by Shari Arnold
“Bedtime story?” I say, stalling. Meyer is tapping his finger to his lips, pondering his response, and even though I doubt he would begrudge her this, I don’t want her to worry unnecessarily. “You have a bedtime here?” It doesn’t really make sense to me, seeing as they don’t have to eat or drink in Neverland. Why would they need to sleep?
“The children find it comforting to continue the ritual of sleep,” he tells me. “And because it never truly gets dark in Neverland they don’t fear the night the way they do in your world.” His words aren’t meant to be hurtful, or maybe they are, it’s impossible to tell from his expression. He’s so closed off to me, so shuttered. I might as well not be here.
“Meyer is usually the one who tells the story at night,” Jenna explains. “If he’s gone then Jane or Echo does it.” She smiles up at him, tugging on his hand. “Oh, Meyer! I know! Tell her about the man who caught you once. Tell her what happened!”
Meyer smiles, absorbing her excitement, and then he turns to me. I suck in a breath, reacting to his beauty. I would miss that smile if it were to leave me. I would miss all him, really.
“It was nothing,” he says with a shrug, but I can see from the gleam in his eyes that this can’t be true. “I was visiting a hospital one day, telling this young boy there a story, just like you do, Livy.” This last part he says while finally meeting my eyes and I feel those words stir up something inside my chest.
“I didn’t notice the man in the doorway,” he continues. “He was so quiet, just listening.”
“Tell her what story you were telling!” Jenna pipes up, nearly ready to spill it herself.
Meyer laughs. “I’m getting there, I’m getting there.” He reaches out and fluffs her hair. She grins up at him with a look of adoration and I can’t really blame her. Meyer is quite amazing when he’s ablaze like this. It makes it rather difficult to look away.
“I was telling the young boy about Neverland, going into detail about the Treasure Islands and the mermaids, you know, really selling it to him.”
“Right,” I say, a bit breathless.
“Well the man stopped me mid-story. Had a bunch of questions, you see. I set him straight on a few things, gave him the name of the place.” Meyer smiles, looking quite pleased with himself. “He asked me if I would mind if he shared it a bit, perhaps change a few things so as to hold true to the mystery. He told me I resembled a young chap he knew.” Meyer laughs over this. “I love the word chap. Used it a few times myself.”
“Tell her the rest, Meyer!” Jenna says, jumping up and down.
Meyer looks at me, his smile charmingly lopsided.
“Well? What is it?” I ask, smiling back.
“He told me the chap’s name was Peter.”
I stare at him, waiting for more, and then it hits me. “You’re kidding me,” I say with a laugh. “This is a joke, right?”
“No, Livy! It’s true! Tell her, Meyer!”
Meyer gives me his most mischievous smile. “I told you. There’s an element of truth in every story.”
“Huh,” I say, lost in thought. I can see it in my head: Meyer in a hospital somewhere, telling stories. I wonder if it really is the truth. But why would he make it up? It’s a fun story, nonetheless.
“I think it’s a perfect idea, Jenna. Having Livy tell the story tonight,” Meyer says into my silence.
When I glance up at him his eyes soften upon me.
“That is, if Livy is up to it?”
“Livy?” Jenna says, flashing me a hopeful look. She places her hand on my arm and I look down at it, noticing how it’s still small, how she’s still small, even though it is very clear to me she is no longer a child of six.
“Of course,” I tell her. “I’d love to.” But I sense there is more to this request; the tightness in my throat is sign enough. She’s asked this of him for a reason — one last hurrah for me, I fear. When her eyes flit away, hiding from mine, I know I’m right.
When darkness does fall on Neverland it takes its time and doesn’t commit entirely. It’s more like dusk that lasts for hours. The sky is a pale blue, the trees and ground are covered with long stretches of faint shadows. It’s winter in the late afternoon. It’s a soothing palette. With its blue tinged with gray and the wispy stretch of pink atop the mountains, I can see why the children choose to rest at this time. There is no fear to be had in the color of a Neverland evening. Only the promise of countless wishes come morning.
