6 months later:
Amber's POV
We credit snowflakes for being unique and fragile to the touch.
In the midst of their beauty, however, we forget that they are just inanimate objects produced by Mother Nature's will.
Same goes to the leaves of autumn. They fall. Snowflakes fall. Everything eventually falls.
Even people.
If we value a snowflake's individuality and a leaf's artistry, then why can't we respect one another as human beings?
The question still clung to me like wet newspaper on cement as I shivered, the chill of Brooklyn air colliding with my warm breath. When Peter let me go, I fled to the city to live with a family friend, one that knew my mother when she was at her prime peak. She smiled and welcomed me into her dimly lit apartment. At the time, I was too grateful to think much of it, but now I realize: the urban atmosphere was just a mere distraction from reality.
I know this, because every so often I find myself slipping.
Stumbling.
Off balance.
Falling.
Falling into another existence that others believe to be surreal. They concern themselves with "the facts," when really, I know that they are just afraid of the things they cannot prove. According to them, anything that science could not verify was deemed fiction. Period. It seemed like nearly everyone on Earth was like this.
Everyone except one man that I knew in my lifetime.
My footsteps faltered, slowly crunching on the grass of the nearly vacant graveyard. The atmosphere of it seemed to linger for a moment, hesitating in my presence. Even the remaining birds who haven't yet fled for winter stopped mid-song.
There I stood before a single grave, a bouquet of white lilies clutched in my hand.
"Hey dad."
My voice came out in a hushed whisper as I slipped down on one knee, now at eye-level with him. The words that I saw carved in stone was deeper than the holes in my heart, but unlike the crumbling headstone, my heart could be refilled.
I let my foggy eyes drift up to meet his name etched in the stone. Cold, smooth fingers ran over the dusty Times-New Roman font, bringing old eventful memories to life. Just the thought of his smile brought a lone tear to its wake, the meandering trail that it left was cut off by my sweater's sleeve as I quickly wiped it away.
"Long time, no see."
I paused for a response, knowing that I would never get one back.
That was when I remembered a repeated saying. Something that he would tell me whenever I was sad, alone, or scared.
"Smile through your worst moments. Remember, chin up, soldier."
With a few glistening tears, I lifted my chin and smiled brightly. Maybe it was the way that the sun hit his grave, or that the birds continued their song, but I knew something different was in the air.
"I miss you, still," I started slowly, readjusting my grip on the flowers. "I mean, I'll miss you always. But you already know that." Taking a moment to arrange my surge of feelings, I quickly swept away another tear. The wind started picking up as well, tangling my hair into a mess not worth dealing with at the moment. Instead of pushing it back into my hood, I snuggled deeper into my coat, bearing the cold.
"Say 'hi' to Mom for me, would you?" I continued, "I-I miss her too. And don't forget Leo, Thomas, Evelyn, Colette and Madeline. They were a bunch of rascals... but do you remember when Thomas knocked over the fountain and blamed it on the cat? The poor thing was terrified." A small laugh escaped my lips as a heartfelt grin overtook it. "But that doesn't make me love them any less."
I kept chatting comfortably like as if he was still present before me, listening and nodding to every word I had to say. If he was really here though, we'd stop for a quick coffee on Franklin Avenue, or even feed the seagulls by the docks. We'd walk hand in hand into weird antique shops and make fun of me for wanting scented candles. Why, out of all the people on earth, why did it have to be him that left me first?
My pondering was cut short when a red maple leaf drifted down from above and landed daintily on his grave. Glancing up, I noticed that it was the last of its kind until next spring. Only the bare bark of the tree remained.
The birds from prior fluffed their wings and ended their last note in perfect pitch. They have finally decided that it was time to leave and one by one, they hopped off the branch in preparation for their next big adventure. It wasn't until the last sparrow spread its wings and flew away when my mind found its trail of thought once more.
Now, I was alone.
I looked back to my father, who I could imagine, be smiling right now. The warmth of his grin could radiate and fill an entire room just like a fireplace. He was everything that I wanted to be, everything that I strived for.
Everything that I must leave behind.
"This might be one of my last times coming here," I murmured just loud enough for him to hear. He stood there, silent and modest, as my voice pierced through the silence like a blade through silk. "There's a place," I began, "so whimsical and so magical that those who visited ceased to grow up. That paradise that hid so many dark secrets clouded my thoughts of reality."
So there I sat, telling tales about Neverland. About the Lost Boys. About Peter. I laughed and smiled, and even at times, cried, as I told my father about Felix and his strange obsession with trees, and Owen, and how much he reminded me of Thomas. I told him about the time I defeated Captain Hook, and of the time I made friends with a man who's identity was confused with a wolf.
The stories continued on until the last sliver of sunset. By then, it had grown late and I was running out of time.
