Peter Pan Flies Away

(2 October 2002)

During the three months that I was gone, Peter Pan and I wrote to each other regularly.  He was going through a hard time.  Rather than giving direct advice, I shared some of my experiences; he wrote back that what I’d shared had helped him tremendously.  When I got back, he was fully back in the world, busy with work, meetings, and projects.  I called he suggested having a coffee between two appointments and then to get together in the following days.  Before our appointment, I had an appointment that ran overtime, so it was a bit tight to get there on time.  I called twice, but he didn’t answer, which really irritated me since he’d already pulled that on me three times before.  We got together another day, he arrived and left in a hurry—had just half an hour between appointments.  I mentioned my frustration that he hadn’t answered or returned my calls.  “But it was tight.”  “I know,” but you could’ve answered or called back.”  Defensive at first, he admitted that it was a matter of respect, and he’d make an effort.  In return I said that I wouldn’t complain about his wanting to make plans only at the last minute.  As we parted, we kissed each other on the cheeks, as the French do. After several months away from France, I’d lost the reflex to turn my cheek further to the side when wearing lipstick, and to make matters worse, without thinking, I then turned to give him a kiss him on the lips.  “Lipstick, the fatal arm of women!”  He was so impatient to see me, and hasn’t answered any of my messages since.  He has flown back off to Never Never Land. 

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