Lois Lane, nine years by ShayneT
Authors note and disclaimer: I never owned Lois Lane, Peter Pan, or pretty much anybody else, but wouldn’t it be neat?
Lois Lane, nine years old.
Lois Lane stared down at the book in disgust. It was a crisp new paperback that still had the new book smell. It had a brightly colored cover and words that slid effortlessly together into a beautiful adventure.
Her mother had given it to her and sent her out to play, while she and her father had “a talk.”
Lois knew what that meant. They were going to argue again about how they were raising her. Her father had wanted a boy, and so he pretended a lot that she was one.
Her mother kept trying to put her in dresses and make her learn the piano.
So she tried to escape, sink down into the book as she had the books her father had given her.
It was an easier read than some of those. Robinson Caruso, Treasure Island, Tom Sawyer. Lois had dreamed about them all.
Neverland had them all beat. It had Indians and pirates, and best of all, people could fly. But there was one major flaw in the story.
She’d given it all up to go home and live an ordinary life as an ordinary mother.
Lois’s mother spent most of her time drinking in her bedroom, and Lois didn’t see what was so wonderful about that.
It was the life her mother was trying to force on her, while her father wanted her to be a doctor or a scientist.
Maybe if she could be one of those scientists who went to the center of the earth, or made inventions like Tom Swift.
That was the problem in books. All the great stories were about adventures, and those the boys always had.
Girls’ stories were about something called menstruation and living at home with mama.
She’d had enough of that already.
Her mother was trying to send her a message. Be like Wendy. Leave the adventuring to the boys. Put on a dress, find a nice boy and be normal like everybody else.
To hell with that. Lois giggled at the forbidden word. She didn’t care what the stories said. She was going to have her own adventures, and fight her own pirates and Indians.
She wasn’t ever going to be Wendy. She’d be Peter, maybe, or Indian Lilly at the worst.
And maybe, one day she too would fly.