Lost Boi (13 page)

Smee broke the silence and asked Hook what a Mommy was. Wendi gasped. For a boi to not know the love of a Mommy shook her deeply. Perhaps that was her greatest similarity to Pan: since coming to Neverland, she had lived this fantasy entirely. No, let me correct myself. That is how
others, outsiders, might see this, but for her, for us, none of this was a fantasy. There was no role that Wendi took more seriously than being our Mommy. We were her bois, and when Mommy heard Smee, there was a piece of her heart that broke for him, even though he was a Pirate in a proper Leather uniform. I think in that moment, there was a part of her that wanted him as her own.

Pirate Jukes then suggested, quite out of turn, that they should kidnap Wendi and force her to be their Mommy. My hands became fists, but I saw from the corner of my eye a look from Pan, the kind of look that was really an order, and the kind of order I knew better than to disregard. This was a test for Wendi, who, at the thought of being taken from her bois, us lost bois, shouted, “
Never!
”

There was nothing else to say. Pan grinned and nodded first to Hook, then to me, before walking back down the hallway. He knew that Hook wouldn't want to take a grrrl against her will, that consent was too important to Hook's code of honour. Pan knew that his Mommy would be safe for as long as he wanted her, or for as long as she would have us.

Hook dismissed his crew and they, confused and slightly irritated, went back into the front bedroom, calling out the window to the grrrls smoking on the porch that they should come back in and battle. Not long after, Pan heard the commotion start again. He went into the bathroom again and locked the door, climbed onto the toilet seat, and listened.
Soon all he could hear through the vent were moans and the sound of leather and flesh meeting.

It was too easy, but he couldn't resist. Again, in his best Hook voice, Pan called into the vent: “Why do you keep me waiting? Release the grrrls and present yourselves!”

Pan now heard a different sort of moan and confused wailing, and then the sounds of flies zipping and boots angrily marching out of the room. This time, he stayed in the bathroom and waited. Hook marched his crew back into the front bedroom to scold them in private. Pan could clearly hear Hook's lecture about how foolish the crew was, how clearly he hadn't given them orders, twice, to end their battles. He dismissed them again. Pan knew the sound of Hook's boots and through the vent heard the Captain's heavy steps on the old hardwood floors. Pan knew he was caught, which only made the adventure of it all the sweeter.

“Who is giving false commands to my crew of Pirates?” Hook yelled into the empty bedroom.

“It is I, Hook, Captain of the Jolly Roger!” Pan responded in his best imitation of Hook.

“If you are Hook, then who am I?” Hook called out, his voice sharp with irritation.

“A codpiece.”

Pan knew that he was playing dangerously, pushing things a little too far, to insult Hook this way. For a moment, Pan felt bad about it, imagining what it would be like to be humiliated in front of his lost bois, but then he forgot this dark
thought, as he forgot most of them. After all, Pan knew that he was far too clever to be tricked like this.

“Reveal yourself, insolent boy!” Hook knew he would reel Pan in, punish him, and remove whatever shame might have tarnished him in the eyes of his crew. Pan unlatched the bathroom door and stood in the doorway, grinning until he felt Hook's eyes peering around the bedroom doorway and down the hallway.

They would have battled, I'm sure. I was sitting in the living room, watching Pan lean against the bathroom doorjamb and rock back onto the heels of his boots. He was ready, cocky, and proud of himself. Pan was never happier, never hotter, never harder than when causing mischief. Then the back door of the Lagoon opened and in walked the Crocodile.

Gator hadn't been invited, but she figured at least one of the Mermaids or their guests would feel like drowning. She looked hot, as always, dressed in a skin-tight black dress, her green hair hanging in a messy tangled braid down her back. It swayed from side to side as she walked, like a tail. Gator was so skinny that if I didn't hate her so much, I'd have tried to fatten her up with pasta and dumpstered bread. All Gator cared about was that her bra was lined with green bills when she walked back out the door.

