Oh, the Cleverness of You

Thistle paced around the burrow, her fingers running through her tangled orange hair.

“How can you be so calm?” she snapped at the boys — probably for the third time that morning.

“I toldja,” Slightly said with his thick London accent. “’E leaves for days at a time!”

“He would have said something,” Thistle huffed, her arms crossed firmly over her chest.

“Don’t be such a girl.”

Thistle’s bare toes dragged in the loose soil the matted the floor of the hideout. She careened around, stuck her tongue out at Slightly and the other Lost Boys, and retreated back to the surface of the island. Usually the lights danced and spun in the cornflower blue water; without Peter, the sky darkened with dreary clouds, leaving a foreboding pit in her stomach. It seemed they could never disappear.

Tiny bells sounded just left of Thistle: Tink, staying clear from her jungle of hair, floated beside her.

“Are you worried about him too, Tinker Bell?” Thistle breathed, her eyes not leaving the adumbrated jungle before her. Tink answered, but of course only Peter could understand her chimes.

“I think I’m going to the beach,” Thistle announced in a resigned sort of way. “Do you want to come with me?”

Tink’s wings fluttered, and instead of ringing an answer, she coated Thistle in glistening gold.

The times that she had to consciously think happy thoughts in order to fly were few and far between, but Peter was coming home, Peter was coming home, Peter was coming home.

Their shadows did not glide over the tree tops beneath them; the sun did not warm their backs as a tortoise sunning itself after a long winter. Instead, Thistle clutched her cotton shirt closer and pushed herself faster to the hopefully warm beach. When she landed, her feet caught on the rocks jutting out into the ocean. Her feet were tough now — after days and weeks of playing and chasing and wrestling (only Peter could pin her — and that was only some of the time) they were an outward sign to the fun she was having. They did not cut when she stumbled to a stop just before reaching the crashing waves.

Tink stopped just next to her, eying the increasingly higher waves crashing on the rocks. Thistle took a long moment to simply clear her mind — one of the nuisances of Peter having disappeared in the night was that she couldn’t stop to take a breath. But here, with the salt water in the air, everything was much simpler. Peter would be home soon. It was only morning. Surely, he was only visiting Wendy. That wouldn’t take long.

“Yam,” a girl sang, her voice floating up to Thistle. She didn’t have to look down to know that it was a mermaid, but she peered down at the girl anyway. “Yam, your gorgeous hair is so tangled,” she chided half-heartedly. “Let me brush it out for you.” The mermaid beckoned to Thistle, who stood with a small smile and followed over the water to a small cove by the sand.

Early on, Thistle was weary of the mermaids because of what Peter had told her. But now, she was stronger than the skinny little creatures. And besides, she thought as she sunk into the sand oppose the girl with the blue tail, today was different. Even the mermaids were shaken by the lack of Peter’s presence. Her hands trembled as she reached back into her curly blonde hair for her seashell comb. The mermaid silently worked out the knots in Thistle’s hair, and the girl with legs knew she simply wished for something to keep her mind on while she wished for warmer waters. Thistle, too, wished the time would pass quicker until the sun shone again.

“Where are your sisters?” Thistle asked just as all the tangles were no more.

The water splashed Thistle’s shoulders as the mermaid shrugged. “Looking for somewhere warm. If Peter doesn’t get back soon, we might freeze.”

Thistle swallowed hard. “He’ll be home soon,” she replied with a falsely confident voice as she rolled over. Though the mermaid was done, she had set to combing her own hair once more and did not leave the cove. Thistle didn’t hesitate when she thought to wash her clothes here — she hardly had any time away from Peter when he was here, and her clothes were uncomfortably filthy. The mermaid didn’t even cover her chest — it would be odd for a fish to wear clothes. So it bothered no one when Thistle slipped off her shirt and cotton shorts and began to wash them against the rocks. Only her bra and briefs remained — though it was terribly uncomfortable, she refused to remove her bra while she was in Neverland. It was a blessing she wore it — it bound her breasts, keeping them small, unnoticed, and out of her way. She padded across the sand to the trees, where a small creek ran into the ocean. She quickly dipped the salty clothes into the cool water, and then draped them over a tree branch and waited for the cool breeze to dry them.