"In Neverland, they became my family. And in Neverland, I found love. But that doesn't mean that I would forget about you, mom, or Evelyn, Madeline, Thomas, Leo and Colette. I would always cherish the time that we had, always. Never forget that," I smiled as I stood up, running my fingers across his gravestone one last time. The bouquet that I had brought from earlier was tucked underneath my arm to maintain warmth, but now in the final moments that I had, I diligently placed it out of my embrace and laid it on the chilled grass against the headstone in which I have engraved into memory.
"I'm not saying goodbye," I paused with a tiny smile, digging my hands deeper into my pockets. "But I will say see you soon."
My feet haltingly turned in my soles before I stopped briefly, taking one last glimpse over my shoulder at the lone grave and flowers. The contrast between the snow white lilies and the darkened headstone was astonishingly remarkable--maybe even beautiful if one stared long enough to care. But instead of feeling sadness and regret, I felt content.
I felt content because I knew that "soon" wasn't forever, and that "forever" was just a philosophy.
A philosophy that only existed in one place that I called actually called home.
Neverland.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The lady that took me in was kind enough to let me stay, but after a few months, she too wandered astray. Something about a new business opportunity, she said, but after that, I never saw her again. All she left behind to me was her apartment, a frying pan, and a few other commodities. Anything else was from deteriorated dollar bills and paychecks that I worked for from the jobs that nobody else wanted.
Locking the door behind me, I flickered on the dim lights and unbuttoned my heavy coat, setting it down next to the heater. The weight of it lifted off my shoulders as I tuned the battered radio, switching it to a station that was unfamiliar to the ear.
A slow melody eased its way into the vacant room timidly, lifting me off of my feet and swaying me into the kitchen.
"She is something to behold, elegant and bold..."
With a gurgle of protest, the sink spouted water into my god-forsaken mug. Beside it, sat a second, waiting to be filled as well. This one had a thin crack that ran along the brim of it, yet it still functioned properly. Standing on my tiptoes, I opened the overhead cabinet and blindly let my fingers roam.
"She is electricity, running through my soul..."
"Yes!" I exclaimed, pulling the box of tea down within my reach. My fingers ran along its plastic packaging before unwrapping it, setting it down next to the running sink. My hands worked to drop each tea-bag, one by one, delicately into the two mugs that separated the lukewarm water and the crisp air when abruptly, I heard the window snap open.
"And I could easily lose my mind, the way you kiss me would work each time..."
I casually placed the mugs on a tray and footed out of the kitchen, not being surprised at all by who sat in the limelight of my living room. His auburn hair glowed luminously, and his eyes, his lush forest-green eyes, met mine.
"Calling me to come back to bed singing Georgia on my mind..."
"You're late," I said, placing the tray down and walking towards him.
Peter grinned a toothy smile, bowing his head bashfully, "sorry, Amber, time passes differently in Neverland." Without another word, we met halfway as he embraced me in an enormous hug, one that was big enough to last us a century.
I nuzzled my face into his shirt as he rocked us, back and forth again and again until I forgot that I was still in an apartment complex in New York. It was absurd what a simple gesture like a hug could do.
There we stood, head tucked under chin, beneath the blinking lights of a rent nearly due. Our breaths came in and out in sync when I felt Peter lift his head to sniff the air.
"Is that herbal tea?"
"Yeah, I made you a cup."
"You're the best." I heard his muffled voice from over my shoulder.
Smiling, I shook my head. "Are you going to finish it?" I asked, knowing that he had a bad habit of not finishing his drinks.
"Are you kidding me? It's herbal tea, of course I'm going to finish it."
We broke out of our hug to collapse on the couch, me, smiling like a nut, and him, laughing as he took his mug and delivered me mine as well. I quietly thanked him as I took a sip, admiring the movement of the tea bag as it swirled around, settling to a standstill once more. I could feel its warmth spread throughout my extremities within each gulp.
Peter hummed with thoughtful appreciation, savoring every drop of tea that passed through his lips. He gingerly set down his mug on the stained coffee table that was once pure white and looked at me.
"I missed you."
I peered at him slowly over my mug, taking in its herbal fragrance. "I had hoped so," I smiled humorously before setting down my own mug as well. The silence that resided was neither deadly nor cynical, but it was in fact, comfortable.
It was comfortable in the way that made me realize that he was the closest thing to family I've got, not like I had much of it biologically left. But Peter? He never died, vanished, or left me with a beat-down radio that could only play four stations.
He provided me with a medical bandage for my heart.
And for that I am eternally grateful.
My amusement leaked through my voice and into his budding laugh. I stood up to drain my cup. "You know," he started, lifting himself up and following me into the kitchen, "you've gotten a lot more fire in you than the last time I saw you."
