For Him, I would

I was born at sea.

To a captive mother who screamed me into the world in a dungeon below the deck of a pirate ship.

You’ll say it’s impossible, but I remember the smell of the ocean hitting my nostrils as I came into the world. I remember how the waves rocked me to sleep. I remember looking up at my mother and watching her take her last breath.

You have heard a great many things about pirates, I’m sure. Thieves. Pillagers. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. Giant hats, gold earrings, an eye-patch that hides a violent wound.

It’s all true, of course. But there is nuance with every group. There is more than meets the eye. There is family. There is brotherhood. There are the ones who I knew and loved.

 I was found by Bobby Sullivan, also known as Magpie. To this day, I don’t know why such a burly, rough, bear-like of a man, took me under his wing instead of throwing me overboard, but he did. He was the ship’s cook, and my first steps were taken in his kitchen. I learned how to chop onions before I could really walk. I learned how to peel potatoes and slaughter a chicken before I said my first words.

The Pale Moon was the name of our ship and Capitan Johnny Holiday was our leader. I never asked him why my mother was stolen. I didn’t have to. Pirates are pirates. And good or bad, Captain Holiday was kind to me. They all were.

Each pirate on that ship taught me something. Peg-Leg Joe taught me how to heal a knife wound. Slurpy-Sal taught me what herbs to use for an upset stomach. Captain Holiday taught me how to navigate the stars, how to never lose my way. Bobby Sullivan taught me when to talk, when to hold my tongue, and how to tell what a man is thinking even when he doesn’t speak.

I was first sent ashore to pillage when I was 13.

I was terrible at it.

I stood there watching the men I loved murder and rape and steal.

I stood there and cried.

Slurpy-Sal stared at me in disgust and told me to go back to the ship.

Captain Holiday gave me a lecture that evening, explaining why we do what we do.

I said nothing in response.

I looked at the stars.

I pictured my mother’s face staring back at me, wondering what kind of man she’d want to see.

They knew that I was different from them, but they loved me anyway. They cared for me. Capitan Holiday continued to send me ashore with the others, no matter how much I hated it. I never committed any violence. I simply walked around with large sacks and threw whatever we stole into them, avoiding eye-contact with the screaming victims surrounding me. 

I was sixteen when I met James Hook.

He stood in the middle of the road, in the middle of the chaos, long limbed and wide-eyed, watching me and the crew with curiosity.

“What are you?” he shouted at me.

“What am I?” I responded.

“Are you pirates?” he asked excitedly.

“Where’s your kin?” I asked.

“Dead,” he said flatly, “I have no kin.”

Maybe it was because he was an orphan like me. Maybe it was because I wanted to interact with someone my age. Maybe it was the feeling I had when I looked at him. When he looked at me.

Whatever it was, I took him back to the ship with me.

The men grumbled, at first. A newcomer was hardly ever welcome. I had been the exception, of course, but they were hesitant to make another.

I told them that James would prove himself worthy. I told them how much he admired the ship and how he had always wanted to be a pirate, traveling the ocean seas.

I didn’t know if anything I was saying was true, but James’ eyes sparkled when I spoke, so I assumed I was right.

James and I shared everything from the beginning.

I taught him everything I knew.

How to tie the different knots.

How to set the sails.

What to do in a storm.

How to navigate the stars.

In return for my knowledge, James told me stories.

He told me about a land he had heard of that you couldn’t get to any natural way. That you could only get there by flying.

He said he had been there and seen the wonders of this world. That there were fairies and singing mermaids and gold as far as the eye could see.

I didn’t believe him, but I never told him so.

I just listened because I loved listening to him talk.

I loved watching his eyes sparkle and his hands reach for the sky.

I loved the way he said,

“You’ll come with me one day, Smee, won’t you? You’ll come with me to Neverland?”

I’d follow you to the end of the world, I thought.

James was soft with me.

He’d tell me his memories of his family. Of his mother.

How she used to sing him songs about the sea.

He’d tell me his fears and dreams.

He was deathly afraid of storms, to the point where he’d bury his face in my shoulder each time they happened.

He’d so often stare at me, searching for an answer he never asked, and I was too scared myself to reply.

When James went ashore with us, he had no problem plundering and pillaging and raging into the night.

I watched as he slashed people with his sword, lit houses on fire, stole whatever he could.

I watched as he reveled in striking fear into the hearts of others.

“Why do you come ashore?” James asked me.

“I have to,” I replied.

“You hate it,” he said.

“I do,” I agreed.

He was silent for a while and then,

“Your heart is too soft,” he said, not unkindly.

“Do you mind that?” I asked.

“I prefer it,” he answered.

Years passed and we watched Capitan Holiday grow older, and I watched James grow more thirsty for blood, for power, for gold, for adventure, for more.

And, more.

And, more.

We were 24 when he woke me in the middle of the night, when he grabbed my shoulders and whispered,

“I found it, Smee, it’s time.”

I followed him sleepily out to the deck in the early hours of the morning. The sun had yet to rise. The night wasn’t quite over. All the men were asleep.

I stared in disbelief as James showed me the fairy clasped in his palms.

“She will bring us to Neverland,” he whispered, “Are you ready?”

I stared.

“But…but my home,” I said.

“Smee, this is our chance,” he insisted, “Don’t you want adventure? Don’t you want us to be the captains of our own ship? Of our own lives??”

I looked around at the men who had been my family. I thought of Bobby Sullivan below and how heartbroken he would be without so much as a goodbye.

James’ eyes bore into me and without another word, he pressed his lips to mine. He held me in his arms.

And every hesitation, every thought of those around us, slipped from my mind until there was nothing left but him.

I regret nothing, you know.

Loving him was, by far, my greatest achievement.