by Shari Arnold
“I’m cold,” I say and once my mouth opens my teeth begin to chatter. I instantly feel embarrassed.
“Just relax,” the voice says again and then warm hands press against my shoulders.
“I’m. Trying,” I say around the chattering and someone chuckles just off to my right.
“You’re doing just fine,” the nurse says again, and I realize this must be what she tells everyone, which means I’m actually not doing fine. I’m freaking out.
“I want you to count back from 100,” the voice tells me.
“Okay.”
“Starting now, Livy,” the nurse tells me.
“100, 99, 98, 97,” I pause to lick my lips. I’m so thirsty, more thirsty than I’ve ever been. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink since last night, just like they instructed me.
“Keep counting,” the deep voice says.
“96, 95, 94.”
It’s getting darker, like someone is dimming the lights in the operating room. My eyes fly open and I find the nurse hovering over me with a smile. I try to smile back but I’m sure it just looks creepy. My teeth won’t stop chattering.
“93, 92… 91.”
And then I don’t want to count anymore. My head is too fuzzy to count, like I’m falling backwards. My body is slightly warmer than it was before. I don’t feel shaky. I just feel calm.
“Promise me I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jilly says. I can’t see her but I hear her. I can’t see anything. “Promise me you’ll be fine.”
“I promise,” I tell her, just like I did last night before I left the hospital. “It’s just a simple procedure. They take some of my marrow and give it to you. And then you’ll be better. So much better that you’ll leave this place.”
“And go to the park!” she yelled.
“And go to the park.”
“And go ice skating!” she yelled even louder.
“And go ice skating!” I yelled back.
And we continued listing all the things we’d do until Nurse Maria and her grandmother joined in. And then the four of us were yelling and laughing until the announcement came over the hospital speakers informing us that visiting hours were over.
“And you promise,” Jilly asked me just before I left. She was holding onto my hand as if the strength of her weak grip could hold me here. “You promise you’ll be back tomorrow. Promise, promise, promise!”
“Promise! Promise! Promise!” I said. “I will be here.”
I will be here, whether I feel up to it or not. I will visit her so that she knows it’s happening. She’s getting better, just like I promised.
As I drift off in the operating room all I hear is Jilly’s voice in my head and all I think about are the promises I’ve made. The promises I’ll keep. They float around with me on a pink cloud that reminds me of Jenna’s version of heaven as I sink into a place where dreams don’t reach. It’s so dark and soothing here I never want to leave. I want to float around like this until everything is fixed.
This isn’t so scary, I think, relaxing back on my cloud. Not scary at all.
I awake with a gasp. The lights are far too bright — violently bright — and strangely colored. They aren’t white like the operating room. They are blue and red and gold. And flashing. They stab at my eyes, the pain so intense I can barely breathe through it.
There are people talking above me but I can’t make out their words. I just know that something is wrong. I should be sleeping. I should feel nothing. I want my pink cloud back and Jilly’s voice in my head. Anything but this.
Something is terribly wrong.
I can’t open my eyes, or maybe they are open but the lights are so bright I can’t make anything out. It’s hard to know for sure because of all the strobing colors. They blur everything together, creating a dizzying effect.
Make it stop! Please! Someone make it stop! My teeth are clenched together in pain and I don’t know how to get anyone’s attention.
Someone is shaking me, lifting me up off the table and thrashing me about. I try to yell at them to stop, but my voice is still buried deep inside of me, trapped behind my swelling tongue.
Pain is bubbling up from my stomach, reaching for a way out. And I want it out now. Please. NOW!
And then everything just disappears. The lights. The colors. The voices. Everything shuts off like a switch. I sense that I’m no longer in the operating room. I’m no longer in the hospital. I feel it. I’m somewhere else.
A feather-light breeze moves along my skin and I like it. It reminds me of warm days without rain. It is quiet wherever I am, not silent, just still. But I sense that I’m not alone.