We are all gathered on Sunset Hill again. The children are nestled together near the bottom of the hill while I’m at the top. Jenna is with me, taking her usual place at my side when story time draws near. Alice sits right next to her.
Down in the crowd Jeremy is sitting next to Echo while Jane is fully immersed in a conversation with about ten or twelve little girls. She towers over them. From up here she could be their older sister. And even at this distance you can tell how much they adore her.
The noise of the crowd drifts up to me and I wonder how I’ll ever be heard, but then Meyer lets out a shrill whistle and the crowd pitters off into silence. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since we left Jenna’s island. He has kept his distance, which is fine. It’s easier to ignore him when he’s ignoring me. But it’s times like now, when he hangs back, his arms crossed as he leans against a lone tree, that are more difficult. Because I know he’s watching me, his eyes narrowed in the twilight. I can feel his curiosity without having to look at him. But even more than that I can feel his intensity. It weaves its way around me, a web of his own making. The part I find most difficult is that I’m not so sure I want to be set free.
“The floor is yours,” he tells me when I finally glance his way. His posture is relaxed and casual; his gaze is anything but.
“Well,” I say into the hush of the crowd. “Does anyone have any requests?”
The children are silent for a moment and then they begin to shift about with excitement. They lean toward me, their hands popping up into the air, each one wanting my complete attention. I don’t know all their names so I just point. Soon the noise in the field is deafening as each child begins to call out their suggestions all at once.
“The Little Mermaid!”
“The Frog Prince!”
“Captain Jack!”
“We heard Captain Jack last night! And I’m tired of stories about pirates!”
“But Captain Jack is my favorite and it’s my turn to pick. Echo said so.”
“Echo told me it was my turn!” cries another child and Echo shrugs as though he doesn’t remember either of these conversations.
“Alright everyone, quiet down.” My voice is too soft to be heard, but I can’t bring myself to yell over them.
They continue to shout out their requests while Meyer just smirks from his lounge near the tree. There’ll be no help from him, I see. Not when he can sit back and watch me struggle.
“Hold up!” I yell, my voice stretching out over theirs. And just like that they stop. It’s like I’ve muted them.
I look to Jenna for backup. I’m not sure why this is so uncomfortable for me. It’s not like I’ve never done this before. I can get a crowd to settle down and I can definitely tell a story, but I’m so terribly nervous all of a sudden I can’t even think straight. Could it be the number of children who are listening? Can’t say I’ve ever performed to a crowd of this size before. Or maybe it’s that one pair of eyes watching me from the sidelines. Back at the hospital, once I noticed he was listening from the doorway I was always so aware of him I would stumble over my words.
“You should pick your favorite,” Jenna tells me, her voice low enough so that only I can hear. “You can’t please everybody, you know.”
And she’s right. I can’t please everybody. That’s for sure. Truth is, this moment is for Jenna and nobody else. If I’m going to try to please someone, it will be her.
“Alright,” I say under my breath. “I can do this.”
Jenna smiles at me encouragingly, and Alice re
aches over and squeezes my hand. They just want to hear a story tonight. No big deal. It’s what every child wants before they slip off to sleep. One last adventure.
I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “Tonight I’ll be telling the story of the Twelve Dancing Princesses,” I begin, and as if they are one the children all sit back to listen.
“There was a king who had twelve beautiful daughters.” The words fall from my lips easy enough. I could tell this story in my sleep.
Jenna slides up closer to me, her excitement a temperature that keeps me warm. She and Alice are spellbound. They’re the reason I love to tell stories. It doesn’t matter how often they’ve heard it, or that they already know what will happen next. A story is a story. It takes you away from what you’re doing and how you’re living right then, and whisks you away into someone else’s world.
