She sat in a corner of a deserted court. The audience had slipped away first, then the commentator, the ball boys, and finally the last fan in the wing. And now she had no one to play with.
All it takes to walk away are a pair of feet and the will to walk. Why doesn’t she ever remember?
What should I do? Should I stay and wait to see if they’ll ever return? Should I just turn around and walk away too? Perhaps I should wait. Good girls always wait.
She crossed her legs, rested her chin on the racquet, and shut her eyes. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. Maybe I should keep my eyes open. What if they come back and think I’m asleep?
I hadn’t noticed how green the grass is at the edge of the court. Sigh. Did I say thank you to the ball boys? Did I wave at the audience? Did I say how I liked playing with him? Do any of them know how much they mean to me? Hmmm. But… why? No no no no I’m NOT GOING TO CRY.
Just then, as she was snorting back a big sniffle, she heard the sweetest little laugh. Like something between a pocketful of glass marbles and a hundred crystal bells.
“Hello little girl, my name is peter pan, and I don’t brush my teeth on holidays.”
A silver-toed imp in muddy green corduroy sleeves feet firmly planted on the ground, one bruised knee and shiny bright brown eyes stared at her curiously with an outstretched hand.
As she put her hand in his, gingerly, he grinned a blinding flash and when the girl could see again they were at the edge of a magnificent oasis, racing through green grass and trees, tripping, falling, laughing and running.
They ran like the wind on light toes and silver wings, swinging through the air whipping past big leaves and chasing orange dragonflies. That’s where they shaved my head once, and that’s where I was a prince. This little stone used to be my house, that there, used to be my garden; and this, he paused fleetingly... this is the brook by which my mother knitted me my magic sleeves. Then he kicked a large fuming pile of rubble. And these? Ha ha. These are the dragons I’ve slain. I’ll kickkkk their collective arses till they hound me no more. The little girl laughed with glee. In a flash, her own monsters seemed to shrivel up and fall away.
Then he pulled her to a denser part of the jungle, amidst thicker trees and taller grass… till they finally came upon a beautiful lake at the heart of the oasis.
The little girl was spellbound. As she stood there lost in the beauty of the lake, she didn’t notice that peter pan had slipped away.
A soft breeze with the faint sound of a pocketful of glass marbles and a hundred crystal bells played up as she turned to thank him. It swept around her neck, and caressed her ears. Then she heard a sweet little whisper, “Whenever you think of me little girl, come here. In a lifetime and a second, we’ll be babies again.”
Little boy
He played me a song.
Little boy
Wherever you are
I’ll sing along.
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4 comments:
ohhhutterly lovely. Glad to see the persuasion has paid off!
That was so cool, H. =)
thank you prat, for the encouragement. you and NG rock.
HB, thank you. it's cool because it was inspired by an ubercool, super special little boy.
they've blocked all blogs here in India after the blasts in bombay. most annoying.
That was beautiful. I wish I could write like that.
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