The Heart of Neverland
Needles and Thread
He sat down across from me on the far edge of the window seat and watched as I dug through my sewing kit. His intense stare made me nervous and I fumbled with the needles, trying to select one sharp enough to penetrate a shadow.
"Just use the one you used the first time," he said, as if it were that simple.
"I can't, this is a different kit. It's been four years Peter," I explained.
His face fell in an almost tragic manor. "I know."
We sat in silence as I threaded the needle I had finally chosen. For just a brief moment I considered threading it with pink or purple string, but I knew that would be crossing a line. I didn't want to restart our relationship on a bad foot. Peter and I barely knew each other.
Or at least, we hardly knew each other now. I almost couldn't remember, but there had been a time where we had been thicker than thieves, closer than lovers, stronger than friends. There had been a time, for one night, when I trusted him more than anyone else in the world.
"Wendy, just remember not to stab my heel. Please." Peter reminded me desperately as I brought the needle to the heel of his shoe. For a moment I considered poking him. Surely his reaction to the prick of pain would have been enough to convince myself he really was here.
Instead of stabbing his foot though I obediently obeyed and carefully stuck the needle and thread through the back of his shoe. "Peter, what was it you wanted to tell me?" I asked, curious but at the same time intent upon my work. And intent I had to be, his shadow was more slippery than I remembered.
"I'm older," he simply told me.
"I noticed."
We were quiet as I weaved the thread in and out of his shadow. I listened to his gentle breathing and wondered how he had managed to age. Pausing to look at his face I realized I was looking at someone who was not only older, but as his eyes said, someone who was much wiser than he had been when he had left me.
"Hook is out of control," he spoke again without any emotion.
"Is that so?" I raised my eye brow and cinched the thread in a tight knot. Where was he going, I wondered, as I began to reinforce my first stitches.
"The lost boys are beginning to rebel," he added, "And Neverland is dying."
"Oh, that's unfortunate," I told him, only half hearing his words as I tried to not poke his now trembling skin.
"And Wendy," he paused and I tore my eyes from his foot.
"Yes?"
"It's all your fault."
"Just use the one you used the first time," he said, as if it were that simple.
"I can't, this is a different kit. It's been four years Peter," I explained.
His face fell in an almost tragic manor. "I know."
We sat in silence as I threaded the needle I had finally chosen. For just a brief moment I considered threading it with pink or purple string, but I knew that would be crossing a line. I didn't want to restart our relationship on a bad foot. Peter and I barely knew each other.
Or at least, we hardly knew each other now. I almost couldn't remember, but there had been a time where we had been thicker than thieves, closer than lovers, stronger than friends. There had been a time, for one night, when I trusted him more than anyone else in the world.
"Wendy, just remember not to stab my heel. Please." Peter reminded me desperately as I brought the needle to the heel of his shoe. For a moment I considered poking him. Surely his reaction to the prick of pain would have been enough to convince myself he really was here.
Instead of stabbing his foot though I obediently obeyed and carefully stuck the needle and thread through the back of his shoe. "Peter, what was it you wanted to tell me?" I asked, curious but at the same time intent upon my work. And intent I had to be, his shadow was more slippery than I remembered.
"I'm older," he simply told me.
"I noticed."
We were quiet as I weaved the thread in and out of his shadow. I listened to his gentle breathing and wondered how he had managed to age. Pausing to look at his face I realized I was looking at someone who was not only older, but as his eyes said, someone who was much wiser than he had been when he had left me.
"Hook is out of control," he spoke again without any emotion.
"Is that so?" I raised my eye brow and cinched the thread in a tight knot. Where was he going, I wondered, as I began to reinforce my first stitches.
"The lost boys are beginning to rebel," he added, "And Neverland is dying."
"Oh, that's unfortunate," I told him, only half hearing his words as I tried to not poke his now trembling skin.
"And Wendy," he paused and I tore my eyes from his foot.
"Yes?"
"It's all your fault."