Can Neverland save Peter Pan's descendant?
Angela, the great-granddaughter of Peter Pan, is dying.
Doctors have given up hope but her mother, raised on tales of a magical land of eternal youth, is not done fighting. In a desperate attempt to save her 13-year-old daughter, she sends a reluctant Angela off toward the second star to the right and straight on till morning.
But Neverland is not the idyllic paradise Angela imagined. The landscape has lost its luster. The Lost Boys are aimless and desperate for a leader. The pirates are bored and ready for a fight. Led by an incompetent and erratic Captain Smee, they want Neverland for themselves and will stop at nothing to get rid of Angela. In this volatile landscape, Angela's promise to fight for her life is tested at every turn.
Thrust reluctantly into adventure, Angela must navigate the treacherous seas of her own mortality, consider a future without her mother, and discover the difference between living and simply surviving.
Neverland, with the guidance of new friends and the echoes of her great-grandfather's legacy, could save Angela’s life…but maybe not in the way she expects.
Can Neverland save Peter Pan's descendant?
Angela, the great-granddaughter of Peter Pan, is dying.
Doctors have given up hope but her mother, raised on tales of a magical land of eternal youth, is not done fighting. In a desperate attempt to save her 13-year-old daughter, she sends a reluctant Angela off toward the second star to the right and straight on till morning.
But Neverland is not the idyllic paradise Angela imagined. The landscape has lost its luster. The Lost Boys are aimless and desperate for a leader. The pirates are bored and ready for a fight. Led by an incompetent and erratic Captain Smee, they want Neverland for themselves and will stop at nothing to get rid of Angela. In this volatile landscape, Angela's promise to fight for her life is tested at every turn.
Thrust reluctantly into adventure, Angela must navigate the treacherous seas of her own mortality, consider a future without her mother, and discover the difference between living and simply surviving.
Neverland, with the guidance of new friends and the echoes of her great-grandfather's legacy, could save Angela’s life…but maybe not in the way she expects.
The moment Angela's feet pressed into the soggy earth of her destination, she wanted to turn around and go home. The moment the damp air touched her face and the sound of waves crashing against cliffs reached her ears, Angela knew her mother's bizarre plan had worked, and she immediately wished it hadn't. When a cool breeze tickled her hair, bringing with it the smell of fresh grass, moist air, and dirt and saltwater rather than the smell of her mom's lavender perfume, she wanted to cry, not rejoice. When cold air wrapped around her and all she had to pull tighter was her thick, gray sweater instead of her favorite weighted blanket, she wanted to keep her eyes shut until she was back in her window seat, in her room, holding her mom's hand. She wanted to open them and see her mom smiling back at her, reassuring her that it was ok if she didn't want to do this, that she could stay home and they would figure something out like they always did. But she knew what she would see instead. She'd heard the stories too many times.
When Angela finally did open her eyes, it was not to the bright blue skies, lush green forests, or emerald and teal seas she'd grown up hearing about. No. It was to a thick, heavy fog that obscured her view of almost everything around her. This wasn't the Neverland she knew. If it was possible to truly know a place you'd never been, Angela felt as though she knew Neverland through her mother's stories and books...and this was not the place she'd described. Maybe she was on the wrong fantastical island where Lost Boys and pirates lived together under multiple shining suns, the days burning hot until they faded away into temperate nights. Maybe she'd gone to the third star to the right instead of the second…
She looked up. Where were the suns? She shivered and pulled her sweater closer. Where was the warmth those two suns should provide? She could see a yellow glow behind the thick wall of fog but nothing else. Angela shifted from one soggy foot to another and made a small circle in the spot where she stood. What was she supposed to do now?
Then she heard her mother's voice, whispering the advice she always gave when Angela was stressed or unsure. "Take a breath, baby. Calm your mind, calm your heart, and the answer will come." So Angela closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose, the moisture in the air coating her lungs, and then let it out through her mouth. She repeated the flow but on the second exhale a crack to her right made her jump. Her eyes snapped open as she turned toward the sound.
"Who's there?" She'd meant to shout it, but it came out as more of a strangled whisper. She cleared her throat but did not call out again. As she squinted into the fog looking for the source of the sound, she realized she didn't have to squint as hard. She took another deep breath in and the air tickling her nose was just a little warmer. She reached her hand in front of her and could see just a little farther. She let out her breath and watched what was left of the fog roll down the hills she could now see surrounding her. She pulled another breath in and looked up. There were the suns. She gave a small smile as their warmth finally reached her cheeks. Letting her breath out she almost giggled as a warm breeze pushed the rest of the fog away and tickled the hair around her ears.