But now, looking at Jenna, I want more than just a story. I want these children to be the characters, to become a part of this last adventure. I wish it, completely. The energy of this desire moves along my skin and fills my chest. The colors of Neverland start to seem a bit brighter. The children don’t notice the change. They’re too caught up in my words. When we get to the part where the soldier is about to follow the king’s daughters to their dance I pause a moment and ask everyone to close their eyes. Once they’ve done this —Jenna and Alice included — I glance over at Meyer, needing his help with this next part of the story.
What I see when I look at him flutters my stomach. He’s watching me so closely, his eyes dark and intense, tinted with pride and something more. I see it, but mostly I feel it, surging toward me.
“Will you help me?” I whisper, knowing he will hear me. This story won’t be the same without a location change, and I know just where we should move it. Hopefully he’s on the same page.
When the children open their eyes they’re no longer on Sunset Hill awaiting the end of their bedtime story. Rather, we’ve all arrived in Jenna and Alice’s wonderland. The gold-and-silver tipped trees sparkle all around us so the entire island twinkles in the twilight. Each child is dressed as a prince or princess, from the crowns on their heads to the dancing slippers on their feet.
The children gasp in awe and wonder. Their reaction surprises me considering these children are so accustomed to wishes. But I guess it isn’t everyday you find yourself completely swept up into a story. This is not the average day in Neverland.
“Thank you, Livy,” Jenna whispers, close at my side. “It’s like I’m seeing it for the first time again.” But with every child present and dressed for a ball she’s never seen it look like this before.
“May I have this dance?” Echo says, bowing low at the waist in front of Jenna. He holds out his hand to her and she giggles when she takes it. Her eyes light up under the Neverland sky. She’s never looked happier.
“Um… yeah, me too,” Jeremy says, shuffling his feet. With Echo’s encouragement he bows low to Alice, but it’s more of a stumble than a bow. Alice doesn’t seem to mind. She clasps his hands, beaming, and just like that we’ve got ourselves a dance.
The children fill the pavilion and when that fills up, they spill out into the meadow. The music seems like it’s coming from everywhere at once. I’m pretty sure the mermaids are the ones supplying it, but I can’t figure out how. There are at least a dozen of them lounging along the shore, half in, half out of the water. They appear to be enjoying themselves, even though it seems a shame they can’t dance along with us.
“This is quite the bedtime story,” Meyer says from behind me. He’s hanging back in the shadows, watching like I am, as the children spin and laugh on the dance floor.
“A story is always better when you fully immerse yourself in it.”
“I can see that.” He takes in my pale silver dress — the dress I always imagined I’d wear each time I told this story. It has blue flowers stitched along the waist and bust line, and it sparkles when I swish the skirt, which I do a few times before I can stop myself. I lift it at my ankles to find my dancing shoes are silver as well. They’re so light and comfortable, I barely know I’m wearing them.
When I look up Meyer is beside me. “Well, then, Livy. How about a dance?”
“A dance?” I stare down at his outstretched hand.
Meyer’s the only one not dressed for the occasion, and yet he doesn’t look out of place. He smiles at me, his face as confident as ever, and something catches deep inside my chest. “I promise I’ll be your tallest partner.”
I laugh at this and take his hand, allowing myself to be led onto the dance floor.
When the children notice us their eyes light up and they close in around us. Near the edge of the dance floor I catch Jenna watching. She gives me a knowing smile and I roll my eyes, feeling like the younger sister for the first time.
“Alright, the lot of you,” Meyer calls out to the children. “Give us some room.”
Which of course they do. It’s amazing how they listen to him. They giggle and smile, some shoving each other in their haste to get back to what they were doing. But for the most part they move away. Our dancing space isn’t large, but it’s enough. Once a slow song begins we don’t need a lot of room. With Meyer’s arms around me I feel no need to move at all.
“It’s a great story,” Meyer says. “It’s always been one of my favorites.” One of his hands is at my waist while his other holds my hand out to the side.
