Then Wendy appeared, slipping through the door of the nursery, racing to stay his passage for a single moment, so anxious was she to see him. But Peter needed no staying this night, drawn by what he saw in Moira's face, caught in a net that even he could not escape.
"I shall give her a kiss," he offered finally.
But Wendy dashed to stop him. ' 'No, Peter. No buttons and no thimbles for her. Moira is my granddaughter, and I cannot bear to see her dear heart broken when she finds she cannot keep you-as I once found I could not."
She cried then, overcome with a vision of what might have been. Peter sat next to the sleeping Moira, twirling a thimble between his fingertips. But at the last minute he changed his mind for reasons that would be forever unclear. Captivated by the girl, he bent to kiss her on the lips as he had seen others kiss, and as his lips touched hers the thimble dropped away.
He failed to see the sudden closing of the latticed windows-as if a breeze had sprung up. He failed to hear the click of their lock. He failed to see the look of horror on Tink's face as she peered through the glass from without…
"I thought I had been shut away from you forever," she whispered, remembering with him.
Then Peter was in school, dressed in a jacket and tie and polished shoes, his hair cut and combed, everything neat and proper and in place. He sat at a desk among other schoolchildren, staring out the open window into a fall afternoon thick with colored leaves and musty smells. A teacher walked to him, smiled, and said, "Peter? Where did you go?"
She closed the window, startling him, so that he replied, "I don't remember. …"
The memories faded. Peter stood staring into space, Tink hovering now at his nose, a splash of light against the gloom.
"Oh, Peter," she said, and her voice was small and troubled. "I can see why it is so hard for you to find a happy thought. You carry so many sad ones."
Peter did not answer, stunned at the truths his memory had unearthed. He was who they said he was. He was who they believed him to be. Tink and the Lost Boys-they were right.
He was Peter Pan.
He groaned as his eyes scanned the wreckage of his boyhood, the devastation of what he had once held so dear. But the hard truth was that all of his lives were in ruins, both in this world and the other. He had made them so; he had given up all his happy thoughts a long time ago. He had let them slip away.
Almost without thinking, he tossed Taddy into the air in front of him. Taddy rose, and the tumbling motion slowed almost to nothing. Peter watched his teddy bear freeze against the gloom, and his gaze fixed on the single remaining eye as it stared down at him. Slowly his hands reached up.
"Wait," he whispered. "I'll catch you, Taddy. I'll catch you."
The fuzzy old bear fell toward him, but as his hands closed about its stuffed body, it was not Taddy he held, but Jack-bright-eyed and smiling at four years of age.
"Jack! Jack!" he called out to his son.
“Fly me, Daddy, fly me!'' another, familiar voice cried.
“Maggie! Baby!''
He caught his daughter in his arms, holding them both close, twirling them about wildly. They laughed and shouted with glee. Moira appeared and joined their circle, her arms coming about his waist, the soft scent of her skin filling him up. He kissed and hugged them, and they kissed and hugged him back.
"Yes!" he cried happily. "My family-Jack, Maggie, Moira, 1 love you so much! I love being with you, having you close. Oh, I'm so lucky! Yes, Tink! Tink, this is my family, my wonderful, incredible family. They're back! They're …"
His eyes snapped wide-for they had been closed on his vision-and he stared about in confusion. He was fifteen feet above the floor, hanging in midair. A surge of panic swept through him. He flailed at nothing and began to drop.
"No, Peter!" Tink howled, pushing up from beneath to keep him in place. "That's your happy thought! Don't lose it!"
He continued to fall, frantically trying to regain control of himself, shouting, "How? What?"
"It's yours forever!" Tink squealed. "Hold that thought!"
Peter's eyes squinched, his body tensed, and he brought back the image of Jack, Maggie, Moira, and himself twirling about and laughing merrily, of the warmth and depth of feeling his family gave to him, of the love they shared…
He felt himself slow and then stop. His eyes opened. He felt himself begin to rise again.
"Yes!" breathed Tink, suddenly eye to eye with him. "Yes, Peter Pan!"
"I've done it!" Peter whispered, still rising, flooded with emotions he could not begin to describe. "Look at me! Look at me, Tink!"
He twisted about sharply and caromed off a wall. Down he dipped and then up again. The grown-up within him faded like a ghost at dawn and the sleeping child came awake. All the trappings of all the years he had struggled to find what he had lost vanished. Twisting and tumbling about, he embraced anew the dreams that had belonged to Peter Pan.
"Tink, I can fly!" he shouted. "I can really fly!"
"Then follow me and all will be well!" Tinkerbell cried in glee. "I love you!"
And up through the hollowed trunk of the Nevertree they flew.
Pixie Dust
Oh, it was a glorious moment for Peter as he soared upward through the Nevertree, his earthbound restraints shed, his identity recovered, and his boyhood found anew.
With Tinkerbell leading the way, he spiraled through the gloom, gaining speed and confidence as he went, his exhilaration welling up inside until he thought he must burst. Out through a split in the giant trunk they exploded, faerie and boy, twisting this way and that, darting among the ancient limbs like fireflies at night. Down and around they sped, whipping through leafy boughs, spinning like tops and whirling like pinwheels. Tree houses flashed by in snippets of wood and colored cloth. Birds scattered with wild cries.
Oh, look! Peter Pan is back!
He cannoned out the top of the Nevertree and rose toward the clouds beyond, laughing in delight. He was transformed, become the essence of the spirit that lives within us, that wondrous spark of childhood we all too frequently manage to leave behind in growing. It flared within him like a fire fanned, and suddenly he could contain himself no longer.
Back arched, neck stretched forth, head thrown back, he began to crow.
"Yes, Peter, yes!" he heard Tink shout. "Oh, welcome home, Peter Pan!"
Together they flew into the clouds, there to mimic each other's attempts at foolishness, to do swan dives and belly flops, to fly upside down and backward, to race against shadows and sunbeams, to play at tag and hide-and-seek. When they had exhausted themselves, when the initial thrill of flying together once again had diminished just enough, they lay back upon a cloud to float in the breeze.
There, for the first time, Peter looked down at himself and was startled by what he saw. He was no longer a fat, old Peter Banning. He was a younger, lighter version. Pounds had somehow been shed, muscles had somehow reemerged. He was sleek and hard and younger looking by years. He threw his head back and laughed at the impossibility of it all-at the wonder of what he had become.