Date: Wed, 14 Jan 2004 07:03:39 +0000
From: finney sea <finneysea@hotmail.com>
Subject: Peter Pan Revisited Part 1

	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