It was about midday when a shivering Thistle finally tugged her slightly cleaner clothes back onto her salt-brine covered body. Tink buzzed all around her, coating her in enough pixie dust to get back home.

“You know, Tinker Bell,” Thistle began dreamily; of course, her mind wasn’t entirely in what she was saying. “I’m glad you came with me. It’s nice to hear you talk to me, even though I can’t hear you…”

It was at that precise moment that the clouds above them parted like spring’s first soft petals. Once more, Thistle did not have to bite her lip and concentrate to feel her feet leave the earth — in fact, the very sight of Peter waiting up in the sky gave her such a rush of happiness that she nearly shot straight up to him.

Seeing her, the Green Boy stopped mid air and with his lopsided grin, he waited for her to fly up. What he didn’t anticipate was that she wouldn’t slow down — no, instead she barreled towards him, wrapped her arms around his neck and only then did she slow down.

“Goodness gracious Peter, what on earth could have been so darn important…” She buried her face into the crook of his neck once more, absorbing the familiar feel of his worn cotton shirt.

“I brought you a present, Girl,” he replied indignantly.

“It’s gift enough that you’re back,” she muttered.

Finally Tinker Bell caught up to the pair, and she began tugging on Thistle’s hair mercilessly until she had moved away from Peter. From there, she began relentlessly fussing at the boy, stomping her tiny feet so much that she was shedding gold. After a long moment of actually listening, Peter looked over Tink to catch Thistle’s eye. They shared a small laugh — more so because they were happier to be together once again than they were trying to mock Tinker Bell.

However, this light laugh triggered something. The pocket of Peter’s shirt began to glow and thrash… and if Thistle listened carefully enough, she thought she could hear a tiny voice…

Peter followed her pracinous eyes to his chest. “Oh, yes!” he cried, carefully reaching to grab whatever being he had stowed away. “I got you a present!”

“Yes, you said,” Thistle responded quietly as she gazed down into his closed hand. Slowly, he released his fist, and the glowing creature leapt up and buzzed around and around. It was too quick for Thistle to get a good look, but it only took a moment to realize that it could only be another pixie. It darted around, pausing for a milisecond before continuing on like a hummingbird looking for nectar.

“What is it looking for?” Thistle breathed to Peter, as she was overly aware that she was being studied. As soon as the words left her lips, the pixie zoomed up to her face and stopped just inches from the bridge of her nose. It wasn’t actually an it, she could now see as it studied her that it was a he. His soft features sharpened in determination as he took an extra moment to gaze into Thistle’s wide eyes. He wore little leather trousers, and stitched clovers to his feet for moccasins. He had dirty blonde hair — not as in the color, but that there was dirt in his hair, and on his face, and everywhere else as well. Thistle wished to ask if he were a woodland faery, but she worried that the exhale of breath would blow him away.

“He’s looking for his laugh,” Peter said softly, a genuine smile creeping on his lips.

“His laugh? Like a person?”

Peter nodded. “Every time a baby first laughs, a pixie is born from it. They are meant to be together after that, but so many never find their laugh. Pixies will spend their whole lives simply waiting, until that child has grown old and takes his last breath…” Thistle’s features contorted, the words sending a sharp knife through her.

“Well we must help him! Who is he looking for?”

Peter could no longer suppress his grin nor his surprise. He dove for Thistle, his fingers tickling her middle and catching her completely off guard. Before she could push him away, she was already howling with laughter.

And in that moment, the pixie halted where he was and simply stared. Thistle caught her breath and looked at the little guy, and she could see the pinpricks of glass tears welling up in his eyes before he darted to her, gripping her thumb in the tightest hug he could muster. Sixteen, nearly seventeen years of waiting and he had finally found his laugh.