Son of Pan

40

Chapter 1

Pan… a voice called to him from the distance. Fading, fast like it was miles away. The boy had trapped himself in his own world, mentally preparing for the gauntlet he was about to face.

"Pan…" it called to him again, more sharply this time.

"Mr. Darling! Is it too much to ask for your undivided, albeit clearly precious, attention?"

Eyes were fixed on the boy as he looked up. He could feel the heat of their glares on his light green eyes, on his cheeks, on the back of his auburn hair. Twelve-year-old Pan Darling wanted to crawl out of his skin and hide in the nearest hole.

I-I apologize, P-Professor Ashe, he stuttered, forcing out the words in his soft British accent. I didn’t mean to…I promise it won’t happen again.

Pan Darling had been scribbling in a notebook, writing in detail his schedule for the week: Algebra exam Wednesday. Monday: study two hours. Tuesday: study two hours…World History test Thursday. Monday: study one hour. Tuesday: study one hour. Wednesday: study one hour…

One week into secondary school, organization was the only way he could control his anxiety – a detail his English professor, Priscilla Ashe was wholly uninterested in. Ashe was a strange looking woman. In her seventies, Pan believed. Her countless wrinkles reflected the stresses of attempting to educate children throughout the years, and Pan thought he was sure to add a few to her forehead before the term was up, albeit unintentionally. But the feature that defined the professor was her nose.

As sharp as a blade, the professor’s nose was constantly pointed at the sky. It was clear that in her mind there were very stupid questions and very silly students.

"At least feign an interest, Mr. Darling. I was just ringing to see if you weren’t too busy to lend your voice to Romeo…alongside Marie’s Juliet."

The butterflies seized Pan’s stomach. He was one word away from reading along with Marie Preston, the most beautiful girl in school, to the words of what Professor Ashe had incessantly described as the most breathtaking love story ever told.

The excitement was unbearable. And rather than keep his eyes focused on the teacher, he shot a glance across the room at the young beauty to note any reaction. It was a decision he would regret instantly.

She was looking right in his direction, playing with a strand of her long brown hair, blinking her flowery hazel eyes, a thin smile serving as her own personal invitation for Pan to be her Romeo.

Pan had been the first one to notice just how lovely she looked that morning reading by the school fountain. It was like the scene of a painting: the sun shining on her pages, reflecting on her cheeks, her nose crinkled cutely in concentration. How Pan wanted to compliment her, to at least whisper hello. But his subconscious usually did away with such desires, replacing them with that shyness often found in children of his age.

Finally, just as Pan was about to look back at Professor Ashe and accept the opportunity of a lifetime, a voice yelled from the background.

I’ll do it, Mrs. A. I’ll be Marie’s Romero.

It was Jasper, the rugby protégé who only had one interest outside of beating his competitors into the ground – gaining Marie’s favor. He’d recently started running a few extra miles in the morning before class in an effort to impress her, or so he said. Though, the sheer stench coming off of him left little room for doubt. Even sitting behind Pan diagonally, Jasper’s body odor was a smack to the face.

Very well, Jasper, Professor Ashe replied, more annoyed than appeased. "You will be our young Romeo. And Mr. Darling, as I am determined to have you redeem yourself this afternoon, I am casting you in the role of Tybalt, cousin to Juliet and sworn enemy of the—"

Hah! Jasper let out a piercing cackle, his laugh being the only thing still transitioning to adulthood. "Isn’t that the bloke who gets stabbed?"

Professor Ashe didn’t even bat an eye. She just looked at the newest bane of her existence with a desperate glare, surely weighing the pros and cons of retirement.

"‘Act I, Scene V.’ Joss shall play Second Capulet. Lee, you will play the First Servant. I will bring to life the role of Capulet, and for the role of Second Servant…Theodore, you will grace the class with your rendition."