Smirking to myself, I peered up at him through my thick eyelashes, "it's what this city does to you." My hands worked to turn on the nozzle of the sink, running the cracked mug underneath its stale water. When I turned to him, his gaze was fixed distractedly out of the window.
"Where are all the trees?" He joked, looking out at the bustling city-scape. He glanced over his shoulder, observing me as I walked slowly towards him. The cars honked and streetlights flickered beneath us as I stood beside him, resting my cold head on his warm shoulder. "I don't know, but you stop wondering that after a while," I responded, looking up to meet his eyes. "Once you stay here long enough, everything you know fades into a blur of stainless steel and brick."
His eyebrows shot up as a low laugh rumbled his throat. "Then clearly you've stayed here for too long," he chuckled, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck and wrapping his arms around my waist. "Come on, let's go home."
"What about the pixie dust?" I asked.
He freed one hand to reach for the chain around his neck, "I got it covered." On the end of it was a miniature bottle, barely the size of a thumb. I watched as his fingers repeatedly tapped on its side. The contents of it glowed a vivacious gold, illuminating the hand in which he held it in. "Tink got it to work again," he explained with a hint of gratitude in his voice. It brought an unexpected smile to my lips.
Peter's eyes trailed from the bottle to me. "M-May I do the honors?" He asked.
"Do the honors of what?"
He blinked. "Giving my angel her wings."
I paused only for a moment to study his face. From the shadows that cast along the dip of his nose to the cleft of his chin, I realized two fundamental truths that I have lost light of in the six months I spent in a concrete jungle.
1. He is a beautiful specimen.
I never once realized that I could look at a person the same way that I looked at art. Amazed. Bewildered. Moved. The curve of his face to his neck, and all the way down to his calloused heels, was a masterpiece. Not even Van Gogh or Da Vinci could recreate anything as alluring as him.
2. He is a sentimental bastard.
No explanation needed here. I just kind of felt the need to tell him this.
"Peter, you're a sentimental bastard."
I think that the glare he shot me was supposed to be taken threateningly, but I could tell he was attempting (and failing) to stifle a laugh. "Oh, first I'm a pancake, and now I'm a sentimental bastard?" He raised his eyebrows disbelievingly.
It didn't take much for me to reach around and give a supportive pat on the back, "Don't worry, you'll learn to embrace both. I know a therapist that a friend recommended when she had identity problems. Maybe a little less extreme, but that's not the point. I think you should give the same therapist a try."
He looked so done.
Kind of like "grumpy cat" done.
But with a wink of a smile.
"Ha ha very funny, Amber," he groaned, shaking his head. Despite his tiresome tone, he still had a genuine, adoring smile fresh on his lips.
"I honestly do try," I said, faking a clumsy yet elegant curtsy. He laughed at my attempt as I straightened up, clearing my throat. "But... in all seriousness...," I started slowly, articulating every word as they slipped from my mouth, "...you may."
The look on his face was that of a child on Christmas morning. I observed his fingers as they pulled out the cork with a voluminous pop! Little particles of stray dust hovered in midair before descending down and disappearing into the abyss that I called my stained carpet. "Close your eyes," he whispered, and obediently I did as I was told.
It was then when I realized that the radio was still playing in the other room. The song could be faintly heard, yet it was still compelling to the soul. I listened to it as the first sprinkle of pixie dust landed on the tip of my nose.
"And I, I never understood what was at stake...
I never thought your love was worth it's wait.
Well now you've come and gone I finally worked it out, I worked it out..."
The dust felt like the first snowflakes of the season--without the biting and frigid cold of its presence, of course. They tickled my cheekbones and my chin, all the way down to my toes, making it impossible for me withhold a grin. Then gradually, if not all-at-once, gravity stopped existing, along with my worries of paychecks and deepening debt.
"Darling," I heard him say, "open your eyes."
And open my eyes, I did.
I was two feet off the ground, balancing on the fine line between sleep and awake. Any other sane person would pinch themselves, thinking that they'd wake up from a psychotic dream, but I'd know that this was anything but. I'm not crazy, my reality is just different, and seeing that Peter's feet weren't touching the ground either made me realize that we shared the same dimension.
The same world.
The same reality.
"Woah...," he breathed, barely a whisper. It looked like as if a skilled artist sketched his face out, delicate details full in awe.
"What?" I asked, curious of what caught his attention so effortlessly.
"Just look...," he responded, doing nothing but pointing a single finger.
I turned and followed where his finger pointed, taken aback when I found myself staring at my own reflection on glass window-pane.
The pixie dust glimmered magnificently in my hair like a shattered halo of an angel. When I shook my head, it rained down onto the wool sleeves of my sweater, illuminating it like as if it was woven out of strands of gold. I was practically radiating.
