other with what sounded like absolute hilarity. The house was a majestic three story manor, built over two hundred years ago by some rich great great grand something....over an acre of oak trees and overgrown grass spread like a skirt around the house. This, surrounded by more acres of rolling hills and even a few working fields.
A thunderous noise on the staircase alerted Lucy to Uncle's prescence, but as usual, he dove through the kitchen like a hurricane, and on, out the front door. His laptop bag was over one shoulder and his cell phone clutched to his ear as he ran by the window, waving to Lucy and roaring away in his expensive sports coupe. Ducks scattered in his wake, yelling angrily at the flying gravel and the noise. Lucy apologized to them under her breath, on her uncle's account, and took a sip of coffee.
Most of the day was spent with her painting. Something indistinct, -perhaps just a break in the clouds?-overhung a sea as grey as slate. Even Lucy didn't know what it was, but she worked contentedly without distraction. Her Dark hair hung in unruly curls and waves around her face until, in irritation, she tied a turpentine rag around her head. Daubs of azure and mint green paint smudged her high cheekbones, and increased the impression of nearly holy creativity emanating from the girl. Her feminity shone through the paint-stained clothing and short cropped hair. It was suprising how lovely a girl could look, holding a broad-tipped paintbrush between her little teeth, sighing and wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist. Part of her appeal was her ignorance of her own beauty, her failed attempt at tomboyishness.
An evening walk with Darling around the main grounds of the manor house, and a rushed dinner with Uncle (all meals with Uncle were rushed), and her day was complete. Lucy went to bed with a book of Tennyson poetry, but was soon lost to daydreams that invaded her vision. She was prone to wanderings like this, for, like her namesake, the Lucy of CS Lewis' Narnia, Lucy believed undoubtably in magic, spiritual occurences, and the like. Therefore, her mind was unusually open to dreams, hope, and the face that appeared at the window. She hadn't even known she was looking at the tudor paned glass until abruptly, there was a face there. It gave her quite a start, but not as much as one might think, because, as mentioned before, her mind was wide open.
It was a girl. Or maybe a boy. Yes, quite definetely a boy, but such a boy! His wild golden locks framed a face so etherial it was nearly impossible to guess the gender, let alone age. He could have been seventeen, nearly a man, but no... from this angle he looked twelve. When the window burst open-as she knew it would, in the stories it always does- she saw for the first time the slender but masculine torso, the bronze skin, and billowing white sailor's pants. His eyes were slanted exotically, his mouth strong and grinning, revealing canines slightly sharper than usual. When he spoke, he spoke her name, and his voice was richer and more mature than she had expected.
Lucy's curiosity overcame her fear from the very first, though she did clutch the white duvet closer around her, as she was nude beneath. Of course she knew who this was, even without his characteristic pan pipes, or fairy sidekick. She stared wide eyed but calmly at him, and as the silence stretched on, his grin stretched wider, until she was compelled to say,
"I hope your shadow hasn't been getting away from you these days. I just cleaned my room."
He blinked. Then burst out laughing, a laugh that seemed sprinkled with bells and waterfalls.
"No no, don't worry dear Lucy. I've learned to keep him with me at all times. I had forgotten that he had such a reputation." and he laughed that sweet sound again. He looked at her with such a focus and intensity that she felt he was reading her mind.
"So, ummmm... the usual question, I suppose." she said. "What are you doing here?"
He shifted his weight from one dirty bare foot to the other, and stretched his arms up in a kind of childlike dance, considering his answer. Finally, he put one foot up on the wooden frame of her bed, and in this cocky position he answered.
:"I could smell your dreams from miles away. They drew me here, I had to taste them, because they're like mine. Dark, and beautiful and full of life." She breathed a sigh at the accuracy of his words.
"And what did they taste like?" This time, no hesitation.
"They tasted like cinnamon. And woodsmoke... and beach salt."
"Very poetic. No, I mean it."
He had crossed his arms indignantly over his chest, widening his eyes.
"You wound me!"
"Sorry."
"Well, anyway, are you coming with me, or not?"
Now she was caught off guard. His imperious tone was almost too much for her to take, but if he meant what he might mean...
"Coming... you can't mean..."
"Can't I?" One arched eyebrow.
"And why would I?" An arched eyebrow in return.
"I think the question is, why wouldn't you?"
And that settled it She was going.
The play Peter Pan and its characters are trademarks of and copyright J.M. Barrie