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Think of a Wonderful Thought, Any Happy Little Thought
02 January 2017
Charles
The treehouse was buzzing with voices, shouts ricocheting off the bark, each attempting to eclipse another. Boys shoved against each other, all clamoring for a chance to speak and weigh in on the miracle that had happened earlier that day. Little faeries twinkled with intrigue, leaning over branches and lighting red cheeks and watery eyes, shaking fists and clenched jaws.
“You saw him! The way he sword fights, it had to be him!”
“He’s finally come to lead us again!”
“But why is he so… big?”
“S’not him! ‘E mus’ be a pirate in disguise! We hafta kill ‘im!”
“No! It’s gotta be him! He promised he’d come back!”
“He also promised not to grow up. So either way he’s a stinkin’ liar!”
All around Charles, the Lost Boys erupted in a roar of agreement, some boys holding their swords up high, ready as ever to charge into battle. Sitting high in his hammock, swinging softly in the breeze, Charles watched two stars hanging in the sky side by side, twinkling in unison. His lips pressed together, he breathed in the cold night, a hand pressed against the throbbing spot on his hairline.
“Shut up, all of you!” screamed an especially shrill voice and the crowd quieted a bit as Leila climbed up onto the trunk of the giant banyan tree the Lost Boys called home. She pulled back her hood, red fur and black-tipped fox ears falling away to reveal a shock of blonde hair, sheared short, long hair, of course, being very easy to grab in the heat of battle. “We don’t know anything for sure, but there’s one Lost Boy here who’d know better than anyone if we’re dealing with the real Robert here!”
“Why do we gotta’ listen to a dumb girl for?!” baited someone in the crowd. Leila drew her dagger quickly, teeth bared and startling green eyes wild, looking for blood.
“She’s as much a Lost Boy as any of us are!” Leila softened slightly, Joshua tall and looming in the crowd. He growled, chest puffed as he singled out the boy who’d spoken up, “Listen to her, or I’ll toss you out of the tree myself!”
The treehouse erupted in another peal of crazed whoops, rickety wooden bridges shaking and leaves disturbed in large clumps.
“Enough,” Charles finally groaned, rolling out of his hammock and landing on a platform, built to overlook the rest of the Boys. The rowdy pack hushed themselves quickly, looking up at the oldest of them all, a child with bright, livid eyes that demanded the utmost attention. Leila stepped down and nodded at Charles, proud that she knew exactly who would have the answer.
“I will talk to him,” he said finally, pulling a leather belt on over the rags of a shirt long torn to pieces and tied up in knots over his body. His sword fell against his leg as another boy softly interrupted.
“But–Charles? He–he… Your forehead,” the boy tried, wringing his hands.
“Didn’t I bring him to his knees?” Charles shouted, sliding down a thick vine and landing in front of the Lost Boys. “I invited him to eat with us,” he barked, the congregation of Boys parting in front of him as he stepped towards the ladder to the levels below, “I gave him a room to sleep in. He is here on my mercy, whomever he is, and I will not let some stranger tear the Lost Boys apart, is that understood?!”
“Yessir!” the Lost Boys cheered, a ripple of pride coursing through the gang. The Boys followed him to the ladder and watched their leader descend to the lowest floor, whispering amongst each other and shoving for the best view.
Charles pulled himself onto the decrepit, unkept patio to one of the dilapidated and frail chambers within the massive treehouse. The wood was rotted and unattended, completely abandoned for the better lodgings at the top of the treehouse, where a Lost Boy could see the rising or setting sun. Dead leaves crunched and floorboards creaked as Charles walked through the door without so much as a knock, watching the giant man on the moldy bed sit up quickly before standing, nearly knocking his head on the low-hanging branch at the ceiling. Lit by a small candle in a lantern hanging by a rusty hook, the stranger was still as large as he had been with a sword in his hand. That same hand reached up behind his head and tugged on long blonde hair tied back in a tight bun and Charles’s chest tightened.
“Hi, I–I heard you all up there,” the man said and god Charles wanted to punch him right in his stupid face.
“And?” Charles asked, glaring at the man. His chest hurt and his breaths came in ragged, angry huffs.
“I don’t mean to hurt you all–I didn’t mean to hurt you–”
“You didn’t hurt me!” Charles bristled, closing the gap between him and this–this man. This grown-up.
