"She didn't recognize me. She didn't recognize me..." thought Piotruś, walking away from the spot where he'd met Barbara. "She didn't recognize me, nor my hand, nor the scar from the hook..." he whispered, his head sinking lower and lower. When it was completely low, he propped her up, first with his left knee, then his right, then his left, then his right... and so, propping her up, he walked toward a nearby parked car. Suddenly, he stopped and slapped his forehead, the noise waking Marucha, the forester, sleeping beyond the mountains, near a supermarket.
"I know now why she didn't recognize me. She's forgotten me. She doesn't need Peter Pan anymore. No one needs him... And I so wanted to see her, talk to her, sit shoulder to shoulder, and listen to the silence... like we used to," he said to himself, carefully avoiding the cow patties.
Firstly, he didn't want to get his shoes dirty, and secondly, he knew that in every patty, a little bird lived, surrounded by its court of flies. And you know how it is with birds. Piotruś didn't want any of them on his conscience.
He carefully reached the parking lot, stopped, and looked at his patent leather shoes. They were a bit dirty, so he pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped the toe of his left shoe. The tissue was recently used, but he managed to clean the surface until it gleamed like an Adam's apple. As he moved to the other shoe, he felt something nipping at his right little toe. He untied the laces, stood on his left foot, and pulled off the shoe. He placed his right foot, wearing a black sock, full of hope for a bulb, on top of his left foot. And he stood there, looking like a stork or some martial arts master. Piotruś didn't think twice about it, just reached inside.
"Where are those paws!!!!!!" roared from inside. "What's all this groping?!?! Just because we go together doesn't mean you can get away with too much!!!!!!" came an angry voice from inside.
Piotruś quickly extended his hand, causing him to lose his balance and fall awkwardly. Luckily, he landed on the grass. In a few hours, he had a meeting with a key client about increasing sales, and if he had fallen on the dusty parking lot, he wouldn't have looked professional. His commission would probably have gone to hell, and on top of that, he'd have to chase after the target again.
So Piotruś luckily landed on the grass, right next to the cow patty, and as he fell, he dropped the shoe with that terrible sound. A small stone rolled out from inside – a pebble. Piotruś looked at it, at the shoe, at it, at the shoe again...nothing, silence. He picked up his patent leather shoe, put his hand inside, and again nothing. No sound, nothing that might have bothered his little finger. He raised it to his eyes and peered inside, but he didn't notice anything.
"How long are you going to stare at that three-hundred-and-one shoe of yours? Maybe you'll smell it again, eh? I assure you, nothing interesting. I have that every day."
Piotruś quickly looked around to see who was speaking. He glanced at the trees, the nearest cloud, the burning bush, the spreading couch grass, until he noticed a boulder staring at him next to the cake.
"Oh! Smart guy, he finally noticed me!!! Hurray!" the stone mocked Piotruś.
Piotruś became angry. He didn't like being made fun of, especially since he had conducted a thorough and methodical search for the voice's owner. From the top down to the ground. From the sky down to the cake. There was no randomness in this search, only carefully planned action. After all, he's the best sales manager in the corporation for a reason. It was this systematic approach, consistency, and hard work that made him number one in the last quarter. They even wrote about him on the intranet. And now he stands there with one shoe on, listening to some piece of rock mocking him. No respect. Piotruś was seriously angry and was about to kick a rock and send it flying to Mr. Twardowski to the moon so he could place it in his garden.
"Okay, Piotruś, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. You're the best rep in the corporation," the pebble retorted.
"Not a rep, but the best manager," Piotruś corrected, still furious.
"Oh, sorry, yes, yes, the best sales manager in the world," the pebble corrected himself. "The best, the best," he fervently assured.
"Okay, okay," said Piotruś, pleased at being praised, "I won't kick you out, but if you prove disloyal again, you know what awaits you..."
"I know, I know," replied the stone, and fell into a musing mood. He leaned against a thistle stalk and gazed thoughtfully at the sky at the clouds playing tag.
Meanwhile, Piotruś had cleaned his right shoe, put it on, and laced it up. He stood up, brushed off the grass, and looked around.
"What a beautiful day," he said to himself.
"Peter, who are you?" the stone suddenly spoke up.
"What do you mean? The best sales manager in the corporation," Piotruś replied immediately, and briskly walked to his company car. And he walked away faster and faster...
"Does Barbara know about this?!" – the stone called after him – "Does the Tin Soldier, to whom you promised to bring Dorothy home, know about this?! Who are you now, Peter, that Barbara doesn't recognize you, that you can't hear the pancakes singing and can't read the messages written in the moonlight...? Why don't you come home to your friends who are waiting for you and miss you!!! Miss you!!!!! For you!!!!!!!!!!
And why are you leaving me, Peter Pan..." the little stone concluded quietly and sadly.
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