Lost Boi (16 page)

That wasn't just a story I told him to stop his tears; I really believed it. I still believe it. Pan smiled at me. It was the first time in a long time I felt really connected to him. It was almost like the old days—he and I against everyone. I remembered how simple it had felt when it was just us,
before I became Wendi's boi too and back when Hook didn't take as much of Pan away from us. Lost in my memories, I didn't notice Wendi's crumpled face and the way my words were the final wave to knock her down, swirling in the fast current.

John Michael had watched silently. She was coiling green rope and whispering to one of the Twins about a battle she planned to have with Jukes. She didn't care about Wendi's story. It seemed as though Neverland had become part of her after all, and she, who could best identify with Wendi's story, wasn't interested. Mommy noticed and covered her eyes with the chipped tips of her fingernails. Everything was unravelling for her.

Pan left to see Hook and said he wouldn't be back until late. The other bois started to get up and walk away. I watched Mommy for a while as she stood in the bathroom, door ajar, and fixed her face. Then she sat on her bed. She was the only one of us who didn't sleep in a hammock. I carefully moved toward her, dropped to my knees, and crawled into her lap.

I didn't for a moment regret that I had reminded Curly of our magic, that I had stopped his tears and made him remember the family we had, which was far more important than losing himself in sadness or fear or anger because somewhere, some woman who'd pushed him out of her cunt didn't have a window open waiting for his return. But I hadn't intended to hurt Wendi. She came from a different place with different experiences. She needed to hold onto the
belief that she could crawl back through that window, that she could go back and regain her life. I also knew that Wendi didn't disagree with me entirely. For her, it was just more complicated, not as black and white. She valued the world of the grownups, but she also wanted to be our Mommy. The bonds we'd formed and the promises we pledged were as real to her as they were to us. Through Wendi's sweet touch, I had learned the difference between Mommies and mothers. The latter I still knew I could do without, but the former—oh god help me, I had become such a Mommy's boi, and I wanted and needed her more than I ever had before.

We sat quietly on her bed for a while, just Mommy and me. She stroked my hair, which I had, at her request, grown longer. Mommy pulled me tightly to her. “Close your eyes,” she purred in my ear. I was a good boi and did what Mommy told me. Please don't misunderstand; I was a willing participant. I wasn't coerced. I took responsibility for the choices I made. Pan taught me that too. It's a good rule.

In her story, Mommy pulled me through the window. We were in her world now, and her voice made it all come alive. She was standing in a kitchen, her kitchen. I was at a table, her table, a pretty vintage one, all shiny aluminum and pink, sparkly Formica. In the story, I was writing an essay, surrounded by textbooks. Mommy walked toward me, holding a clean white plate piled high with chicken, potatoes, corn, salad—all my favourite foods. The plate was for me. “Mommy's smart boi,” she said proudly, ruffling my hair as
she placed the plate before me. Her story was so strong that my nose tickled with the scent of fried chicken. It seemed like I could eat those smells. She fed me.

Don't think I've gone soft. Mommy's fantasy wasn't about a full belly or plates without chips. The world Mommy painted was bigger than that, full of questions that I couldn't answer, but was starting to want to.

Pan saved us bois when he could, in the only way he knew how, but I wanted to do more. I'd been thinking a lot about the different ways I'd seen bois pass through here with all their broken dreams. I thought about the evil grownups, the social service workers, the people we all had run from. I started to wonder if there was a way to do that work right. Was there a way to be a responsible grownup, the kind who could actually save kids like us, especially the young ones?

I told Mommy about the promises I'd made to myself so long ago about helping other runaways. I even told her about Paris and pulled up my jeans to show Mommy the faded Eiffel Tower on my ankle. Mommy didn't laugh. I thought she would, but she didn't. She told me that I was a good boi, a strong boi, and that I could do just about anything I wanted. I asked if that meant that I could be an astronaut. I always have been a little bit of a smartass, and when things get intense I make jokes. Mommy laughed and said she wasn't sure about that, but she was certain that if I wanted to care for kids like us, I could find a way to do that—my way, a different way—and that I would be very good at it. Then
she told me more about the little house we could have, our magic place right in the middle of the grownup world. She said that no matter how grownup I became, I would always be her boi, and she would always be my Mommy and tuck me in at night.