"It’s James," the boy to Pan’s right retorted. He had been leaning against the wall, clearly bored from the day’s lessons – or lack thereof. But if there was one way to capture his attention, as Pan had learned throughout their four years as close friends, it was to call him by his proper name.

"Theodore, the boy would always say to Pan. What in God’s name were my parents thinkin’?"

James loved them, of course, his parents. They attended his soccer matches, assisted with science projects – they were always there for him. It was really only the name that came between them. But it was more than just your average line in the sand. James loathed Theodore and all of the snootiness he believed came with it.

"S’not me, Pan. I’m normal, average James. I’m not Theodore."

And the boy made a conscious effort to have every aspect of his appearance convey that. With his dark hair matted and his tie one tug away from coming undone, this tall, unkempt boy was certainly more James than he was Theodore. Teddy maybe, but never Theodore.

Now let’s begin.

Professor Ashe’s words rang in Pan’s ears like a gunshot at the start of a race. Without a moment’s hesitation, he began to read aloud. Enunciating each word expertly, accounting for every exclamation, the boy performed flawlessly, like a seasoned actor on the stage. And finally reaching the stage directions included in his book, Pan came to a smooth stop.

The boy had done it. He’d gone through his entire part without one slipup. Without one embarrassing mistake…or so he believed.

A little overzealous, are we, Mr. Darling? the professor snickered.

Looking down, Pan realized he had spoken out of turn and read for multiple roles – none of which were his own.

"Is this your idea of a joke? Could it really and truly be that you have so little regard for the manner in which this class is conducted? Or is it the material that has you bored out of your wits?"

Standing in front of the class, Professor Ashe shook her head as she wiped her glasses clean on an old handkerchief.

"Tisk. Tisk. If not the greatest romance ever written, Mr. Darling, what will you take interest in? she pressed him. Or is this the ultimate test in futility?…Am I to play Sisyphus to the immense boulder that is your stubborn mind? To everyday push against it with all of my strength simply to have you derail—"

"Oh, give it a rest, Priscilla, James spoke out. We’re all bored out of our minds here. He dies. She dies. And everyone else in Verona lives happily ever after. We all know the story. So how about we read something more grippin’ and I don’t know…relevant?"

Professor Ashe wrinkled her forehead.

"And what, my dear James, did you have in mind?" asked the professor impatiently.

The young man didn’t hesitate. Yanking something from his backpack as he stood up, he waved a comic book before the class.

Environmental journalist by day, superhero by night, Christopher Pierce saves the world from impending doom as the Sugar-Glider! the boy declared proudly. "A freak accident at a town zoo involving lightning, a nocturnal marsupial and absolutely no supervision resulted in—"

"I think, James… Mrs. Ashe raised her cold voice, we’ve all heard quite enough."

The boy simply smiled as he returned to his seat, tucking his prized comic between folders in his backpack. He nodded at Pan who looked his way.

"You’re a lifesaver," whispered Pan.

James put his hands behind his head and slumped into his chair. S’what I do.

And just as he said it, the boy formerly known as Theodore pulled the long hair of his bowl cut over his eyes and went to sleep. Pan, in an attempt to return the favor, risked looking like a fool in front of the class yet again and searched for James’ next lines in the scene. There weren’t any.

Evidently, the cloven-hoofed professor took joy in simple jests just as the rest of them did.

Perhaps his friend had taken note of this and decided there were better uses for his time. Then again, maybe he simply didn’t care. That was James for you: a good friend, albeit with a few eccentricities. And as Professor Ashe began to drone on as Capulet – putting extra emphasis on every single syllable – Pan wished he too could be more carefree, but then he almost laughed at the thought of it.

Rather than simply follow along as the class went through the scene, Pan fixed his eyes on a single line:

For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

It was Romeo’s last line before Tybalt spoke. And the boy was set on delivering a stirring performance.

