A lonely melody seemed to have stretched across the bus and I found myself listening to the continuos pitter-patter of the raindrops trickling down the cold window. It was raining. I pressed my finger and drew a straight line on the foggy surface, allowing me to see a small scene on what goes on outside of this bus. I allowed the loneliness to take me away as I closed my eyes and listened to the music behind the rain.

Before I could react, shivers ran through me as I felt a single finger tracing the scar that was planted on my shoulder. Not daring to open my eyes, I held my breath as the tingles of his touch exploded from my left arm. It was so sudden.

"How’d you get it?" He whispered. The rain clashed with voice and it made it almost inaudible.

"I was being stupid." I had draught down my wording; a little white lie. The boy raised one of his eyebrows in, I guess, suspicion, "Don’t tell me you’re one of them cutters?" Is this guy joking with me? "…I’m just playing." He added on.

"Mm…it’s raining outside." I just loved changing subjects.

"So I see. You know, Neverland’s raining too." The beautiful boy’s head averted to the window. The reflection in his pupils that were full of wide imagination seemed beyond dimensions I couldn’t bare to imagine. What goes on in such a mind? Before I realized, I found myself entrapped in his eyes, desperate to see everything he saw.

"Neverland?" He was talking about this nonsense again. "You still believe in those sort of stories?" I immediately noticed how uncomfortable he got and I gulped at what I just said. This was a topic he really cared about.

I embraced myself for the impact of what was to come. "If I don’t, then where do I go? What’s left out there when you need to run away from life itself?" He monotonically spit back at me. There was a sharp pang that crossed my chest and I breathed in the look he gave me. I reminded me of my mother. I had enough of those.

"You can’t run away from life. Sooner or later, the day when you have to meet face to face with it is something very much inevitable." I didn’t dare resist eye contact with him, but the fact that his expression was unreadable made it harder.

"But that moment can wait a bit longer." He grinned. Reclamation came back to me as I remembered the time I said that. Then it finally hit me. We were both running away from something. Running away.

It took me a moment to swallow down the conclusion I had come with and I decided to confront him later on. For now, the only thing I wanted to do was converse. "Tell me about it then. Show me that it’s real." I didn’t see the harm of finding something to amuse myself with. It was going to be a long drive, anyway.

"I can’t show you. Whether you believe it or not is up to you. What I can do my best is to describe to you what I hope someday you, yourself, will see." A short tension compelled the atmosphere and I was struck at how deliberate he became. The charming man appeared young, but inside, he was so much older.

"Have you never heard of the tales of Neverland?" He began his explanation with a question.

It was my turn to speak up and I stared at the window to think with the fog. Have I?

--

"Mom, why do you always tell me stories before going to bed?"

The resting moon beamed in the midnight sky, illuminating the dreaminess of the darkness. It was the only thing out in the night that shooed away the shadows and fears. The curtains arised and exhaled back down from the calming wind that chilled the humid activities played in the afternoon day. I looked at my mother, awing at how her skin radiated a glow from the moon’s powers. She used to be the most beautiful woman in the world to me.

"Well sweetie, I believe that it’s a parent’s job to fill their children with stories of fantasies before it’s too late." Mother replied. Her tone was full of afterthought and consideration. I wondered when the day would come where’d I’d be so mature and lovely.

"Too late?"

"How do I explain this…well after a certain amount, usually when someone becomes an age where they’re mature. They start to become more…pragmatic." The parent tried to clarify. I watched her vision that immersed with a sudden empathy, a sullen characteristic, where the shape of her eyes turned into downward crescents.

"What does that mean?"

"Logical, honey. It means to be more reasonable."

I didn’t know back then, but now do I finally get what she meant.

"Oh, I’m only eight right now! Tell me your favorite story Mommy."

Mother tucked me into her delicate arms, wrapping me into her once protective warmth that’d consume me into her benevolent embrace. "How about I tell you my favorite story. This one goes way back from generations and it’s called Neverland." The newfound word sparked my insides.

"Why is it called Neverland?"

"Oh silly. Well Neverland is restricted to those that are adults. It’s the map of a child’s mind." I captured the twinkle that fired in her eyes.

"Does that mean you can’t go there?"

"Let me explain child. Age doesn’t determine how old someone is. It’s only a label, but what makes you old is how you are in the inside. For example, how you act, what you believe in, and especially your imagination." She hesitated to speak more, but went on. "So, this place called Neverland was first discovered by a little girl. The poor dear needed somewhere to escape. Perhaps, you’re too young to understand this just yet, but sometimes…people get tired of life." Mother bit her lower lip and creased her eyes in a sign of anxiousness. At the time, I thought it meant that she was happy. "They need a while to just, you know, take a break…and so they go to Neverland. Going on from there, this little girl had that certain ember in her that made her chosen to go to Neverland. It was the island full of colors, adventures, and mysteries. From there, it’s been said that she went to the second star to the right, and straight on ‘til morning."