“I’m sorry I just–I need your help! Please, my children are–”
“What should we care about your kids?” Charles’s stomach hurt, it twisted on itself in a sick and disgusting way. He didn’t know why he felt this way, why it hurt so damn much.
“I-I- no, you know how to make me into the Pan, that’s what Hook told me!”
Charles couldn’t contain himself. Shaking, he drew his sword, his heart aching and his nose burning. The tip barely grazed the man’s golden beard as Charles looked up at the giant, fearless and furious. “You. Are not. Robert,” he spat, gritting his teeth.
“Trust me,” he man said, his voice even and soft, “That’s just my name. I don’t know who everyone else thinks I am, but it’s just not me, kid.”
Charles dropped his sword, quickly running his face against his shoulder and sheathing the heavy iron blade. The man continued, shaking his head lightly, “Please, I’m not him, but you can turn me into him.”
“Robert is dead, no one can be him anymore.” Charles shot a venomous look up at the man, his lips curling in a vicious sneer, “Especially not some grown-up.”
The man groaned, running a huge hand across his face in a way that was too familiar. A coincidence, it had to be. “I have to be him to get my kids back. If you’re not going to help me, I’ll find help somewhere else.”
Charles turned to look at the man, taking in a deep breath before speaking softly. Lightly. Trying his hardest to be diplomatic when all he wanted to do was cut the man’s chest open and watch him bleed. “Who am I?”
“Charles,” the man answered quickly.
“No,” Charles growled, biting back a few snide remarks, “Not because you heard the others say my name. Do you really know my name? What about my birthday? Do you remember how I got to this place, Robert? Do you?!” The man didn’t speak, just collapsed back onto the creaking bed, his head falling into his hands, resting on his knees. Charles shook his head, staring down the man who’d given up, a shadow of the boy Charles knew he’d been, all along. “You left me. You left me and you don’t even remember my name.”
“I–You’re a dream,” Robert said, staring at Charles’s eyes sparkling in the moonlight pouring in through the window.
“Yes,” Charles laughed, his lip quivering and his voice shaking. He wiped his face against his shoulder again, his chest squeezing and bursting like a passion fruit in an angry fist. “And I bet you remember Olympia just perfectly, don’t you?”
Robert looked up, his eyes bright with recognition, “My ex-wife? You know her? Is she here?”
Charles bit his lip, eyes closing as he tried to breathe. Robert sat in front of him, excited to hear her name while he tossed Charles away from his mind, a useless memory. A piece of trash. The boy he–he loved. His one and only kiss. The boy he followed into sure death over and over, bright, mischievous, shining blue eyes and a smile like a windy ocean breeze, sat there a man, a hollow shell. A good for nothing grown-up with no dreams, no happy thoughts. Charles turned, pulling his hood up over his head without a word. He heard the giant stand behind him, knees creaking and breath caught in his chest, looking for words he just didn’t have anymore. Sweetheart, wait. Wagon, don’t go! Charles, I’m sorry. Look at me. Charles could hear these simple things trapped in the jail cell of Robert’s old mouth, completely unsaid and forgotten. Charles turned to the small desk beside him, a silver thimble sitting on the desk, dusty and dull. With a flick of his wrist, he knocked it to the floor and watched it roll in a circle before falling through a hole in the wood, clinking softly on its way down.
He walked to the edge of the platform and jumped off, running into the thick of the forest. He heard Lost Boys in the trees howl to the moon above, wisping gentle white light into the clouds as Charles disappeared into the darkness, sprinting. The cold night air was cleansing in his pallid, decaying chest, tight with the agony of facing the reality that Robert never died. Robert lived on, he left the Lost Boys for an adventure Charles was not fit for. He abandoned all of them to grow up. He married that awful Olympia, that terrible girl he’d brought to be a Lost Boy with all of them. He had children, he had his own children he’d turned his back on so much that they were taken in the middle of the night to a place of happiness, where no one ever had to grow up, ever.
Charles remembered his parents. How he ached to see them smile at him, just once. Robert smiled at him that night and it was all it took for him to fly off to Neverland and be at his side for so many snowing seasons, for hot suns and chilly nights. He remembered wanting so badly to go with Robert when he flew away that last time, a sick feeling in his stomach, just like the one he had tonight. I’ll be back for you, pinky promise!
Charles wished, in that moment, sprinting through the trees and finding Hook’s ship floating quietly on a silent night, that Robert had just stayed dead.