"You look stunning," he whispered, his reflection appearing like a ghost behind mine. The pixie dust that landed on his forehead and nose exaggerated shadows everywhere else, making him look like a carved statue from the Metropolitan, or an impressionist painting from La Louvre. I felt a soft rose blush rise in my cheeks as he took my right hand in his left, kissing it. "Thank you," I smiled timidly, watching our reflections in the glass, "you do too." Turning, I let our silhouettes intermix against the city backdrop of the window, as I pulled him in for an innocent kiss.
My chapped lips found his smooth ones in perfect amity. The scent of his evergreen trees and earth overtook my senses and filled the stale air around us while pixie dust hovered like wisps of smoke. He smiled slowly into the kiss, wandering his his free hand to my waist while mine trailed up to cup around his face. We stayed there like someone cracked the hourglass, like time was frozen.
"And I could easily lose my mind, the way you kiss me would work each time
Pulling me back into the flames and I'm burning up again, I'm burning up..."
I feathered one last lingering kiss before pulling away, letting our foreheads connect. He grinned breathlessly before glancing up into my eyes, maintaining the contact as he spoke. "You know, I missed everything about you," he shrugged apologetically, a trace of a blush barely hidden on his cheeks, "your kisses especially," he admitted.
I hummed happily and pecked his lips once more. "Well now, you won't have to. I'll be with you for a long, long, long time."
Bliss spread across his features as he laughed joyously, his youth glowing brighter than the moon. He enveloped me in the biggest hug he could muster and spun me around in the air. "Then what are we waiting for?" He laughed, twirling me like a ballerina as I shrieked, holding onto his hand for dear life. "Peter, stop it! You're going to make me hit the ceiling!"
"Oh, with your beauty and grace?" He joked, pulling me into a warm embrace, "Nah, I doubt it."
I stuck my tongue out at him as a sign of protest in which he did the same, without any hesitation. "You're impossible," I huffed. He just simply shrugged and delivered a boyish smirk.
We both drifted down to unlatch the paint-peeled window, his hand on top of mine. We pushed it up inch-by-inch with little difficulty, given the effect of Pixie dust it had on us. Bitter winds instantly swooped in and snapped at our faces, tangling my hair into annoying little knots.
When I returned to his side, he slipped my frigid hand into his with tender care. The new-found warmth crept through my fingertips, and suddenly, it felt like the first thaw of Spring. I looked up at him only to see that he was already staring back at me, vivid green orbs dancing with the faintest speck of gold. "Ready?" He asked, exhilaration clear as day on his face. "Second star to the right-"
"-and straight on til morning," I finished for him, squeezing his hand affectionately. "Peter, take me to Neverland." He smiled back with the type of look that would make a girl melt.
Then, together we jumped, leaving behind the apartment that kept me off the streets.
We left behind the leaking faucet, cracked walls, and the broken door whose lock was beyond repair.
We left the little-too-nosy neighbors, flickering neon signs, and buzz of the city that I actually grew to love.
And last but certainly not least, we left the radio. Its battery, slowly draining out into the pitch darkness of night, played the last lyrics of a song I barely knew the tune to.
"And I, I never understood what was at stake,
I never thought your love was worth its wait,
Well now you've come and gone
I finally worked it out, I worked it out..."
Then, like as if it was on cue, the battery died out, leaving the apartment with empty nothing. The only movement came from the billowing white curtains, graceful and balletic from the forlorn winds of the open window. A minute passed, then another when the tranquility was interrupted by Mother Nature's presence.
Despite the chances, a single snowflake, beautiful, and delicate to the touch, floated airily into the room.
The snow crystal was the first of its kind, a good hint to what was coming in the next three months. It twirled like a dancer and dipped like a marionette, only to land undisturbed (out of all places), into Peter's unfinished cup of tea.
*sigh*
I guess habits really don't break.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The song is Georgia by Vance Joy, I really recommend it 😊
Once again, please feel free to edit my work! It's always nice to have my mistakes corrected with good criticism.
Anyways, that was the last chapter of Take Me to Neverland. I wrote it out in detail because it was appropriate for the occasion.
I am beyond grateful for all the readers, friends and followers I have gained while writing this book.
A full year! Can you believe that!
Finishing with 105k is beyond what I ever hoped for. Thank you so much!
Although I have finished it officially, I WILL be going back over and rewriting most of my chapters. It will say if it has been edited at the top :) I might also replace the visuals with sketches done by me? I don't know, it's still unsure as of now.
Thank you for everything. And I mean, everything. If there's ever a story that you want me to look, or if you're just having a bad day and need someone to talk to, I'm always here :)
Vale Te,
Katie P.N. xx