"Oh, there you are Neverland," she whispered as she took a step forward and let her eyes dance over a horizon of green waves and sparkling blue pools. This looked right. This was…
"Who are you talking to?"
Angela gasped and whirled around, the spell broken.
If there had been any doubt left in her mind about where she was, the scene in front of her confirmed she was in the right place. Standing there in front of her was a wall of adolescent, disheveled boys with wild hair and narrowed eyes, each one brandishing a sword, knife, or makeshift weapon. They were all dressed in various combinations of what looked like leather, or faded and ripped cloth and greenery. And they were all filthy. She took a step back and almost tripped. They all jumped at her sudden movement but did not retreat.
"I…" Angela motioned weakly around her in a feeble attempt to answer their shouted question, but they didn't wait for more of an answer.
The one standing closest to her spoke, inching his weapon closer to her with each word. "Who are you? Is he with you?"
Of course, she knew immediately who he meant.
"Oh, no…" Her voice shook as she took a step back, eyeing the blade he was brandishing. She'd been looking around them, trying to get a glimpse at the world that was finally revealing itself, but when she realized what she had to tell them, these crazy-eyed children pointing weapons at her, she stopped searching and looked directly at the one who had spoken.
He lifted an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.
"I...I'm sorry but he...he died." She tensed, waiting for their response, but they were looking beyond her. They were looking for him, sure he would drop from the sky with a devilish grin, laughing at the great joke he'd played on them. But there was no one else. Just her, a 13-year-old girl looking for the fastest way to get back home.
"Died? But how? Fighting pirates in the other world?"
"On a great adventure?"
The circle they had formed around her got tighter with each question. She knew these boys had been friends with Peter, but she also knew what they were capable of when faced with a threat. And at that moment, she was a threat. She glanced behind her, searching for a quick escape.
"N-no," she stuttered. "He...he died in his bed. He was very old. Do you know how I get ho--?" But her question was drowned out.
There was a spatter of chattering at the word old, like a group of squirrels who just watched the tree with their winter nut storage go up in flames.
She heard whispers of, "But he promised…" and "Again?" before the red-haired boy turned back to her.
"You lie. Neverland told us he was coming." She sucked in her breath at the word, "Neverland." It was true then, she was here. Her mom was right. She hated it when her mom was right.
The boy swiped his sword toward the landscape behind him and the boy closest to him ducked to avoid the carelessly flung blade. She followed the motion and noticed that the last of the fog had truly faded and that the dark and gloomy sky behind him, now visible through the receding haze, was changing before her eyes. A bright blue center was chasing off gray edges and on the horizon, a rainbow was forming over the outline of a distant mountain range. The trees were now swaying in the wind, almost vibrating with energy and life.
"The suns are shining again and the trees are dancing,” the boy said. “Neverland has been a still and quiet place for a very long time. Today, it woke up."
The boy backed up and lifted his chin, studying her from head to toe with sparkling green eyes. His gaze narrowed. "I'll ask again. Who are you? Why have you come?"
Trying her best to ignore his blade, Angela puffed out her chest and placed her hands on her hips. Her mom's stories were true. Neverland existed. Peter Pan was real, and she was his descendant. "I am Angela Margaret Johnson, great-granddaughter of your Pan," she said. If she was going to embrace her heritage, this was the place to do it.
But the line didn't land like she expected.
"How do we know?" shouted a voice from the circle.
"What if she's a pirate?"
"Girls can't be pirates!"
"How did she get here?"
Clearly unimpressed, the boy arched an eyebrow and stepped closer so that his freckled face was barely inches from hers.
Before she could stop him, he leaned over and, his red hair tickling her cheek, sucked in her scent. He stepped back and turned toward the boys.
"She smells like Peter. Neverland is awake. She could be telling the truth."
Angela flinched and sniffed at her shoulder, trying to figure out what Peter Pan might smell like.
"We need more proof!" a voice shouted.
The boy turned back to Angela.
"We need more proof."
She lifted her empty hands slightly and glanced down. How was she supposed to prove her heritage? She could no longer fly, she wasn't carrying any pictures, and she looked more like her mother than her grandfather.
