by Shari Arnold
“Meyer never makes a promise unless it will come true,” Echo says, flapping up behind us.
“I don’t understand,” I tell Meyer a minute or so later, when Jeremy is back to being happy and flying by himself. “Are you telling me each child has their own island?”
“Every last one.”
“But…” I look at him, wishing I could catch up with it all. “How many more are there?”
“Did you think it was just us?” Meyer asks.
Jane says, “There are hundreds of children on Neverland.” She studies me for a minute. “He really didn’t explain anything, did he?”
“There wasn’t time, I guess,” I tell her. But when Meyer doesn’t respond, I do wonder.
The closer we get to the islands the more plentiful they appear. They dust the water like lily pads on a lake. Some are grouped together, reminding me of a neighborhood block with an occasional bridge connecting them. The rest are spaced out, but still close; close enough that it would only take a short swim to reach each one.
They are all as different as toys in a toy store
“Jeremy truly gets to create his own island?” I whisper to Jane and she nods, a rare smile lighting her face.
“It is our way of welcoming him here,” she tells me, and with these words I begin to love Neverland that much more.
The first island we come to is lush and green like a rainforest. I can hear birds and monkeys and all sorts of wildlife floating up from the island. I wish we could explore awhile, but we just keep flying overhead. Down near the shore a few children are playing, but they stop and look up when our shadows cast over them. Their arms stretch wide as they wave up to us and I wave back. So do Meyer and Jane. Echo lets out a loud crow, his voice so powerful it rockets across the sky. I laugh when the children crow back as if this is some accepted form of greeting.
The next few islands are decked out like pirate ships. They’re all facing one another as if the battle is between a handful of different captains. There are treasure chests a-plenty spilling about their decks, and each island sports a large pirate flag flapping in the breeze. These islands are overrun with children, or should I say pirates. They’re racing about deep into a day of sword fighting and treasure hunting.
“Ahoy!” Meyer calls out to them. “See here, maties.”
“Ahoy!” they yell back. They aim their swords toward the sky in salute to Meyer and he salutes back.
“Spread the word!” he tells them. “Let us all meet on Sunset Hill.”
“Sunset Hill!” they echo back and then they all start crowing.
“So you do crow on Neverland. Just like in the stories.”
Meyer shrugs, his smile still in place. “We borrowed that one from the movies, actually.”
“So what does it mean?”
“Nothing. It’s just fun.”
We are flying over a fairyland now; at least that’s what it looks like from up here. I tug on Meyer’s hand begging to get a closer look. He answers with a smile and we descend. Up close I realize it’s not fairies that belong here but princesses. The ground is covered in pink and green spongy moss and the leaves on the trees are plated with silver and gold. In the center of a large canopied gazebo is a marble dance floor. Suddenly I’d do anything to spin in circles on that floor. I imagine the gown I would be wearing and the slippers on my feet. I don’t have to be a child to see the inspiration behind this island. I’ve read it. Imagined it.
“It reminds me of a story,” I tell Meyer. “You know, The Twelve Dancing Princesses.”
There’s a look about him, a hesitance that wasn’t there before.
“It was my sister’s favorite.”
We are low to the ground now, but still slightly above it. I stretch out my hand, feeling the gold-tipped leaves. They are just as I always imagined: smooth and slightly sparkly, and cool to the touch. “I used to read it to her every night,” I tell him. “Sometimes twice.”
Meyer stays silent.
A flash of movement catches my eye and I turn just in time to see a little girl run down the spongy path. Her dress is gold in color. Her hair is blonde and long down her back. I swing around to the other side of Meyer. I want to see this princess. I want to see the child who has created this island. But she is running away from me, her feet moving so quickly they barely touch the ground.
And just like that I’m caught up in a memory. Jenna is waving; her feet slowly moving her forward while her wobbly smile is aimed back at me. Her first day of kindergarten is still so clear in my mind, along with the feeling of guilt that accompanied it. She was so excited to go to school. She’d even packed her very own lunch. I remember feeling anxious about getting myself to class, but my mom had been called to a last-minute meeting and couldn’t drop her off, so I took her instead.