I can’t decide whether to keep my hand on his shoulder or place it lower on his arm. The shoulder feels more intimate, even though there’s still some distance between us, and intimate feels risky tonight. “Let me guess, you’ve always wished to be a princess?” I tease.
Meyer’s laugh is rich and deep. I feel it down to my toes. “I wanted to be the soldier, of course. I wanted to figure out the secret before anyone else and then report them back to the king.”
“That sounds about right. All about the adventure.”
Meyer laughs and spins me suddenly. My hand slides down his back a bit, holding onto him, but once we stop I quickly move it back to his shoulder. “Would you have married one of the king’s daughters?” I ask him, breathless.
“I’m not sure.” He takes his hand from my waist and positions my wayward hand against the back of his neck. The movement draws us closer together, dangerously so. When his hand returns to my waist he holds it there for a moment and then slides it to the middle of my back, pulling me closer still. Our noses are nearly touching now. “I’ve never really been into princesses,” he says, and I miss a step.
I look down at my sparkly ball gown and try my best to sound unaffected. “Not into princesses, huh?” But I am affected. His casual attitude bothers me more than I’m willing to admit. I try to pull back a bit — needing some distance between his offhand remark and my hurt feelings — but his fingers dig into my skin holding me in place.
“Yeah,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “I much prefer pirate queens.”
Oh.
OH.
“Well… um. Kay.” I drop my gaze to his chest. It’s safer down here. I just hope he can’t see that I’m blushing. When I sneak a peek back up at him he’s smiling, laughing at my obvious embarrassment.
I roll my eyes and slap his shoulder, and he quickly recaptures my hand, gripping it tightly in his own.
“I owe you an apology,” he says suddenly, and I look up, giving him my complete attention. “I shouldn’t have raced off like that. I shouldn’t have abandoned you.”
“Oh. Well. Thank you.” I clear my throat and drop my eyes. I can’t hold his gaze long, it’s too distracting. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
Meyer shrugs his shoulders and an edge slips into his smile. “This is Neverland,” he says. “Can’t stay sad for long.”
We dance a bit more without talking — either this is the longest song in the history of songs or the songs are moving seamlessly into one another.
“What about you, Livy?” Meyer suddenly asks.
&nbs
p; “What about me?” I whisper.
“It is my role as the guardian of Neverland to make sure that everyone is happy here.” Meyer reaches up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “What would make you happy, Livy?”
We’re still dancing close — my hand on his neck, his hand on my back — so there’s no escape from his question, or this moment.
Stalling, I look around at the children dancing. Another slow song begins and I glance toward the mermaids. They’re watching us, their chins resting in their hands, their eyes starry under the twinkling lights.
“Traitorous mermaids,” I mumble under my breath.
“What’s that?”
“Oh, nothing. I was just…” I look up, meeting his questioning gaze, and then all at once it hits me. This is my last chance. We’re drawing painfully close to the end of my bedtime story. Soon morning will come… along with James.
“You know what I want,” I tell him and he tilts his head inquisitively. The music keeps playing around us, but it sounds as though it’s getting further and further away. “It’s the same thing you want. The same thing you’re looking for.”
“And what is that?”
I take a breath, wishing I were fearless and maybe a little less of a fool. “You want the promise of something real,” I whisper. “You want to be so important to someone that they’ll want to be with you forever.”
Meyer is silent. He doesn’t deny it, which is something I guess. His eyes are guarded, his head down.
“You don’t have to answer, you know,” I tell him challengingly. “I know it’s the truth. I know it because I feel it too. Always.”
“What does it matter? You’re leaving in the morning.”
“I haven’t made my decision— ”
He cuts me off with a harsh laugh. “You will. Nothing lasts forever.”
For a moment we just stand there, staring at each other. Neither of us wants to say too much, even though I feel as though I already have. Here I am putting myself out there when I could easily lose everything come morning. That empty feeling sinks down deep into my chest. Somehow it has followed me here.