So with Professor Ashe falling into what can only be described as an actor’s trance, dramatizing each action as if she were performing at London’s West End Theatre, Pan turned his attention towards his first line:

"This, by his voice, should be a Montague, he spoke the words in his mind, This, by his voice, should be a Montague," trying different tones of voice, playing with the words of emphasis.

"This, by his voice, should be a Montague!"

And then SLAM!

Suddenly, Pan’s forehead stung like he’d been thrown into a wall, and a loud throbbing filled his ears.

All the while, Professor Ashe had been waiting for the boy to err once more. But just as she was about to loose her wrath upon Pan for his most recent disturbance, she saw a thin streak of red glide down his forehead.

Jasper had slammed the boy’s head onto his desk. The young man with noticeable armpit stains and budding neck hair tried to keep himself from laughing. But his mouth burst open with a spit and cackle that filled the classroom.

"To the headmaster, Jasper. Immediately." Professor Ashe’s scowl chilled the room.

With a smile on his face, the rugby protégé shrugged, "What? ol’ Pani and I were just practicing up for the big fight scene."

Then Jasper stood up and put a rough, calloused hand on Pan’s shoulder. He spoke up for the whole class to hear, "Next time, we’re gonna need some more blood…Gotta make it convincin’."

Pan didn’t even look up. He focused on his desk, ignoring Jasper as the bully pushed off of his shoulder. Closing his book, as his first instinct was to protect the pages of his expensive text, Pan focused on the anthology’s cover painting: the waterfall and the lush greens that surrounded it. He closed his eyes, hoping, praying that he’d somehow be transported there. For a moment, he could even hear the water roaring. But when his eyes opened, he only saw the book covered in little red droplets. The waterfall and river beneath were stained scarlet red.

Are you all right, my dear? Professor Ashe asked in an unusual voice. He could sense her genuine concern.

I-I’m fine, Professor Ashe, he stammered, feeling lightheaded. P-Please continue.

The pain didn’t matter to Pan in the least, and the blood was a minor annoyance. Nothing a trip to the bathroom wouldn’t fix. He wanted nothing more than to read. Whether it was as Tybalt, as Romeo, as the second blind servant with a speech impediment – it didn’t matter. He just wanted to show everyone what he could do. That he wasn’t a spaz or a fool but a boy who, if given a chance, could succeed. But it wasn’t meant to be.

"You look positively dreadful, boy, said the professor, pointing at the door. Go and visit the nurse before dismissal."

Pan followed her orders, almost bowing in embarrassment as he took his leave of the class. Though he did his best to avoid eye contact with any of his schoolmates, he imagined Marie’s expression: sad and sympathetic. After today, she’d never see him as more than an injured dog, one who was unwilling to bark, let alone bite back.

He shut the door as quietly as possible when he reached the hall. Then Pan slumped down onto the floor.

His back against the wall, he didn’t dare utter a sound. For some reason, he was convinced the other children would hear him, that they had their ears pressed against the walls, listening for him to make a bigger fool of himself.

They’d surely mock a boy who spoke to himself, Pan thought, especially one who cried at school. So he wrapped his arms around his knees, pushed his emotions down, and stared at the cold pavement beneath him. He just needed a moment…just a minute to collect his thoughts and figure out how he could pretend this never happened.

And as he got up to walk towards the nurse’s office, only a single positive thought ran through his mind:

At least today can’t get any worse.

Chapter 2

Pan didn’t see James or any of his schoolmates for the rest of the afternoon. And after an hour of waiting inside the nurse’s office, behind a handful of children who faked their symptoms to skip their final class, the cut on his forehead was treated with a single butterfly stitch. Pan refused to take anything for the pain. The last thing he needed was to throw off his studies with drowsiness or some other strange side effects.

"Nausea, itching, loss of appetite, with my luck, I’m bound to get them all," he joked to his father on the drive home.

Peter laughed, but Pan was too stressed to even crack a smile. The boy had multiple exams to study for, and now he had reading to catch up on for Professor Ashe.

That good-for-nothing Jasper… Pan thought to himself, "couldn’t have just embarrassed me on a weekend."

