Forever Neverland(2)

But Mrs. Pence didn’t give her any further time to object. Instead, the history teacher turned and opened the classroom door, leading the way back inside. Wendy followed grudgingly. As she moved slowly toward her desk, she was painfully aware of the silence of her classmates. They were all watching her. It was as if they couldn’t wait to see what she would be forced to do next.

Wendy paused beside her desk and looked down at her notebook. The words on the page blurred through her building tears. But she obediently picked up the notebook, tore out the inked pages, and held them out to her teacher. She couldn’t bear to look at them, so she steadfastly looked at the floor instead.

There were a few snickers at the back of the class. Wendy choked on a sob, forcing it back down her throat. She refused to add to her own humiliation by breaking down and crying right there, right then, in front of the cruel stares of her peers.

Mrs. Pence took the pages gently and gave Wendy a stiff nod. Wendy saw the nod through her peripheral vision and sat down.

Then, thankfully – blessedly – the bell rang. And history class was over.

It so happened that history class was the last class Wendy had to attend before she was able to leave the school, fully excused, so that she could cross the street and visit her psychiatrist.

The shrink.

It was a double-edged sword. She got to get away from her classmates. But she had to sit on that horrible, extra poofy couch across from Dr. Coffer that made her feel like she was drowning in leather. She had to sit there – and listen to him tell her that she was crazy ….

Dr. Coffer sat back in his shining patent leather recliner and lightly tapped the end of his pencil on the legal pad over his crossed legs. Wendy’s gaze skirted, distractedly, to the black socks he wore. She could see the top of one and the scraggly hair that stuck out around the band.

“Wendy, how are you feeling these days?” Dr. Coffer asked. She knew he was watching her; always watching with those black eyes behind those tiny glasses. She swallowed hard. It didn’t matter how she answered. The conversation would still go the same way. The way it always went.

“Fine.”

For a moment, just as she’d suspected, he said nothing. And then he sighed.

Here it comes . . . .

“Wendy, I want you to take a look at this,” he said, softly. Wendy looked up in time to see him pulling a small stack of folded papers from the inside pocket of his sports coat. She recognized them at once. And she was befuddled as to how they had come to be in his possession so quickly.

“Your teachers gave them to me,” he told her, his tone just as quiet, just as calm as it always was. “They’re really quite fantastic, to be honest,” he went on as he unfolded them and smoothed them out over his leg. “You’ve built quite a world here, Wendy. I must admit that even I’ve been drawn into it.”

Wendy blinked. She wasn’t sure what to think of that. It sounded a little like a compliment. But nothing was ever as it seemed with Dr. Coffer. If it was a compliment, then it also must be a trick.

So, Wendy kept quiet.

Dr. Coffer smiled, as if he knew what she was thinking.

“You have quite a gift, Wendy.” The doctor placed the pages of Wendy’s handwritten story on the coffee table between them and folded his hands over his lap. “Your imagination is wonderful, truly wonderful.” He paused then, and cocked his head to one side. “But it is also dangerous.”

Ah. There it is, thought Wendy.

“You have a gift as a writer, Wendy. You can bring people happiness. You can help them enter another place and leave this one behind. What you give to people is a chance to escape the troubles of their everyday lives. It’s called ‘escapism,’” he told her, nodding once, as if she was supposed to memorize the term. “And we all need a little of it from time to time.”

He uncrossed his legs, and then re-crossed them in the other direction, sighing heavily as he did so. Wendy automatically tensed, sensing the change in him. The worst was about to come.

“However, too much escapism is a problem. A very big problem, in fact. If a person cannot see the world around them as it truly is, then that person can’t respond correctly to it.” He paused, pinning her with one of his more painful, meaningful stares. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Wendy?”

She nodded. It was what she always did when she didn’t really understand at all.

He went on. “Your older brother has realized how powerful your stories are and has wisely decided to step away from the escapism in them, so that he can deal with what truly happened to the three of you the night you disappeared.”