“Will you be here to pick me up, Livy?” she’d asked, a hint of worry tugging at her smile.
“Mom will be here, don’t worry. Just have fun.”
Sheila was standing next to me. I remember how she wouldn’t stop talking. She was so excited to finally drive us to school. It was all she’d spoken of for weeks.
“Let’s go, Livy!” she kept saying, to the point that it was annoying. “We don’t want to be late.” I rolled my eyes at her, knowing that being late was never one of her concerns. She just wanted to get out of there.
“Kindergarten really isn’t my scene, you know. Let’s go.” She pulled at my shirt while Jenna’s eyes begged me to stay.
I was so concerned about AP Chemistry and how I was probably going to be the only sophomore in the class. Sheila had begged me to take some art class with her. She was convinced AP Chemistry was social suicide, but I was thinking college, you know. Future stuff.
I wasn’t focused on Jenna. Instead I was slowly inching myself away from her.
But Jenna’s worries were different.
“I’m not feeling so well,” she’d told me. “I feel funny.”
“It’s just butterflies,” I’d quickly answered, brushing her off with a wave of my hand. “You’ll feel better once you’re in there.” I dropped a kiss on top of her head, and tucked her hair back behind her ears. And she’d smiled at me, believing every word I said.
She’d walked away thinking this was the beginning of the end of her childhood. She was a big girl now. All grown up and ready for school. And I ran off to Sheila’s shiny new Volkswagen, and a backseat filled with close friends who would later stop talking to me.
I’ve thought back on that day so many times, how my life will forever be divided by the before and the after. The way we used to live — each memory a brighter shade of color than the ones we’re making now. How once we learned of Jenna’s sickness it didn’t feel like much living was happening at all.
I’ve wished many times to go back and sit in that memory a tiny bit longer. I would have stayed in class with Jenna. I would have held her hand and taken in each minute we had left before everything changed. But not since I was a child have I truly believed in magic and fairytales, and when you lose someone you love you stop believing altogether.
“Meyer,” I whisper, my heartbeat suddenly quick inside my chest. I squeeze his hand, wanting his attention, but he’s already watching me. His eyes are so heavy in their intensity they’re shining like glass.
“What is this place?” My voice sounds shaky and faint, just like how I feel. “Who are these children?” I keep searching for the child on the path, wanting to see her face. But she is no longer there.
“Look!” Jeremy shouts. He’s pointing to the hills that stretch alongside of us. “Look at them all!”
The children of Neverland are making their way toward a large hill overlooking the water. Jane is right. There are hundreds of them. So many, in fact, that the path they travel is blurry with movement. It’s difficult to make out their ages or their faces. Their clothing is colorful, that much I can see. They are dressed to match their islands. I could probably guess which child belongs where simply by thei
r attire.
They are excited as they wave at us, each child jumping higher than the last in their need for us to see them.
“Wait!” I cry, tugging on Meyer’s hand. “I want to go back to the princess island. I need to go back!”
“Livy, they’re waiting,” Jane tells me, pointing to the children on the hill. She shakes her head, gesturing for me to come, but I keep tugging on Meyer’s hand.
“Please!” I beg him. “Just for a minute.” I want to find that little girl.
But Meyer keeps flying, his fingers locked around mine. He won’t look at me now instead he stares straight ahead.
Back behind us there are more children in the air. There are so many of them, they fill the sky like a flock of birds. We’re all moving so quickly now, I worry what will become of us once we all converge on one another since we all seem to be heading toward the same destination. But apparently I’m the only one concerned. Meyer, Jane, Echo and even little Jeremy are all smiling.
“We’re here,” Meyer says, interrupting my thoughts. He squeezes my hand and then all at once we’re descending down to the ground.
