This week Sean is reading one of my old diaries from 2011. He emailed me the following entry, which is all about Phil reading Peter Pan to me at bedtime.
Sean used to read Peter Pan to me on our early picnics at Minster Lovell and Blenheim Palace, even before he knew my affection for the story. He brought the book to life; climbing through windows in our old Witney art studio and taking me flying every weekend. “Other people fly kites. I fly a Jalina,” he says. He tells me he’s afraid I’ll float away completely, and that he should tie me to things or put stones in my pockets, just in case.
Diary entry, 2011:
Last night Phil read me the first chapter of Peter Pan, and I nodded off right when Mrs. Darling nodded off – which was when, I found out later, Peter makes his first appearance, flying in through Wendy’s window. My favorite scene – my oldest childhood dream – to have a boy fly into my window – or climb into my window – and I fell asleep before I had a chance to make his acquaintance. He probably saw that I was a grown-up and gnashed his teeth at me.
But if I had been awake – if he had looked into my eyes and heard my child-like voice – he would have taken me flying.
I’m going to mark my favorite scenes in the book and, like a bible, go back to them again and again. I’ll ask people to read me certain passages that I’ll know by page number like a psalm. “Will you read me page 88?”