This was our little secret, this story, this game that Mommy and I played alone, and it seemed more real than any of the fantasies we'd written about where we'd come from. This was really about me and the kind of life that I could have with Mommy. I never told Pan about this special Mommy/ boi time. He didn't want to know the details of other bois' dynamics with his Mommy. It was a mistake, but none of us could see that far ahead.

Since her arrival, Wendi convincingly fought against how black and white Pan made the world seem. Pan always told me that if we left, the magic of leather would be broken, and it didn't live in conferences or play parties. I knew what I was—a boi—and not just in gender. I needed to surrender; I needed the containment and purpose that I found in giving myself over to someone else. I always thought I needed Pan, but maybe it was something else, something bigger than all of us. It makes me sound so broken when I put it this way, but I needed to belong to someone I could depend on.

Wendi told me that I could be Mommy's boi anywhere, even if I was sitting at a boardroom conference table wearing a suit. I made a face with mock retching sounds when she said that, which earned me a slap across the cheek.

“Don't interrupt Mommy—it's rude,” she continued. Even if I wore a suit, she started again, I would still be her little boi. The magic that lived in our home would be strong enough to follow me out into the world if I wished to do grownup work, because I could come home to her. I didn't have to stay here and compromise my dreams just to keep the magic alive.

When Wendi told us stories, she liked to keep her hands busy. Sometimes it was with mending or knitting and sometimes it was with me. When we played this game, Mommy's hands wandered through the fly of my worn jeans. She spoke about the life we would have and the places we could visit while she was inside me. Mommy told me that I would be strong enough to survive in that world. “A Mommy's love is always and unconditional,” Wendi promised.

I came so hard, shaking and crying. I tried to wipe away my tears on the tattered cuff of my hoodie, but Mommy pulled out of me and grabbed my hand, pulling me to her.

“Let me watch you cry,” Mommy whispered, looking me right in the eyes. It was not a request; it was an order. Mommy wanted me to give her everything, wanted to fix it, to make it all better. I began to nuzzle at her breasts. The buttons on her housedress fell open, and my mouth found her nipples. I sucked hard, letting my teeth drag against her. Mommy moaned and laid back against the fine lace pillows we'd gathered from the thrift shop to make her a proper Mommy bed. She grabbed my ass as I filled her. She was so wet, so hungry. She came hard around three of my fingers. I didn't cum. I felt
sick when Mommy pulled my face up for a kiss and began to whisper.

“You'll come with me, right, sweet boi? You won't leave me, will you?”

I almost pretended not to know what she meant, but her eyes were filling with tears. The silence closed in. Wendi knew now that Pan would never see the world the way that she did. Her fantasy was over; all she could see now was college, houses, full refrigerators, and clean clothes, all disappearing behind a slowly closing window.

My voice cracked. “Yes, Mommy, if you wish it.”

That was it, my fate decided and sealed, but it's not that simple. I was a willing accomplice. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought of it before she asked. I was willing to leave it all for the promise of a future I'd never seen. “Give me your knife,” Mommy demanded. I handed it over, confused and worried because I felt too exhausted for a blood play scene. But Mommy didn't use the knife on me; she held it firmly in her right hand and aimed the tip at the edge of the green stone, Pan's stone, on her birthstone ring. It took all her strength to pry it out, but when the stone fell out, she looked sadly at the hole, second on the right, next to the empty socket where Pan had pried out Nibs' stone. Wendi sighed, took her black handkerchief from her apron pocket, and wrapped up the little green stone for safekeeping. “It's time to tell the bois,” Wendi whispered, squeezing my hand and handing back my knife. There hadn't been time for me
to think about anything, and no way to take back what I had already agreed to. I didn't think of Pan. I couldn't let myself think of him, though I knew that soon I would have to.