But he did embarrass him, a fact that Pan tried to put from his mind. He could only imagine the things the children would say. That he was weak. A wimp. A fool. The boy who just kept still in his seat and let himself be mocked. For a moment, it made him mad. Then the car purred to a stop. He was home.

At the edge of the street, a two-story brick house stood tall before him. Its black frame windows seemed to gleam upon his arrival and the smooth stone stairs grinned broadly. Never before did the phrase home sweet home seem truer. Pan smirked a short smirk and jogged towards the wooden door with only three things on his mind: math, world history, and Romeo & Juliet.

Peter tossed his son the keys as he got the car door for his daughter, who had fallen fast asleep.

What’s the rush, buddy boy? Peter asked as he gently shook his daughter’s arm. But Pan was already halfway up the stairs and out of earshot. Meanwhile, Penny Darling perked up the moment she caught a glimpse of her dad’s big green eyes.

We’re home! We’re home! Penny yelled as she hopped out of the car and ran towards the door, her long brown curls bouncing up and down.

Oh, Ms. Darling… Peter called her, standing beside his old sage green sedan and pointing at the open back door. "I believe you forgot something…"

Little Penny Darling walked back down the stone steps in front of the house with a guilty smile and skipped up to the car. Then, with a twirl of her tan skirt, she slammed the open door shut and dashed back inside. From the car, Peter saw his daughter toss her navy blue sweater just as she crossed the threshold, revealing a rainbow of new stains on her once white blouse.

That’s my girl, Peter said fondly.

It was a beautiful day outside. The sun was high. Only the whitest clouds filled the sky. And leaning against his trusty metal steed, Peter looked quite spiffy in his favorite outfit. He wore brown leather loafers, with tassels that bounced up and down with each step. His soft tan pants were the lightest and comfiest his legs had ever known. (And it was to his son’s chagrin that Peter happened to purchase them from the school uniform store.) As for his top, Peter had developed a special affinity for white and green checkered shirts. So much so that he’d bought eight of them at once. And whether in blazing heat or freezing cold, they were never complete without a matching forest green V-neck sweater. Still, Peter loved no article of clothing quite like his hat: a plaid Bavarian alpine hat that was green, gray and white with a bright red feather held in place by a dark green band. A simple accessory, it was the closest, most socially acceptable alternative he could find to the green archer’s hat he wore in his childhood. As he straightened it upon his head, Peter breathed in the scene.

With just a taste of the air, it was decided: Today was going to be a day for adventure. But in what form, Peter wasn’t sure. It wouldn’t matter to his daughter. Penny was always up for excitement. As always, it would be Pan who required a little convincing.

Their activities couldn’t be too outlandish. So skydiving was out of the question. Not that it was ever in the question, but Peter liked to imagine it for humor’s sake. The three of them falling out of the sky, laughing and screaming: it wouldn’t be flying exactly, but Peter figured it would be a close second.

What about a scavenger hunt?…Nope, Peter quickly shot down the idea. It hadn’t been a full day since the family’s last one. And as much as he appreciated a good hunt, regardless of the theme, Peter wasn’t one to recycle games so quickly.

"Oh, if only Wendy was here. She’d know what to do."

Peter’s wonderful wife was at work, of course. After years of watching over her younger brothers, John and Michael, always taking special care of them when the boys were sick or bed-ridden, Wendy Darling had become a nurse – a pediatric nurse at Angel Wings Hospital in London. In her mind, it was an excellent way to do what she loved the most. On the other hand, getting Peter to pick a profession was a much less organic matter. One day, in their youth, Wendy simply sat him down at her parent’s dining room table – just weeks after she had convinced her kind mother and father to take in the good-natured orphan – and she asked Peter what he wanted to be when he grew up. As being a new resident of her world, he would most certainly grow…

A resident of Neverland for as long as he could remember, Peter hadn’t a clue what in the world she was talking about. So Wendy proceeded to give a lengthy explanation of what a job was exactly, why it was necessary to have one in her world, and Peter provided one simple response:

I want to be…a leader! That’s it! He snapped his fingers. I’ll be the leader of London’s lost boys!…and girls! I’ll teach them how to tie knots and make animal calls. And I’ll tell them all sorts of stories about Neverland!

