Chapter 9- First Lesson, First Song

 (By the way, this is one of my favorite chapters. I hope you like it!)

 

JUMP. NOW. BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.

NO… Not again.

David was at the ledge again, the brightly lit London skyline open underneath him. One thing was different, though; he didn’t have any urge to look down… Nor were the whispers so deafening.

“Hey, YOU BOY!”- It’s that man again! “COME TO ME OR I’LL COME TO YOU!!”

Smash! The brickwork smashed apart again, the triumphant hand still gripped tight with urgency.

Yet David wasn’t as scared as before. It was as if he got a large amount of bravery. He even had enough guts to turn in the direction of the hole and ask-

“Who are you?”

No answer. Then-

“You must come, BOY. Don’t ask any questions!”

After hearing such rude demands, he would have nothing of it. David inched more and more away from the hole.

“Why NOT?!”

No answer.

As David kept climbed further and further away, he couldn’t help but ask-

“What do you want from me?”

Still no answer.

David felt a lot calmer after he seemingly stumped the voice.

Yet what David didn’t expect was for the ledge to fall out from underneath him. He had moved too far off the ledge! How foolish of him not to realize!

As David fell, the screams reached his throat but stopped before they could exit his mouth.  He knew that he would either fly or wake up before he would hit the ground.

There was no reason for him to be afraid.

A calming and soothing feeling ran through him, filling him with the warmth of the happy thoughts he had during the “discussion” with that man.

Then… it happened again.

David was sure of it… was he…? Was he truly FLYING?!?

He wouldn’t know, for another frustrating time, because by the time he could comprehend it…

He woke up. Again.

His head was still on the pillow. He leaned back up in his bed while his hair, moist with sweat, stuck to his forehead. He felt calmer now, since his body was not going into overdrive.

Then the horrible reality of where he was when he woke up sank in. He wasn’t dreaming this. So he tried to avoid the unpleasant thoughts by pushing them into the recesses of his mind, like putting away toys into their respective cupboards.

But he couldn’t. He looked out the window to the visible line of skyline from his bed to remember what the play was like and those daydreams. So he allowed himself to dream again, and lay back in bed to imagined what that world was like, not knowing whether or not he slept or not. Either way, he wanted to dream. It was where his lovely thoughts were.

…

The nun that woke up the boys early the next morning found David fast asleep with his arm dangling over the side. It was the first time in a long time when David needed help getting up from bed, be it with a shake or a sprinkle of water. He looked around for Sister Deborah but she was nowhere to be seen, for some odd reason. Usually this would trouble him, but after all the time of being alone it didn’t bother him.

He was escorted from the Church to the Priests antechamber, shrouded in dark reds and shadows mixed with the colors of books and candlelight. His desk was cleared save for a small pencil and paper. The huge chair was empty and the room smelled of talcum powder.

Then Father Priest glided in with an upturned cowl and cold eyes.

“Pick up the pad boy,” He began. “This shall be your first lesson.”

He slowly picked it up with his thin hands. It was a thin pad, with only a few sheets of paper.

“Take the pen! And make sure to write everything I say.” Father scolded. David helplessly looked at the pen, gripped in his fist upside down so the point was up. All he knew was to make marks with the pointed edge, but he didn’t know how to write. Should he tell him?

“The reason why I picked you to become my pupil is not you’re concern. Here’s the main point: when I’m finished teaching you everything I know, you will be a light onto this Holy Nation. Let us begin…

“Childishness is against the laws of the Lord, our G-d. It says in Psalms 37, phrase 25:’I was a youth and also have aged’. Age is the perfection of man, as the Son was older than Isaac when he was sacrificed for our sins, as it says…”

David tried frantically to make some sense of it all, as he continued about how being a delinquent –like David was over the past few months- was evil in the eyes of the Lord, how if it wasn’t for Father he would be eternally doomed and how to fix himself.

“And so, dearest David, that concludes our first lesson. Put down your paper and pen and leave them on my desk.

The boy froze in the chair, the hairs on his neck up and quivering. He hadn’t written anything down, just a bunch of incoherent scribbles. Ichabod was going to teach him to read and write but-

“Put the pad down, child. You can leave after that.”

David looked up at him, his light hazel eyes reflecting off of his dark brown ones.