"How did she get all the way to the star?" I gasped. My young brain felt powerful at the new information splattered onto me.

"Some say she flew there with a young boy as her guide, using the pixie dust from a real live pixie. Others say she shattered her eyes tight and the blackness exploded into a burst of billion of impossible colors that led her directly to Neverland. Really it varies from person to person."

"What happens from there?" My imagination then started to get the best of me. The hunger to know more increased with every word that poured out of .

The effulgent woman lightly chuckled, "She went to Neverland of course! This is the part where words can’t even compare to sight, but let’s just say her journey began as the young girl went to the mystical island abundant with magic from every direction in plain or unplain sight…" Mother rambled on with her story and my ears and eyes never diverted from what she was saying.

--

"I did, when I was a child." I bluntly stated. I was now feeling this gigantic distress in me.

"So you’ve stopped believing, correct?" His tone made it clear that he caught on with the ways of reality.

"Whom to say I ever believed in the first place?"

"Unlikely you didn’t. A child’s first instinct is to be naïve, and one to tell such stories was most likely your parents. You’ve had to have some sort of believing in this."

"I also had to have some sort of doubt."

"Exactly." The boy gained interest, transitioning his furthering. "So, what do you think about Neverland?"

"In general? I think it’s a myth. It’s a fictional world, created by someone that’s afraid to grow up. Someone that doesn’t know how to handle life, or even made by someone that’s just bored and makes up these sort of stuff for pure entertainment." I was hoping that my voice was more confidant then I actually was.

"You practically avoided the question. I’m asking what Neverland is, not who created it." He rolled his eyes.

The atmosphere was a lot tenser than I wanted. "How can I describe something that I’ve never seen?"

"Then tell me what you’ve heard about it."

"Well…my mother told me that it’s a mystical island, hidden away in a different…world." The boy closed his eyes and I reluctantly told him more, "It’s suppose to be magical, enchanted with unimaginable euphoria. Filled with mesmerizing colorful flowers that glitter off the feelings of ecstasy, there’s supposedly a waterfall that’s the home of mermaids and sea creatures, that when drunk gives you untold powers. I remember the telling of impending pirates and even fatal sirens, fruits too sweet to be in our world, shape-shifting animals, tiny pixies the size of our fingers, and the air of youth…where one inhalation intoxicates you to immortality." There’s so much more that I could’ve said, but I stopped from the shock of how much I still remembered.

"It’s an everlasting terrene that sheds off freedom. Where every being is like a bird. No cages, no masters, no rules, and definitely no restrictions. The liberty to soar through the horizon, where even the sky’s no limit."

What is he running from? "Is that all you want? Freedom?" I was afraid that I was coming off rude.

"Doesn’t everything start with freedom? If we don’t have freedom, then what do we come to?"

His answer made me ponder for a bit. "It starts with something that makes us gain freedom. Like courage."

"You always know what to say." He laughed, eyes full of false happiness. Guess it’s true. No matter what it may appear, we all have our inside stories.

The perception sent me this weird innervation and for some odd reason I compared myself to a small tank top being soaked and swirled in a large washing machine. Around and around in the same moving, constant circle.

"Have you…been to Neverland?" I ask a question I already knew the answer to.

"Yes I have."

"How? Why did they choose you?"

"That I cannot say." He replies. There’s an indescribable attribution implied in his voice. It’s quiet.

I found myself unable to define him as someone. He was all over the place: childish, but mature. Loving, yet hateful. Calm, but filled with anger. "Tell me more about it."

"It’s a dream come true. The land drips of explorations and journeying. The place never ends! Once you go forward, it’ll go on forever. Unless you immediately turn back, there’s no point of return."

"Where do you go then?" My hand held on to his in habit, and I smile in worry when he held my hand tighter, as if for support.

"Well, you’ll still be in Neverland…just in a different portion of it. The realm reeks with mysteries, yet you can never be tired of venturing through them. Everything leads to a secret about the place. One thing you do can lead to another. Per say you’ve eaten a berry, they might contain dusts that give you the ability to shrink or enlarge. Or-"

"What’s dust?" I can’t help but interrupt him. I needed to know what he meant.