But you can’t do that, Peter… Wendy stopped him. "You can never tell anyone about Neverland."

As young as she was, Wendy knew the world wasn’t ready to learn about a place like Neverland. Her father was exhibit A.

If the loving man who raised her couldn’t accept her mother’s stories about Neverland and Peter Pan, if he called them rubbish and nonsense and poison, what would the rest of the world say? What would they do?

Would they humiliate Peter for his claims? Would they hurt him?

It was decided: If he was to stay in London and live among its normal cynical residents, Peter could no longer be Peter Pan.

So the world now called him Peter Darling. At first, Peter just changed his name for Mary’s sake. His new mother said it would make things easier, as would fabricating his past. After all, an orphan boy from the States was easier to explain than an ageless boy from Neverland.

As for Peter, the longer he lived among the people of this new world, he also began to see the need for his disguise. Although, he had a very different reason from Mary’s.

Even with wonderful things all around them, trees as green as the leaves in Neverland, lakes and rivers as clear as glass, the people of this world constantly yearned for more. For penthouses, high-end clothes, and the money that would buy them. They ached for that the most. Even those who wouldn’t spend it worked all day and night to earn paper and coin. And many were willing to do whatever was necessary to get it.

Peter held tightly to his new name if not just to keep these people away from Neverland, fearing what they’d do to uncover the island’s greatest secret, its eternal youth.

Surely, they would destroy it. Surely, they would scorch the land’s remains. But in the end, they’d never find their answer.

The truth is that Neverland’s youth isn’t found in a cave or a fountain. It comes from within – the hidden truth behind the concept of your inner child. As long as you believe in magic, truly and wholly – completely – then you can see it, be it even. And if you don’t house any doubt of its existence, you can hear it too.

That’s how Peter and the lost boys could communicate with Tinker Bell, while others, even young John, Michael, and Wendy, could not.

Tinker Bell…

As he sat across from Wendy all those years ago, planning for the future and other things he didn’t understand, Peter had missed his fairy friend more than ever.

That day, Wendy could see the fear in his eyes, the stress: emotions Peter wasn’t very familiar with. This was the boy who had saved her and her brothers from the evil Captain Hook, and for the first time, it was he who needed saving.

So furrowing her brow, Wendy put her mind to work on finding possible occupations for Peter, rattling them off in her head one by one:

"Lawyer? No. Doctor? No. Banker? Goodness no."

And then, she had an idea.

A teacher! she shouted. Peter! You could teach children!

It was a stroke of genius. Peter would love teaching. In fact, he already sort of did. She hugged the boy with all her strength, so pleased with her idea and excited about their future. Then, as she so often did, she sped through her description of the profession, informing Peter of the many things he would get to teach the children, including knots and animal calls if he so desired. She told him that he could have his class sit in a circle just as the natives gathered in Neverland, that he could teach the kids to dance during playtime and to make headdresses during arts and crafts.

Peter loved her ideas. He couldn’t wait to have a job. And after more years of school than he could have ever imagined, he was finally doing it!

Peter had grown up; he’d found a grown-up job that made him happier than his younger self would have ever believed; he had beautiful, wonderful children; and it was all thanks to Wendy Darling. Well, mostly.

Peter would always stake his claim to some of the credit. After all, he’d have to be an out-of-this-world kind of special in order to win the affections of little Ms. Darling. And he was. He came straight from Neverland, the most magic of magical places, where he led the lost boys on thrilling adventures the likes of which this city called London could never even imagine!…

So he could surely think of something Pan would enjoy.