Searching her mind for any piece of information that might prove her identity, she realized she had a wealth of information instantly available. She'd grown up with a woman who wrote about Peter Pan for a living. Peter's granddaughter had spent her childhood listening to him tell tales of Neverland, the tales that no one else knew, and she'd spent the rest of her life writing them down and putting them out into the world.
"It's kind of a long story." One she wasn't really sure she wanted to get into at the moment. She was feeling a little overwhelmed and slowly starting to realize that if her mom's plan had worked that meant she was a million stars away, not by her side as she had been Angela’s entire life. She swallowed and looked at the ground wondering how disappointed she would be if Angela just turned around and came home. As she did, she saw dozens of pairs of legs fold and tuck under butts as all the Lost Boys sat cross-legged on the ground in front of her. "I'd really rather just go--"
"Tell us your story."
She sighed, pulling her oversized, cable-knit sweater tighter around her. Maybe if she told them how she got there, they could tell her how to get home. She thought back to the moments that had brought her to Neverland. She started with Peter’s story as her mother had told it, and then her own, sad tale.
"Peter Pan wasn't killed by a pirate's sword. He didn't die in battle or at the hands of an enemy. He died on his own terms, in his own time."
"It was his choice," she insisted as concern clouded the faces of her audience.
"Peter Pan outran his fate for many years, and when all his adventures had been had and all his games had been played, he knew it was time to face his last great adventure. And when the last breath finally left his body, his skin still smelled like a cool breeze on a hot summer day." Every head in her little audience nodded and she wondered if that's what the boy had smelled on her.
"He died surrounded by the family he'd created when he left Neverland. A son, a daughter, an array of grandchildren of all ages, and my mother, Mo, the smallest of the group."
By the time fate finally caught up with him, his own children had gone swiftly about the business of growing up. He couldn't blame them really, given that he'd once chosen to do that very same thing. After their abduction and their rescue by the father who rediscovered his past and his memories, Pan's two kids tried to share their stories. But by that time the world was already a much less friendly place for the imagination of a child. When they'd tried to tell the world about their adventures in Neverland, that they'd been kidnapped by the notorious Captain James Hook and their dad, the great Peter Pan had recaptured his youth and came to their rescue, they were ridiculed for their tales, laughed out of their faith, and inevitably convinced their adventures never happened. It broke his heart when they stopped believing. He knew what that felt like and he didn't want that for his children. But, whenever he brought up their adventures, they rolled their eyes and insisted he must have been dreaming. They passed their practicality onto their children and they all shook their heads and smiled when Grandpa Peter talked about Neverland. All except one.
The Great Peter Pan passed the last years of his life in his bed, sharing his adventures with Moira, willing her to remember, to share his story, to believe. And she did.
Mo grew up, too. But she took Peter and Neverland, and," Angela nodded toward her audience, "the Lost Boys with her. She'd promised her grandpa she would tell the world the rest of his story, tell them about the years after he left, and when he returned, and all the games and adventures he shared with his Lost Boys after Hook was defeated and he found his memories again. Because those were happy times, he'd told her, the years he got back. They were a gift.
And my mom shared that gift with the world. She made it her job and she was really good at it."
The boys shifted and some smiled. They seemed to like this, the idea that it was someone's job to share Peter's stories.
And then it was time for her story.
She told them about her cancer diagnosis. She skipped over all the years of treatments and despair and bad news and instead told them about the moments that had brought her to Neverland.
“How am I even getting there?” she'd asked skeptically from her window seat as her mom dug around in a trunk that had once belonged to her grandfather. The trunk Moira's family had kept hidden and locked up through most of her mother's childhood. The trunk Moira had asked after and begged to take with her when she'd moved out. The trunk Moira had only come into possession of after a long battle with her family who had wanted to sell it to a Pan museum. Angela knew her mom would eventually donate it to the museum but there'd been something in the trunk Moira needed first. After a moment, her mom emerged from the trunk with a grin, holding a small cloth bag as though it held all their answers.
“What if I don’t want to go?” asked Angela, eyeing the bag suspiciously.
"You have to," her mom said. "There are no other options. This is your life we’re talking about here. Modern medicine has failed us, we’re on our own. And what do we do when we’re on our own?”
Angela had considered not giving the usual response. She'd thought about staying silent or breaking down and crying and telling her that honestly, she kind of wanted to give up. But one look at her mom's face and she knew that wasn't even an option. "We fight," said Angela with as much strength as her failing body could muster.
Moira smiled. "I just need you to be ok."