He doesn’t seem to care that I stopped him short though. "Dust is particles of nature’s magic. It’s the supernatural that possesses elements that contain the unordinary. We all have dust inside us. Some more than others. If I remember correctly, fairies were the ones to discover them. Anyway, even the smallest things aren’t what they seem, and that’s my favorite part. That you never know what’s going to happen." The charming man had grinned a cheeky smile that lightened the entire bus. Perhaps I was delusional from the lack of sleep, but I swear I saw sunbeams that soar out of him. I observed in disappointment, seeing that his eyes completely contrasted from his expression. His eyes brought me melancholy. I breathed out a sound between a laugh and a sigh, not believing if this was for real or not. My mind swirled into deep thought and I took the consideration to go along with his stubborn imagination. It was only because I wanted to let him know that there was someone that supports him. To think that he actually might be younger than me.

"Why did you leave then?" I cleared my throat and checked to see the believability in my voice.

"I didn’t leave." He responded matter of factly. His tone was flat, but his eyes piercing to my own told something otherwise.

"In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t what I’d think of Neverland." I laughed, gesturing to where we’re at, the dirty load of a bus. It seemed he didn’t take the humor in my joke and instead asked me more questions.

"Do you know what the purpose of Neverland is?"

"It’s for tho—"

"For people that still believe in the magic of life. For those that life has stung upon, but they still have hope for the better. Where life has given up on them, but they haven’t given up on themselves. Those that still believe in the unimaginable…in miracles."

"What makes you deserve something so wonderful?" I became so attached to his logic that I didn’t even notice the scorn in my own question.

"I don’t."

"What happened?" Everything thing at the one moment became silent with only the rain splattering the vibrations to our ears. Later then did I realize what I had done and it was ridiculous to have gasped at my interrogation. The inquiry was based on habit—to instantly say what was on my mind. I glimpsed at his expression and couldn’t figure out whether he was okay or angry at what I had said.

"My parents expected too much from me." In the second he finished confessing his problems, the both of us widened our eyes in surprise. To think he’d really answer me. Sinking in the fact that he had already spilled his secret, the boy hesitated to continue on until I gave him a smile of reassurance. He heaved a sigh of reluctance, but went on. "They compared me to my brother to the point that I was going to crack into a million pieces. My mother even threatened me that she’d disown me if I didn’t become who she wanted me to be." If it weren’t for my similarity with him, I would’ve pitied the poor boy. "I was…sick of not having the choice of my future, so I was crazy enough to run away. Insanity drives you to do things you’d never expect yourself to do."

It was hard to swallow down all of this. "What about your father? Had he felt the same as your mom?"

"No…actually he was more understanding than mother, but she convinced him to feel the same towards me. Full of hate and regret, that was the only look they’d ever give to me. I hated it. If it wasn’t an A, then it was starving for weeks without food. If I didn’t pass tryouts for academics then it would always be another scar. If I did everything perfect as they wanted, then it’d just be more expectations toppling another." The desperation in his voice made me hateful. "I don’t know how my brother could meet those ing stupid needs from them. It was always about them. Always. I thought parents were supposed to be your friends. The constant fear of disgracing their family name, of not surpassing their comparisons of someone, the scares of what they’d do if I made even the smallest mistake. It drew me to madness so I…I ran away." Watching a tear wash away to his lips was when I also touch one on my own. My eyes drew towards his every detail, and I grew appalled of how ignorant I can be. I should’ve gotten an award for stupidity.

Scars. They were everywhere. One on his neck, a dark red stitch on one of his fingers, and even the fresh bruise on the lower right corner of his lower lip. He was an abused child. Anger engulfed me to every part of my body and I couldn’t believe to what extent a parent will do to hurt their child. How could pleasure be found through torture? The whole idea’s just sick, pure disgust. Here I was thinking I was the most unluckiest person in the world, where right beside me there was someone far worse.

I found my swollen eyes now bursting with tears that seared my skin. The saltiness of it splurged into my mouth as I tasted the bitterness of each and every drop. I allowed it to sting me to the farthest extent. A part of me wanted to laugh my heart’s content that was driven with hysteria and absurdity, and the other beseeched to stab both of our parents in a surge of revenge.

In a few constraining seconds, it didn’t take long for him to pour his own fears out—sobbing into his hands like a lost child departed from his parent. I didn’t think to hesitate before wrapping my arms around him in a sense of security; engulfing his anguish in hopes that he’ll be at least a less bit sad. Never did I dream of encountering someone so afraid of what’s to come ahead like me, one that was abandoned from their own birthparents. In that moment, the boy seemed like a small neglected speck of dust, dirty and teared apart of the cruelty called life.

He needed hope. I needed hope.