Unfortunately though, Penny wasn’t a fan of contemplation.

Step to, ya swab! she shouted to her father, standing at the top of the stone steps in a black tricorne. The seas won’t explore themselves!

Peter’s instant grin stretched from ear to ear. A proud papa, he turned towards his daughter, crossed his arms, and nodded, Nope, you’ve got that right, Penny.

"What was that, codfish?" Penny sneered at him in character.

Then her father clapped his heels together, gave a strong salute, and piggybacked Penny into the house, yelling:

"Aye aye, Captain Penny!"

Chapter 3

Oh bother…

Reaching his bedroom, Pan flung the door closed and buried his head in his hands.

"Could that have possibly gone worse? James, Marie, the entire class – staring at me…And being forced to leave early, as if that wouldn’t draw more attention to the bloody fool incapable of following directions."

Pan stomped towards his desk, squeezing his fists as he relived the scene. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why someone would ever want to hurt him. He was just a nice, quiet boy.

So why do it? he asked himself. "Because Jasper’s a savage…an ogre."

The boy shook the books out of his backpack in frustration. Suddenly, the floor was covered in sheets of loose paper, each filled to the proverbial brim with the notes he had taken in each class.

"Oh, now what’ve I done?"

--------------------------------------------------

"Gentlemen, ladies…The time for play has come and gone. Apologies if you missed it, but today you are adults."

It was the first day of secondary school. And that’s how Professor Ashe chose to start it.

"This classroom – it is to be a room for learning and learning alone. ’Tis not a daycare…And I am not your nanny. She constantly looked around the room, her nose turned up at the scared young faces before her. This is your first test, children. Succeed here, and you shall continue to succeed. But trifle, fool around and you’ll learn what it means to be Lear, to be Hamlet and Macbeth: Your life, my bright young students, will be tragedy."

That day, Pan could actually feel himself shaking in his loafers. And he wasn’t alone in his anxiety. Gasps were heard around the classroom. Wide eyes and dropped jaws as far as his eyes could see. Only James and Jasper were unfazed. Then again, the pair somehow managed to sleep through the entire oration.

--------------------------------------------------

It was a speech Pan now played in his mind over and over again, the driving force that inspired his focus the moment he got home from school. And sometimes, he couldn’t even wait that long. Two weeks into the term and the boy was already skipping lunch to study. In Pan’s opinion, forty-five minutes were better spent getting ahead in class than discussing Professor Ashe’s hairy nose mole with James. The remaining fifteen were all he needed to scarf down his meal and sprint across campus to his next class. His stomach may not have liked it, but if he wanted to finish his schoolwork before midnight, he had no choice.

Picking up his papers and textbooks and placing them in a neat pile upon his desk, Pan finally sank into the worn leather cushion of his wooden desk chair, which was just uncomfortable enough to keep him alert and focused. Cracking his knuckles and taking a long, deep breath, the boy said to himself:

All right, Pan. Time to get to work.

Unfortunately, his body didn’t listen. Rather than open up the Algebra book to the proper page, his eyes simply stared at the title, admiring its classic, elegant font. Personally, Pan thought this sort of calligraphy would be better suited to a mythology text or a book on literature.

Literature…

That got Pan to thinking about Shakespeare and Professor Ashe – and how the class was sure to call him blunder boy for the rest of eternity. The last thing the boy wanted to do was make a bigger fool of himself. So placing his English anthology on top of his Algebra text, he flipped to Romeo and Juliet, Act I, Scene V – and then closed the book almost immediately.

Pan picked up his massive world history book next – and the notebook that went with it – piling one book on top of the other, and suddenly, he was looking at his own personal monument to academia, or procrastination. He wasn’t sure. But the boy was distracted before he could decide.

To his right, Pan saw a single sheet of lined paper resting against the wall – it looked at him defiantly as if to say, Missed me!

And Pan thought to himself, "Well, I can’t just leave it there…"

So lifting himself