For Everly: Chapter 2: The First of Many Happy Memories

All I know is that I'm too young for this. Twelve years old and already I've undergone too many chemo treatments, too many brain surgeries, too many medicines. I've taken every drug under the moon– the moon that I've only seen from my hospital window for I don't know how long. My only consolation is knowing that Granma Jane, Mama, James and Peter aren't going through what I'm suffering. 

No, I think bitterly. No, they've had to stand by and watch. Because that's so much better. 

I'm aware that I'm in a coma. So why can I move and peak?

"Hi, Mama," I say to my sleeping mother. She doesn't react. Not even a twitch. "Mama?" I reach out to touch her, but she doesn't respond. I look around frantically. Gran sits with James and Mr. Snuggles, his bear, on the bench. Peter looks at me in a way that breaks me down faster than anything– anything, except maybe James. 

"Peter!" I call out, waving my– hey, look at that!– tube-free arms. Gran and James don't seem to hear me. "Peter, Mama isn't moving, is she okay, Peter, answer me!" 

Peter, in his special way, calms me with a single touch on the arm. 

"She can't hear you, Everly," he says quietly. Granma Jane looks up at Peter and nods knowingly. Peter nods back. I've always thought Peter had some kind of secret language among us. 

"No one can hear you but me," he says. 

"Why?" My heart leaps a mile, wondering if I'll ever speak to Mama again. 

"It's okay," coos Peter, "We're going to Neverland, Everly." 

"But why can't... why aren't..." I sputter. My obnoxious red hair sticks to my forehead. I smooth it down furiously. 

"Because you're not actually speaking," says Peter, as if that explains anything at all. "Here, come here."

He helps me out of the bed, which feels bizarre to me. I'm supposed to be tethered in wires and tubes. I feel almost naked without my circuitry. Peter points back to the bed. I see my own body, laying in a swarm of tubes and looking downright disastrous. I look down at myself, wondering if I'm real. Peter chuckles.

 "You're in your soul, Everly," he explains. "You're out of your body but you can move and talk to me." I glance at Mama. "She can't see you." 

I sigh. "Peter?" 

"Hmm?"

"How do we get to Neverland?" I ask, even though I think I know the answer from an old folk tale passed down from Gran's mama to my mama and to me. 

"I have to take you," says Peter. "We're going to go through a few memories of yours, first. The happy ones, so you can pick a happy thought and fly!" Peter jumps off the ground and flies around the room. Gran and James don't notice. They can't see him. I laugh and I love being able to laugh again, walk again, think again. 

"Alright, Peter," I say breathlessly. "Shall we?" 

Peter offers me his arm. 

Peter snaps and the room begins to change. The lights get dimmer, the white walls get whiter, and James disappears from Gran's lap. Now, Mama is in the hospital bed and a slightly less wrinkled Gran sits in her place. A nurse walks in holding a blue bundle. A second Peter stands next to the bed, invisible to the nurse but not to us or to the younger versions of Mama and Gran. 

"That's... James, isn't it?" 

"Yup. Keep watching," says Peter, pointing. 

Mama takes the bundle, positively sobbing with joy. 

If she knew how many messes he'll make, she wouldn't be so happy, I think to myself. Gran grins through her tears. A tall man with my eyes and James's nose enters the room, with a five-year-old me in tow. 

"Everly, meet your baby brother!" my dad cries, all bravado. He picks little Everly up so she can see the baby from his view. Peter puts his arm around my shoulders. 

"James," I whisper. "Dad." 

"Do you remember all this?" Peter asks as gently as possible. I nod wordlessly. How could I forget? James, my dead father... James. For a second, I remember all the times I refused to play with him when we were kids and I bite my lip to keep from crying.

"I've never loved anyone so much in my life," I say, failing to keep my voice from breaking like glass. 

"Do you love him enough," Peter whispers as little Everly pokes her new brother's tiny feet, "to let him go?" 

I pause, watching the blue bob. I take my time in answering Peter. 

James has always been more than my little brother. He's my confidant, my best friend, and my guardian angel. We protect each other. I from his bullies, and he from my fear. All my fear. I feel myself shudder and cry. Mama hands James to my... dad. I'd never seen him cry, in the few years I got to know him, but he breaks down then and there. 

"I don't want to see this," I say, shifting uncomfortably. 

Peter snaps his fingers, and the room changes again.