When the bois came in for dinner, Mommy Wendi's dress was re-buttoned and her lipstick fresh. We sat at the table. Wendi had cooked us spaghetti with a sauce as deep red as clotted blood. That morning, Pan had gone to the Jolly Roger, and he wasn't home yet. Pan and Hook had patched things up after the fight at the Lagoon. Pan didn't even remember the conflict, and Hook grew tired of analyzing Pan's form. They never could stay apart for very long. Pan left Erebos to take care of us. Hook was a cat man, and as good a dog as she was, Erebos tended to chase cats, and that wasn't the kind of battle Pan was in the mood for. Pan sent Tink to Neverland with a message in the late afternoon, telling us to have dinner without him. Wendi read the note and then crumpled it up in her apron pocket. She did not send Tink back to Pan with a reply.

When Mommy had given each boi their dinner, she said, “My sweet bois, I wanted to talk with you alone. I've decided it's time for me to go home.” She used that word so casually, I almost changed my mind. Wasn't home here with us? I watched as anger flashed across each boi's face.

Curly was the first to speak. He looked undone by her words, his fists bunched and ready to fight, though Pan's training was too strong, and he couldn't bring himself to swing at Mommy. John Michael looked more lost than ever,
uncertain of what was happening. She, more than us, knew what it meant to go back, and when Wendi said that she was going home, that she must go back through the window, John Michael assumed there was no choice but to follow Wendi. The Twins were fiercely angry, however; they grabbed Wendi by her wrists.

“You're not going anywhere,” one whispered. The spell looked as though it might be broken. He continued, louder now, to try to rile the rest of the bois.

“We will keep her here. She is our Mommy. Pan promised it.”

Wendi was looking at me with those big eyes, and I was lost in the memory of her first night in Neverland, the night that she flew, and of her blood dripping down her leg and onto those pretty white sneakers.

“Tootles, please,” she cried quietly.

The memory blinked from my eyes. Wendi looked small—smaller than she'd looked since the night she climbed out her window. She shook the way that she had when she was overdosing on our floor. Above her stood Curly, arms laden with ropes, prepared to do what it took to keep her, his eyes filled with angry tears. He kept repeating, “Everyone always leaves,” and, “Mommy can't leave.” The Twins now looked scared. John Michael was drunk or high, unwilling or unable to help Wendi. I would have saved her from Curly's ropes myself, but Pan beat me to it. Curly grabbed Wendi's hands and she began to sob. Pan must have come back moments
before and overheard what Curly said about forcing Mommy to stay. Maybe he'd heard everything. It would be like him to have listened in. His face was a twisted mess of sadness—knowing that he had lost his Mommy—and anger at seeing his bois behave so badly in his name. One of the most basic rules is that everything is done by free will; no one is ever to be held among us by force.

“Let her go,” was all Pan had to say. It was barely more than a whisper, and yet it echoed through all of Neverland, a command that could not be ignored. Curly released Wendi, whose eyes were desperately trying to catch Pan's, but he refused to look at her. Instead, he glanced at me and a sad question and answer travelled unspoken between us.

Wendi hung her head then turned her attention to the bois. I watched as she straightened her dress and sat back down in her chair. Her voice was soft now, like a teddy bear nestled onto a freshly made bed. This was our Mommy speaking, not the Wendi who moments before had told us she was leaving us.

“Sweet bois, my bois, I know you are upset, but that's because you didn't let me finish. I'm not leaving you. Mommy would never leave her little bois.” She looked directly at Curly as she said that part. “Shhh, dry those tears,” Wendi cooed, looking at the Twins who were huddled together, shaking, eyes wet.

“You could come away with me and crawl through my window into the Darlings' home. I'm sure that they won't
mind. You can go to school and get jobs. You'd have a house—and as much ice cream as you could want. I'll never leave you. We can have beautiful lives, help other bois, and do more than hide away in a warehouse …” Although I'd decided to go already, I bristled when Wendi talked so easily about leaving Neverland. How could she do away with who we were, with everything that Pan had built?