I find my voice and ask, “Where am I? What happened?” I don’t have to wait too long before a voice answers.
“You are here, Livy. You are safe.”
“Where is here?” As I think it, I hear it, but I can’t tell if it’s in my mind or out loud.
“Look around and see if you can guess,” the voice says, hushed this time, but closer.
I try to sit up, realizing that wherever I am, whatever I’m sitting on is soft, not hard like an operating room table, but also not cushioned like a bed. “What happened? I should be in the hospital. Why am I not in the hospital?” I ask the voice.
“Because you’re here, with me,” it tells me. As I start to come around I notice that the voice sounds funny. It’s deep and melodic. And so familiar.
“Who are you?” I say. “Why can’t I see you?”
“Because your eyes are closed,” he says matter-of-factly. I am surprised to realize he’s right. They are closed. I’ve yet to open them.
“Open your eyes, Livy,” he says, and I’ve heard this before. He’s said this before.
“I’m dreaming,” I say aloud, because in this dream apparently I always say what’s on my mind. “I have to be dreaming. That’s why you’re here.” Because he shouldn’t be.
“You may think of it as a dream,” he tells me. “You may call it that.”
“What do you call it?” I ask him, and then slowly, ever so carefully, I open my eyes.
It isn’t the colors that surprise me at first but how they’re all shaped, swirly and tall like a mountain, and then small with overlapping hills. All around are blues and greens of every possible shade like color-coded crayons lined up in a box. I want to ask who drew this picture because that’s what it looks like at first. As my eyes focus and the fuzziness slips away, I realize this place isn’t just colorful: it’s art, or rather a child’s version of art, pieced together with an exaggerated hand, bold yet imperfect.
“What is this?” I say out loud, hoping the voice will answer, hoping it’s still close. And then, there he is — Meyer — sitting to the side of me with his legs crisscrossed underneath him and his hands resting lightly against his knees.
“Are you here to say goodbye?” I ask him. “I’m not ready. I don’t want to. Not yet.”
“Not goodbye.” He’s smiling at me, his eyes twinkling before the most beautifully drawn star-lit sky. “Things have changed. You’re with me now.”
“Where?” I ask, still looking around.
“There are subtle truths buried in every make-believe,” he tells me. “You never know where you might find one.” His voice comes at me loudly at first and then fades away as if he’s off a far distance. But he hasn’t actually moved.
“I don’t understand. Where are we?” I can’t focus on his response. I’m too distracted by the background and the fact that he’s here, sharing it with me. I can’t seem to wrap my head around anything else. Am I dreaming? Usually when I ask this question in my dreams I wake up. But I’m still here. The sky is still starry. I reach my hands out and discover I’m sitting on grass — rather vivid-green grass. It is soft and smooth. And undeniably real. I am not waking up. This dream may not actually be a dream. Wherever I am, I am here.
There are truths in every make-believe? What does that even mean?
His words are like a puzzle, incomplete but wa
iting to be put back together. I know there’s something buried within them, but I’m going to have to come back to it. Maybe once I’ve stopped looking around.
Meyer rises to his feet with such grace and confidence that he captures my full attention. He sweeps his hands out from his body as if he’s gathering everything up into his arms and I watch in wonder as the background begins to change. The dark colors are slowly becoming light and one by one the stars burn out in the sky. The most vibrant and colorful sunrise I’ve ever seen is cresting the strangely shaped mountains to the left and even though I could stand here forever, watching as it grows, I can’t turn away from Meyer. He is electric in this moment. He is so alive.
“Not every place here has a name,” he tells me, turning to see what I see. “But the whole of it,” he adds, pausing, his eyes flashing with excitement, “we call Neverland.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Neverland?” I repeat back to him, and he nods.
“Like Peter Pan and Tinker Bell?”
“No Tinker Bell,” Meyer says with complete seriousness. “There was never any Tinker Bell. She must have come from some other story.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, Livy. Really. There has never been a little blonde fairy with the voice of a bell here. I promise.”