Of course, Moira had been right. After the doctor had given his firm and final diagnosis, they'd really had no other options.
No more chemo, no more radiation, no more surgery, no more throwing up or hair loss or shivering while sweating and holding on to her mom's arm through waves of nausea. They'd tried everything possible to fight the cancer now spreading through her blood unchecked and unrestrained. Now it was time to try the impossible. And if it made her mom happy, Angela was willing to try anything.
But her mom didn't seem to think it was so impossible, finding this world where children could live and play forever. Now that she had the trunk and that little bag, the world where trees were houses and grassy hills were beds and fairies were playmates and pirates were the only threat was within reach. She'd believed since she was a little girl, and she needed to believe now more than ever.
"Just think happy thoughts," her mom had whispered as she shook the cloth bag, sprinkling its treasured contents over her daughter's head, "And don't forget to give the boys Grandpa Peter's message."
Happy thoughts after the years they'd just been through? But, as skeptical as she was, Angela could have sworn she felt a tickle on the back of her ears and with her mom's words, she couldn't help remembering the days before cancer, when her body was strong enough to do yoga with her mom every morning before school, when they would wander flea markets for hours, using her mom's royalty checks to fill their home with unique items reminiscent of the days when Peter Pan was first written about.
The next time she opened her eyes, she was surrounded by an inky-black sky, chasing twinkling lights that could have been stars and could have been fairies and she heard her mom's voice echoing, "Second star to the right and straight on till morning…"
She’d closed her eyes against the chill of the cool night air and let the black wrap around her like a blanket, trying to outrun her fate and soak in the moment all at the same time. Like Peter Pan before her, she was trying to manipulate the inevitable.
She tried to ignore the fact that even Peter Pan, the eternal child, had chosen to accept time instead of running from it, embrace life instead of holding it still, and finally paid the same price that all humans eventually pay. But he'd chosen that fate. He'd chosen to come back from Neverland, start a family and give up eternity. If he chose that, couldn't she choose the opposite? Couldn't she choose to fight the word "terminal" with the word "eternal" and embrace all that his boyhood home had to offer?
“And then, I was just here.” She shrugged. “It was like I’d known where to find it all along.”
The boys nodded knowingly at this, maybe the only thing she’d said so far they could truly relate to.
As her voice trailed off, they all continued to stare and with at least 10 pre-teen boys gazing up at her, she began to feel a little self-conscious. Tugging at her sweater, her hand went to her short, brown hair. She still forgot that most of it was gone except for a pile of curls on top of her head, the curls that had come back after chemo. And then, someone spoke up.
"What's cancer?"
"Oh, umm...It's a sickness."
"A sickness?"
"Yea...Like, the flu?"
Blank stares.
"A cold?"
More confusion. Then they changed course.
"Why did Peter stop coming?"
"Why didn't he say goodbye?"
"Oh," she thought back to her mom's request and the words she'd made her memorize. "He said he never meant for his last trip here to be his last trip. He just got tired and, well, old."
"Like Wendy?"
"Yes, like Wendy."
She continued. "He's sorry that he stopped coming but he wants you all to know he never forgot you, not once. You were his Lost Boys until the end."
She waited for some sort of reaction, maybe some emotion, but the boys continued to stare and the silence dragged on. She bounced from one foot to the other silently hoping the movement would send her airborne and she could fly away.
Finally, the red-haired boy said, "Ok."
Well, she thought, that was...anticlimactic.
And then, more questions.
“So, why are you here?” the same boy asked.
She sighed. She was getting a little annoyed with the third degree. Yes, this was their home, but it was her heritage.
“I...I'm sick and I don’t want to be.”
He cocked his head to one side. He still didn't understand. Neverland did not understand sickness. People didn’t just die in Neverland, they were killed by a pirate’s sword or doing daring deeds, never by illness or old age. Well, that was good news for her.
She tried again. "I'm here because I'm a Pan and I deserve to be."
"She knows Pan's story," a voice from the back squeaked. "I believe her!"
The boy whipped around to face the voice. "We can see she is who she says she is. She woke up Neverland, she smells like Peter. Her stories are true. But we still don't know why she is here!"
She sighed, knowing exactly what she needed to say. "I'm here to always be a little girl and to have fun."
This was the answer they were waiting for. The boy nodded seriously and the rest of them jumped up from their spots in the grass, grinning.
"Then fun you shall have. Welcome to Neverland, Female Pan. Let’s play.”