It took a lot to pull Hook's attention off Pan, but the Crocodile always could. Hook started to sweat and shake. The Crocodile had its hold on him. Pan didn't even need to turn around to know Gator had arrived. Pan signalled to
me. For us, the party was over. There would be no more battles that night. I led Wendi and the bois back to Neverland. When we got home, I expected to find Pan in the rafters with the pigeons, but he wasn't. Wendi didn't understand the hold the Crocodile had on Hook or why this mattered so much to Pan. The next day, Siren told me that Pan had stayed near the Lagoon. He waited for Hook, standing outside and leaning against Hook's chromed motorcycle. Pan later told Siren that he'd considered making a deal with Gator and throwing all her baggies of Crocodile at Hook's feet to make him choose once and for all what was most important, to see if Hook was strong enough to turn it down. Hook talked such a big game about good form, but Pan knew Hook was just barely out-swimming the Crocodile, that every so often, it would drag him under. Pan wanted Hook more, in that moment, than he had ever wanted the Pirate.

9

The Apology

W
hen Pan saw Gator leave the Lagoon, he went back to the house, passing Kelpie and Siren, who were on the porch couch smoking with some femmes from New Orleans. Pan nodded at the group and began to search for Hook, whose crew was hanging out in the living room. Smee looked up when Pan came in, but gave no clue as to where his Captain was. Pan searched through all the basement and first-floor rooms, where folks were drowning and fucking and making out. When he went upstairs, he saw that the door to the widow's walk was ajar. Hook didn't need to turn around when Pan came outside; he recognized the sound of the boi's boots against the rotten decking. Hook stared up at the stars. He was not drowning. Pan stood next to him, trying to get Hook to look at him, but Hook wouldn't acknowledge him. Pan sighed. “You aren't still pissed about earlier, are you?” Pan asked, playfully grabbing one of the Captain's belt loops. “You know I think of you as more
than your codpiece.” Hook refused to respond. “Oh, come on, Hook! Don't be mad at me! I was just messing around, I didn't mean any harm by it. Can't we just let it go? Let's start this night over.”

Finally, Hook—still looking at the sky—said, “You owe me nothing short of a formal apology for the way you acted tonight.”

Pan did not roll his eyes. He straightened his shirt the way Mommy had taught him, wiped his grimy hands on the back of his jeans and, when he was convinced his hands were clean, extended his right one toward Hook.

“Captain Hook, please accept my apology. I acted out of turn this evening, disrespecting you in front of your crew. I let my joking go too far. I am truly sorry, and I am here to ask for your forgiveness.”

Hook pulled his eyes away from the stars and turned toward Pan. “Look at you. Little boi, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were a grownup standing before me. I hear that you're a Daddy now. Looks like that grrrl figured out how to make a man of you, and you like it, don't you? You like being her husband? Being a grownup?” And then Hook spat right on Pan's outstretched hand.

Pan winced. They were fierce battle opponents, but Hook had never been cruel to him before. Closing his eyes for a moment, Pan took a deep breath, wiped Hook's spit off on the back of his jeans, and smiled. Pan is different from all us other bois in that he doesn't hold onto the hurtful, unfair
things in the world. Just as a boi who grows up and leaves Neverland is immediately forgotten by Pan, so are hurts. Pan smiled at Hook, and again extended his hand.

Hook was disgusted—with himself and with Pan. This filthy boi, leader of a gang of hoodlums, had exhibited better form than he had, the Captain whose workshops on protocol people paid money to attend. More to the stars than to Pan, Hook angrily asked, “Aren't you ever bad? Doesn't your form ever falter?” Without waiting for Pan to respond, Hook turned and walked back into the Lagoon.

Pan was left alone with the stars. He was confused, but had already forgotten the hurtful sting of Hook's words. Tink came to him, accompanied by a whole flock of Neverland's pigeons. They perched on the railing and on Pan, tickling him with their dinosaur feet and flapping wings until he laughed and completely forgot all of it.

