Peter & Wendy

- J.M. Barrie

SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO

“And then what did he say?” One of the lost boys, Slightly, whispers as my eyes beg me to open them, but sleep tries to pull me under again.

“I heard him say she tastes like sweet pineapple bursting on his tongue.”

“I wonder what she feels like,” Cubby whispers in response to Slightly.

“Did he say anything about that?” The twins ask in unison.

“Shh,” Slightly tries to hush the group as I’m pulled from a perfect dream into what I’m worried might be one of my darkest nightmares. “Don’t wake her.”

Peter took John and Michael out to fight the Indians early this morning, and by the way the lost boys are talking, I’d say it’s safe to assume he hasn’t returned home yet to Hangman’s Tree.

“When did he tell you this?” Nibs whispers a little irritated, as I burro into my bed and pretend not to hear them across the room.

Maybe they’re not talking about me. Maybe they’re not talking about Peter. But some all-knowing feeling that I refuse to accept tells me otherwise.

“He didn’t,” Slightly confesses. “I heard him down by Crocodile Creek when he thought he was alone. Talking to himself. Doing things to himself in the dark that I couldn’t quite make out, but I’ve never seen before.”

“Like what?” the twins ask together, again in unison.

My breath catches in my throat as I wait for Slightly to go on. My mouth waters. What? What was Peter doing? God, my thighs suddenly clench together in anticipation. My center dampens because I’m sure I know what. It’s the same thing I’ve been doing since that night at Skull Rock after everyone goes to sleep at night. When Hangman’s Tree is quiet and all I’m left with are the agonizing thoughts of Peter and me.

“Like I said, I couldn’t make it out, only that I had never seen or heard of anything like it before. He kept going on and on about Wendy.”

I hear the boys shift in their seats, no doubt looking in my direction. I keep my eyes closed and my body curled up into a ball in the center of my bed. My heart soars that Peter’s thinking of me and doing things I’d rather be doing to him instead. But the thought of the lost boys brings me nothing but dread.

“It sounded like he was in pain. But… The best kind of pain. The kind of pain that…”