“Oh. Okay then.” I nod as if it all makes sense now, waiting for the moment when he’ll end the joke and laugh. And then I’ll laugh. And I’ll feel so much better because I didn’t fall for it. But the laugh never comes.
Meyer just stands there looking like he is waiting for something from me, but I don’t know what. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and his eyes are more serious than I’ve ever seen them.
“So you visit me in my dreams now? That’s new.”
“You’re not dreaming, Livy. It’s important that you know this.”
“Of course I am!” I turn around, taking in the Crayola landscape around me. “Have you seen where we are? Are you trying to tell me that you managed to kidnap me in the middle of surgery and bring me to a place that is literally ripped from the pages of a children’s story?”
“Would you like a tour?” Meyer is back to looking boyish. That gleam in his eyes is built on excitement, not humor.
“A tour?” I choke out.
“Right now we’re in the waiting room. This isn’t what I would have wanted you to see first, but I don’t really get to control everything here.” He pushes his hands into his front pockets and I notice how even in my dreams he dresses the same — dark jeans and a hoodie. It is slightly comforting. But not enough. I still don’t believe anything he’s telling me.
I glance down at myself and find I’m wearing the same clothes I wore to the hospital: my favorite blue sweater and my dark jeans. I’m not sure where my shoes and socks have gone, but it could be worse; at least I’m not naked in this dream.
“This is where everyone enters Neverland,” Meyer explains.
“Right.” I look around, taking in the sketchbook mountains and painted trees dotting the landscape. To tell you the truth it does kind of resemble the Neverland I’ve seen in books.
“Why Neverland?” I ask aloud, not really expecting an answer. “Why would I dream about Neverland?” I could have just stayed floating on that pink cloud.
“You’re not dreaming, Livy.” He looks like he’s about to say something but then he gives up and shrugs instead. “We need to move on. I have work to do.”
“Oh. So you work here?” I nod and then add, “Yeah, that makes sense.”
Meyer chooses to ignore my sarcasm.
“This is what I do.” He reaches down and grips my hand, pulling me to my feet, and his touch ripples through me like a wave of energy. I pull away, a little startled by the intensity of his touch. But then again, it’s just a memory. I’m remembering how I used to feel when he’d touch me. This isn’t real.
“Come on.” Meyer’s gaze is steady. “I’ll show you.” He reaches his hand out, waiting for me to grab hold, and I’m immediately reminded of that night in the Sculpture Gardens. Even then I felt the need to trust him. Even though I had no reason to.
“I would never lie to you,” he tells me. “I’ve never given you a reason not to believe me.”
“Right,” I say reluctantly. I reach out my hand and he takes it, pausing for a moment.
“I’ve imagined you here,” he whispers. His words are spoken so softly I almost can’t make them out.
I lean a bit closer, hoping he’ll say more, but instead he smiles. And that smile warms me far more than his touch. I love Meyer’s smiles.
“So,” he says, breaking through the moment. “I promised you a tour.”
“Right,” I answer, allowing myself to be pulled along. My legs are shaking but I force myself to fall in step with him.
Once we reach the top of the swirly hill I pause to catch my breath. Down below us is something — some place — not even I could conjure up in a dream.
No longer does the landscape resemble something drawn with a child’s hand. No, those simple strokes have no place here. This new world is so unrealistic in its beauty it could only be created by computers. It’s like something out of a movie. I look around expecting to see two moons or some strange alien-like creature walking toward me, because that would make more sense. Maybe all the movies Sheila has dragged me to have finally taken over my subconscious and that’s why I’m dreaming in sci-fi. But there are no moons in the sky or creatures around — just one golden sun shyly peeking out from behind the mountain like it’s afraid to leave its hiding spot. As it spreads its light, it leaves everything sparkling with a sort of pixie dust. The grass, the water, even Meyer and I, all have a glow about us that wasn’t there before. I glance down at my hands, turning them palm side up. I am lit from inside as if by magic, or maybe not magic, but the strange energy I felt the moment Meyer touched me.