10

The Unhappy Home

I
t was a time of coming together, of truly being a family. Wendi threw herself completely into her role as our Mommy. She also reinforced old power hierarchies, often telling us to “listen to your Daddy.” Of course, that was just business as usual for me and the lost bois. I never thought of disobeying him. I took my commitment extremely seriously and distrusted those who didn't. No one could say I didn't give Pan the best of myself.

For a time, it seemed that John Michael had fallen in love with the Neverland magic. I know I wasn't very fair to her at first, but by now she had truly become one of us lost bois. It would have been dishonourable for me to doubt her loyalty. She'd stopped her lectures about what was the “proper,” or “safe,” or “appropriate” way to suspend or punch someone and yet, although she was one of us, she seemed happiest when battling with the Pirate crew. Sometimes I wondered if Pan regretted bringing Wendi and John Michael
to Neverland—but here I am thinking like a grownup. The best thing about Pan was that there were no regrets. He lived perfectly in the moment, without doubt or questions, trusting completely, and when Wendi agreed to be our Mommy, he gave us bois to her. I think that he believed that because she was a Mommy she could get John Michael under control. John Michael never respected Wendi as a Mommy, and she certainly didn't respect Pan, not outside of battle, where it mattered the most.

When Pan would go out, John Michael would talk to Mommy in a disrespectful tone. She would ask to sit in Pan's spot or to play with his knives. There was always battling among us bois, much of it good-natured fight-picking, but this was different. It seemed … toxic. Wendi didn't know how to handle this boi she had known as a brother, but here had negotiated to care for as a boi.

Pan became increasingly preoccupied by Hook and therefore spent less time with me. I responded by acting out to get Pan's attention—not anything big, just simple things. Pan would say:

“Tootles, black my boots.”

And I would respond, “Okay.”

I had been trained better than that. I knew the protocol, and that only correct response was, “Yes, Sir!”

I'm not proud to admit it, but a slap across the face felt better than being ignored. The further away he felt, the more I was almost afraid that I would lose him. In those moments,
I latched onto Mommy's apron strings, and I wasn't sure if I cared where Sir went, with his pixie dust and Pirate battles. I was angry that he didn't take care of John Michael, that he didn't get rid of her, if that's what it would take, like he'd done before with other bois who hadn't worked out. Worst of all, I started to doubt him.

One time, Pan and I came into Neverland to see one of the Twins doubled over on the floor. He was turning blue and mumbling something about train tracks.

“What the hell happened here?” Pan asked the other Twin.

He didn't respond right away, so Pan threw him against the concrete wall, forearm across his throat. He sputtered and tried to talk, and Pan pulled his forearm away a little. The Twin confessed that they had been down by the river chasing the Crocodile, and maybe they had dived too deep. I knelt over the first Twin. It was obvious what was happening, his pupils were so small, and when his skin started to turn as blue as his hair, I got up and yelled at Pan who still had the second Twin pinned against the wall.

“Give me quarters! Please, Sir!” I tried to soften my demand to a respectful request, but my tone was all wrong.

Pan turned. He knew why I wanted the coins, knew that I intended to run to the corner payphone and call for an ambulance.

“No one is going anywhere,” Pan responded, stepping away from the second Twin who slumped to the floor and turned his attention to the first Twin.

“Bring me my bag. Now!” he ordered me.

My hands shaking, I brought Pan his backpack. From the front pouch, he pulled out the Naloxone, which harm-reduction street-outreach teams had just started to hand out and train kids how to use. Pan roughly tilted the Twin's head back and sprayed the anti-overdose drug up his nose. Time in Neverland seemed to stop, but within a minute the Twin's breathing deepened, and the only thing blue about him was his Mohawk.

That night, Pan ignored the Twins as they comforted each other through withdrawals. Wendi was having a slumber party at the Mermaid Lagoon and so wasn't home to hear the Twins call for Pan. I could make out their whispered cries, saying they couldn't take the pain, and they wanted to detox in the hospital. I reached for my boots, preparing to go outside and call a cab. I'd stolen quarters out of John Michael's jeans earlier in the evening, just in case, so I wouldn't have to ask Pan again.