The Girl Who Stayed

I sat with my head on the window sill, my grandmother Jane chatted about the magic boy she met years ago. The boy who has seemed to forget about her, my great grandmother Wendy and all their adventures. For he had failed to visit my mother or even come to see me, that fairy tale of a boy. My brother’s copy of Lord of the Rings rested under my top covers, away from the eyes of Grandma Jane. I kept looking at it nervously as spoke to my youngest sister who sat on here lap. More importantly, my mother must never see it. That is why I kept it tucked away from mother, who thought flights of fancy were for fools.

I turned my attention back to the window. I gazed at the moon as it hung in the sky; people were happily drunk in the streets. It had been announced that meat was no longer being rationed. It was a happy day and yet here I sit, utterly bored with my life. I did not wish to grow old, marry, bare children, only to die shortly afterward. I wanted adventure; I too wanted to call the second star to the right my home. I stifled a yawn while Grandma Jane gushed about how mother had once been an adventurous girl, one who spent her days dreaming of fairies and pirates. I wish that she was still like that. That’s what happens when you grow old, the imagination dries out.

I was happy when I was left alone to my thoughts. The window was left open, so that fresh air could blow through the curtains. I picked up the book and started to read again by light of my candle. An unusually strong wind gusted through the window and my candle blew out. I got up to search for another match to light the candle when I spotted a shadow on my floor. I turned and standing on my window sill is a boy. His dark red hair and light brown eyes twinkling with star dust. He wore a strange expression, twisted in a childlike worry and wonder.

“Jane? Wendy? Moria?” My heart starts to pound, it couldn't be.

Then I saw a small fairy zoom into the room and move things as if searching for my mother, who evidently lied about knowing him.

“Peter?” He stepped into my room, leaves covering very little of him.

“Who are you?” He stepped closer me, making it difficult to breathe.

“I am Maggie, daughter of Moria, granddaughter of Jane, great granddaughter of Wendy and I have been waiting for you.”