One of the most frequent voices belonged to a younger sounding man who seemed to be named Newt. At least, I thought that was his name. Conversations often slipped in and out of my awareness, so either his name was Newt, or he had a pet newt. I couldn’t be certain which.
Other names also occasionally slipped past me.
Frankie.
Sebastian.
Clay.
None of these names meant anything to me. I tried to tell them my own name, but I could tell it didn’t work. I could never seem to get my mouth to make the right sounds for my own name.
I also tried to tell them about Eli, though I couldn’t tell if I was successful.
Eli was an old friend. I hadn’t seen him in a long time, and I missed him. I didn’t know if these people could even find Eli for me. Their voices sounded like they were right next to me, but in a way they also felt as distant as stars. But stars were made to be wished on, so maybe giving them Eli’s name would make at least one of my wishes come true.
Despite all of these names being thrown around, however, I never learned the name of the reading voice. I really wanted to know his name so I could at least call him something. I didn’t know what he looked like, or who he was. I wasn’t even certain whether he was real or if he was just a figment of my imagination, but his voice was very pleasant when he read to me. He created pictures just with his words and repainted my nightmares into brilliant fantasies.
Yes, out of all the voices I heard, I liked the reading voice best.
CHAPTER 6
Auggie
“As you look at Wendy,you may see her hair becoming white, and her figure little again, for all this happened long ago. Jane is now a common grown-up, with a daughter called Margaret; and every spring cleaning time, except when he forgets, Peter comes for Margaret and takes her to the Neverland, where she tells him stories about himself, to which he listens eagerly. When Margaret grows up, she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter’s mother in turn; and thus, it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.”
I closed the book, looking at the John Doe on the bed. It had taken a few visits, but I’d finished every last word of Peter Pan. The ending was more resolute than I expected. When I watched the Disney adaptation, it seemed pretty clear that Peter Pan was meant to be interpreted as a dream, with only some hints that the adventure in Neverland might have been real. Some other adaptations told the story of Peter Pan more literally, but, like many people, it was the Disney version that I rememberedbest. Obviously, adaptations need to change some things, but I expected at least the ending to match.
But no. In the book, Peter Pan is most definitely not a dream, or a metaphor. He’s real, in as much as a fictional character can be real.
He was also not the sole focus of the book. Peter Pan may have been the book’s main subject, but in many ways, Wendy was its heart. The story of Peter Pan is a tale of Motherhood as much as it is a tale of childhood.
Overall, the story was still familiar, but it was also different enough from what I expected that reading it out loud felt like I was discovering it for the first time.
As I sat there, thinking about what I had just read while the life support machines beeped overhead, my thoughts automatically turned to the patient lying beside me. Everything he had with him—at least what could be found after the fire—was purely functional. Clothes. Blankets. A few toiletries.
Except this book. The story of Peter Pan had apparently meant enough to him that he sacrificed space in his single backpack to keep it with him.
Why?
What did the story mean to him?
Would I ever get the chance to ask him?
A knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts.
“Hey, Auggie,” Newt called softly from where he leaned into the doorway. “Just letting you know visiting hours are almost over.”
I snapped my head around to peer at the clock on the wall.
Was it really that late already?
I’d been here longer than I thought.
“Oh, thanks. Sorry, I lost track of time.”
“It’s no problem,” Newt replied, his smile sincere. “Honestly, I’d let you keep reading if I could, but we’ve got some work to do with our John Doe.”
I paused, stilling my hands in the middle of packing up my bag. “Work?”