How to Never Grow Up

 There was a day when I was reminiscing on all the dreams I used to dream. It struck me, then, what a foolish child I'd been. I was so full of fanciful, silly ideas of what the world was like, what I was in the grand scheme of things.

I recalled when I used to take two pillow cases like wings over my arms, to run and jump and try to fly.

I used to imagine that I would be the greatest explorer there had ever been: I would find everything from the deepest depths of the ocean to the farthest reaches of space.

When there was a war, I could already see myself dashing headlong into the fray, guns blazing, never a fear for my own life or safety.

I was untouchable, immortal.

I could now only shake my head at naive little me. Sure, those were nice ideas, but impossible. Life holds too many responsibilities. Dreams have to be sacrificed in the name of duty and, eventually, putting food on the table.

That was when my heart started to pound in my chest. My blood rose even as panic rolled over in my stomach.

My worst fear was coming to be.

Without delay, I tried to fight it. I visited all of my old haunts: the cabinet under the stairs where washed-out crayon drawings still lingered on the drywall. It held the familiar smell of musty carpet and moulding wood.

I strolled to the abandoned house on the end of the street, with the boarded-up windows and caved-in ceilings. As I climbed amongst the wreckage, ghosts came to me of my little friends and I, playing some long-forgotten game of hide-and-go-seek.

I walked around the block to the park, sat on the creaky old swing, and I couldn't help but smile at the memory of my favourite games: grounders, freeze-tag, Nerf gun battles and wrestling in the sand. The sting of a skinned knee had never felt better than when it came with glorious victory over another little boy.

I could not recall why all of these things had been so appealing. To run and play in the sun until it was gone and my mother was worried sick for me... it used to feel so daring. Now, I just thought of all the opportunities I've missed because of it.

I returned home to sift through cardboard boxes of plastic cars, wooden train tracks, and an endless supply of Lego. I put a few pieces together into a miniature spaceship, like I always used to; but the fun had gone from it. Guiding the aircraft through intricate flight patterns just felt silly and, when I attempted the good ol' sound effects, I could feel my face burning with embarrassment as I feared that someone had heard me.

When did I start caring about that?

Bored, I returned the toys to their dark boxes. Sadly, I realized that I could now hardly stand the things that used to hold me fixated for endless hours.

Now, I was really getting scared.

It had begun to happen, and I hadn't even noticed.

I was growing up, and fast.

All my life, I have told myself that I won't let it happen. That I'd always be a child at heart. At that moment, I knew that it wasn't possible. This world I lived in wouldn't allow it. The little boy inside of me would very soon become lost.

There was only one thing to do.

I made my final rounds; cast one last glance at my busy, stressed-out parents. They worked so hard and it was them- their miserable, overworked lives- that had made me determined to never become like that.

I wrote my note quickly.

As a last step, I knew that I had to go next door. The girl who lived there was tall and blonde: the most beautiful creature I've ever seen. But that wasn't why I loved her so much. No, I loved her because she always let me sit right alongside her little brothers, even though I was so much older, in the evenings when she would sit in her wooden rocking chair and open the thick volume of fairy tales that she treasured so. When she read, she performed all of the voices, and taught us the meanings of all the big words. Snow White and the Seven Dwarves held a whole new fascination when spoken from her tongue.

If there was anyone who could truly hold on to the darling child inside, it was her.

I stated my goodbyes plainly, and she cried, begged me not to go.

"I'll always be with you," I promised, brushing a tear from her freckled face. "I swear, a shadow of me will always return to this place."

A tentative smile touched her lips and it was so beautiful that I had to kiss them, if just softly, even if it was something a true child would never think to do. Her lips tasted salty and I caught a whiff of the tea she'd been drinking as she inhaled sharply.

"Keep reading your stories," I insisted. "I'll never stop coming to hear them."

I turned around, went back down her front step and she went back into her house. I forgot to check if she was watching as I stood on the sidewalk, and it occurred to me later that she probably was. A cool wind ruffled my hair. A crescent moon was just rising over the houses across the street. I bounced on the balls of my feet, an air of reckless abandon enveloping me.

Carefully, I reached into my right pocket and retrieved the last obvious piece of my childhood that I could truly place faith in.

A tiny woman sat in my palm, staring up at me with huge black eyes and glowing softly. I smiled, and she knew what I was planning. The fairy leaped to her feet and fluttered into the air, extending a hand towards me. I placed my index finger in it and she gripped me with a strength far beyond her size. She rose higher, and my feet lifted off the pavement as I went with her.

Her voice reminded me of a thousand little chimes on a windy day when she spoke.

"Where to, Peter?" she asked cheerily.

"I think," I said, "It's time to make for Neverland."

And, so, we flew. We soared up, up into the sky; to the second star on the right, and straight on 'til morning.

And, so, we flew to Neverland, where one never has to grow up.

That thought was so happy to me that it propelled me forwards all on its own. A peal of laughter burst from my lips as I hurtled into the night, and towards the adventures that awaited me.

And, so, we flew, us two, up and onward to Neverland.

And, so, we flew.