“Give. Me. The. Pad.” Father insisted.

Any confidence he had before was drained from the beginning. Any cool breeze on his face felt like a chilling blast. He was so shamed that he trembled when he returned the pad to him.

Father’s eyes widened as he looked at the mess of a handwriting. What a waste of perfectly good paper!

“What’s this?! What is- David! Tell me…”

He shoved the paper into his pale face.

“What Does This Say?!”

It was a scribble filled with loops and crossing lines.

“I…I don’t know-”

“And this?! What does it mean?!”

David never felt so shamed in his life. He felt sobs coming up.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

Father retaliated. A smack upside the head knocked David completely by surprise onto the floor.

“How dare you, speaking to me that way. You’re lucky to be alive because of me! I am saving your soul! Damnation is not a matter to tamper with, you mutt! I’m trying to help you, and this -this chicken scratch!- is all I get in return?!”

He tore the paper out, ripped it up and threw the pieces on the boy, who was crouched on the floor, his hands over his shaking head, as if that would help defend against the onslaught.

“I shouldn’t have picked you. I shouldn’t have let them raise you, giving your tiny mongrel life a chance and letting that disgrace of a Nun raise you! You are nothing and will always BE nothing in the eyes of everyone else! And now you face damnation, or the truth- and finding your savior.” He circled around the little boy, like the prey he had months ago.

“Was I wrong? Should I have let you die?”

He was holding back tidal waves of sobs as he replied with any amount of dignity left: “N-n-no Father.”

“Was I wrong to have picked you?”

He didn’t know it at the time, but Father wasn’t motivating him. He was breaking him.

“N-n-no, Father.”

After circling him again, he picked up the boy by an ear, relishing in the vulnerability, pain, and pure shame covering David’s face.
"You will show up later today for the next lesson. I don't care how sick you are, I don't care how sad you are, I certainly don't care about the fact that you cannot write. You will hear what I say and you will remember it for your sake. Otherwise, you will stay here making stupid little cars for children that have families you wish you could have in this world. Understand, boy?"
David was vainly trying to get out of Father's painful grip and out of the room. He experienced enough torture.
"Y-Yes Father."
"Good. See you after lunch. I expect you on time, boy, or else."
He was shoved out of the chamber with a slamming thud behind him. He heard the door lock faintly behind him as he ran to Sister Deborah's office.
When she didn't answer the door, he banged on it twice.
"OPEN UP, SISTER! PLEASE! I need you…"
Yet that was all it took to push the hard, wooden door slightly open. He didn't know that it was unlocked- yet he was used to it being locked when she wasn't there. Why would she be hiding from him? Maybe she was sent on an errand…
He walked into the dimly lit room and noticed how it looked like she was just there a minute ago. Books were open on the desk, as well as an unfinished glass of water with a trail of drops where she drank from. As he sat in the opposite chair, he felt the wood warming him better than the plush cushion he was disciplined on just before.
And with that warmth came a bit of happiness with it. Then he felt like being more curious. He looked behind the desk, where there were small drawers going down the sides.
There wasn't much to see in some of them- just more books and papers from the Police Department regarding some of the children, Birth Certificates, Adoption papers and the like, he didn't expect to find what was in the last drawer on the left. As he pulled it open, he saw one of the crudest looking pan flutes he's ever seen. On it was a tag: David's first flute.
She kept my first toy? She really does care!
He felt all kinds of happiness as he held it in his cupped hands while cross-legged on the floor- in the warmest place in all of London. He found himself putting his fingers on random holes and his mouth to its lips, hearing whatever notes came out. It was a small tune, but he felt it like a fire, warming him up from head to toe. Just playing those small chords made him remember: Peter had a flute too.
Then he remembered Neverland. And flying. And sword-fighting. And no grown-ups. And a family. Not his parents, but the… the Lost Boys. His family would be the lost boys he would find. And fairies and mermaids.
He looked down at the flute, then around at the room, until he found a long enough piece of string. He tied a knot on each side of the flute, then put it around his neck, beneath his uniform. He was going to escape again and find a way there. And if anything mattered to him more, he didn't know what it was. Because that one thought of everything he dreamed of would be enough to get him there. Little did he know that he had that destiny; all he had to do was to take the chance.