My feet touch sand and I’m reminded that I’m still barefoot. The sand feels wet, but not cold. The tide slaps at my feet and it’s refreshing. Not like when I’m at Alki Beach and even with the sun shining I still feel a shiver when I’m in the water.
I look around, searching for something, no longer aware of the beauty around me. No longer caring. All the while Meyer is watching me.
The children close in, moving down the hill toward us through bushes and around trees. Each face lit with curiosity and a smile. They all appear so young, the oldest no older than ten or eleven. At least that’s my initial impression.
I sense that they want to come even closer, but most hold themselves back. They are lined up now, at least ten children deep. It is as though they are awaiting instruction. Some wave at us shyly, while others simply grin. But all are happy. You can see it, feel it, surrounding us.
“They all live here?” I say, still in disbelief. “How did they get here?”
At first no one answers me. But then a young boy comes forward. He touches my arm lightly like he’s trying to figure out if I’m real. “I was sick,” he tells me, resting his hand upon my skin.
“Sick?” I spin around, feeling more movement behind me, and then I turn back to him. “You feel sick?”
The children are dropping from the sky now. Some splash in the water first, making their way up to the shore. There are so many of them. Most of them barefoot like me.
“Not anymore,” he tells me. “Not since Neverland.”
“Me too,” a dark-haired girl chimes in. “I was sick too.” She tugs on my hand and then slips her fingers through mine. “My name is Alice, and my mommy had hair just like yours. Do you know my mommy?”
I shake my head while she blinks up at me.
“I still remember her,” she says, not with sadness, more matter of fact.
“You were sick?” I ask, taking in her bright brown eyes and that Neverland glow.
“Not me,” a blonde boy says. He swaggers up to us with his arms crossed. “Mine was an accident. Right, Meyer?” He glances at Meyer with uncertainty before turning back to me.
“Right, CJ,” Meyer answers, and CJ’s expression softens.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. I turn to Meyer. “What are they talking about?”
My heart is pounding. I feel like I can’t breathe. Alice squeezes my hand and I feel like I could find the answers in her eyes if I looked hard enough, but I’m not sure I’m ready.
The children are inching closer now; every last one of them wants to be heard. I turn to Meyer and even though there are at least a dozen or so kids vying for his attention, he’s still got his eyes on me.
I make my way toward Meyer, bringing Alice with me. As I move through the children they smile up at me, curious about the girl who is so much older than them. They ask me questions I can’t answer, like: “How did I get here?” Or, “Will I be in charge now, like Meyer?” But there’s only one question on my mind.
When I’m finally in front of him I grab his arm, dragging him toward me. Once he’s close, I roughly push him away.
“What is this place?” I hiss at him, not even realizing I’m hitting him until he stops my hands against his chest. He holds them there, not allowing me to have them back, even when I continue to push and pull.
“I don’t understand,” I cry. “What happened to me?” But he doesn’t speak. The emotion behind his expression is clear.
“No! I don’t believe you!” I keep pushing at him, wanting to get at the truth, but still afraid. I close my eyes. If I can’t see him, I can pretend this isn’t real.
Meyer is stronger than me, and eventually my shoulders drop and I collapse against him.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” I whisper. “All of them, dead.” My voice is soft and muted against his chest. I’m not sure he’s heard me, until at last he responds.
“Yes.”
I’m struggling to catch my breath, it’s coming at me much too fast. I’m dead. I’ve died. But that can’t be right. Wouldn’t I know if I were dead? Wouldn’t I have felt it? Feel it?
And if I’m dead… if it really is true…
I grip Meyer’s sweatshirt. “Where is she?” My voice is so raw I barely recognize it. “Please,” I beg, breaking down into tears. “She has to be here.”
I turn around, searching the crowd of faces — pausing only on blonde hair and blue eyes. My heart is stopping and starting — there are so many of them. But I can’t see her.
“Where is she? She has to be here, Meyer! Please! Tell me she’s here.”