Straight ahead, reaching high into the sky, is the peak of a blue-green mountain. It should cast the valley down below in shadow, what with the sun just coming up and all, but it doesn’t. Nothing in this world is dark. Every color, every detail, is vibrant. Almost as if each element of Neverland has a desire to be seen. They battle each other in their beauty like it’s a competition. The water sparkles so brightly it takes me a moment before I can look at it. And the valley just off the hill is covered entirely with flowers — every possible flower you could imagine, some I’ve never even seen before. I want nothing more than to lie down in the velvety-looking grass and stare up at the ever-changing sky. But the rest of Neverland is calling me. And I want to see it all.
“Welcome to Neverland, Livy,” Meyer says, and our feet begin to rise up like they’ve been waiting for just the right moment to leave the ground.
“Please tell me this is all real,” I whisper. “Please don’t let this be a dream.”
“It’s not a dream,” he reassures me, and I want to believe him. More than anything. “Look around. How could any of this be a dream?”
“Because it’s too beautiful,” I whisper. But he’s right. I don’t think I could conjure up this place even with heavy anesthesia. I’m pretty sure no one could.
“I want you to try to believe, Livy,” he tells me as we hover a few inches off the ground. “I know your first instinct is to not believe. I know that your world has made it so that you can’t.” He leans in closer, drawing me in. “But promise me you’ll try.”
Before I can answer he grips my hand and stretches toward the sky, and then we’re flying, moving out over a place that is enchanted. It has to be. I can see our reflections in the crystal-clear water just below and I can’t look away from them. When I’m close enough I dip my hand into the water, and even when I pull my wet hand back, I still don’t believe. Maybe if I went swimming? Maybe if I rolled in the grass or smelled the flowers, then would I believe?
“Look! Over there!” Meyer says, tugging on my hand and pointing near the edge of the water where a large rock is cut deep int
o the side of a cliff. It juts out like a diving board.
“What?” I ask him, wanting nothing more than to dive below the surface of the water, just to see what it would feel like, but afraid it might jolt me from this dream.
“Mermaids,” he tells me and there they are, lounging on the rocks, standing out against the cool tones of the water. I should have noticed them before, but I didn’t. Not until I looked for them, almost as if Meyer telling me they were there made them appear.
“That can’t be real,” I whisper.
“Do you want me to pinch you?” he says with a wicked smile. “Isn’t that usually what it takes for someone to wake up?”
“No,” I tell him. I don’t want that. If this is a dream, I’d like to stay a while longer. My dreams don’t usually have mermaids. At least, not since I was a child.
Meyer steers us to the right toward a large island off in the distance. As we get closer I realize it isn’t one island but many islands, so many different islands lined up one after the other, all nearly on top of each other. Some even overlapping.
“What are those?” I ask, but he shakes his head.
“Later. First things first,” he tells me pointing to the left where the sun is fully formed in the sky. When I look at him there’s no doubt he reads the disappointment in my eyes, how I want to keep exploring this place. Forever, actually.
Meyer’s features soften, taking on a warm hue from the bright orange-yellow sun in the sky.
“Someone’s waiting for me and I must never let them wait,” he tells me, as if it’s the number one rule in Neverland.
We head back toward the place where I first found Meyer, only now everything is covered in sunshine. Everything that was colored in shades of green and blue before is now orange and yellow. Even the trees are shaded in gold. How the sun was able to do this so quickly, I don’t know. I wonder what shades of color the afternoon will be. Or if it ever rains here.
“Why are we back?” I ask, taking a seat in the grass, while he remains on his feet.
The color of Meyer’s eyes is changing as the palette of Neverland morphs yet again. The lively green in his eyes takes on a hint of purple from the sky, and his cheeks are a shade of pink. It is unnecessary, this heightened color. He’s so beautiful it seems unfair to add to his appeal.