I don’t wait to get an answer. I take off running and the children shift out of my way as though they know what I’m looking for and want me to find it. I reach the edge of the cliff and jump off. I don’t worry that I will fall. Not this time.
“Livy!” Jane calls out to me, but I ignore her.
I aim my head down the way the others do when they fly, and spread my arms out. I don’t let myself marvel at how I’m flying all on my own, my only thought is getting back to that island.
It’s only a little ways back, but it feels like forever. I’m struggling to keep myself afloat and once the sparkly trees are in sight I let out a sigh of relief and drop toward the ground. My landing is awkward — a wreck more like it — but I don’t care. I’ve made it.
“Jenna!” I call out, my voice so loud in the silence it startles me. “Jenna! Are you here?” Please be here.
I run down the spongy path, moving toward the grand gazebo. I slip near the bottom and slide to a stop just before I hit the marble dance floor. I’m on my knees, taking in everything at once, looking in every direction.
“Jenna!” I call out again and a few birds surge from the trees, flapping off into the sky.
I plant my hands on the dance floor and surround myself with maybes. Maybe she isn’t here. Maybe this really is just a dream, or worse, maybe I’m dead and in my own private hell. I push my fists against my eyes. I want to stop these tears that are falling, just for a moment, so I can think this through. If this isn’t a dream and these children are dead, if I’m dead…
My heart is pounding. It nearly covers the sound of footsteps along the path.
“Livy.”
The sound of my name breaks through my thoughts. I can’t tell if it was inside my mind or if I heard it out loud. Then I hear it again.
“Livy?”
I open my eyes, but keep them aimed at the ground. I could be imagining it. I could be going insane.
A scuffle against the dirt catches my attention, and I shift my focus over a few inches, still staring at the ground. Two black Chuck Taylor’s come into sight. They are worn around the toes, but they’re familiar. I know who they belong to.
“I just thought… I figured…” My bottom lip begins to tremble and I bite down on it, holding back my emotion. “I
really wanted her to be here,” I whisper with my head down. I don’t want Meyer to see me this way: lost, without a speck of hope.
I hear shuffling all around me, and without looking up I know the children of Neverland have followed us here. I close my eyes tight, trapping the tears that threaten to fall.
“Livy,” Meyer says, and then I feel his hand against my face. “Look up.”
My eyes open, albeit reluctantly, and he takes in my sadness. I watch it color his eyes. I feel like he is sharing it with me. Or, perhaps, taking it from me. He holds my gaze a moment longer before it moves off to something behind me. He reaches his hand out, summoning someone toward him, and I hold my breath.
“Everyone gets a wish when they enter Neverland,” he tells me. “What is your wish, Livy?”
My wish? I get a wish?
“Close your eyes and make your wish,” he tells me. When I don’t do it right away, he adds, “Those are the rules.”
My eyes flutter shut and all the want I have left inside of me merges together all at once. I can see her, but more importantly, I can feel her.
“Did you make your wish?” a young girl whispers.
“Yes,” I choke out, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Did you wish for me, Livy?”
“Yes.” I cover my mouth, holding back the emotion tearing me in two. Did Meyer hear it? Did he hear her too? I open my eyes and stare up at the girl holding Meyer’s hand.
She is dressed in pink, all the way down to her toes, and I sputter out a laugh because of course she’d be in pink, what else would she be wearing. My laughter fades into a whimper and the children move further away from me. I’ve frightened them. They aren’t used to sadness here.
She is taller now. I almost don’t recognize her. Her blonde hair is long and unbound, flowing down the length of her back. The way she always wished it would be.
“Livy?” she says, unmoving for a moment. Her voice is exactly as I remember. Her face looks the same but something is different. I can’t quite put my finger on what.
She runs at me, wrapping her arms around me, and I realize there is weight to her. She is real. I am not imagining this. I want to say her name. There are so many things I want to say to her right now, but I can’t stop crying. I keep touching her face, her hair. She feels real, like Jenna. This would be a cruel joke if this were only a dream.