THE MAGIC SHOES: 3) A MAD HATTER TEA PARTY

Meltdown Monday Madness

Page eighty-four is the beginning of chapter seven. It reads, “A Mad Tea-Party...”

I’m moving my lips so that the words resonate in my brain. “There was a table set out under a tree of the house. The March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: A Dormouse was sitting between them fast asleep, and the other two were resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head…”

A strange sensation takes hold of me. Suddenly and inexplicably I’m in some type of well or cavity and sliding downward in a circular motion. It’s not unlike a rabbit hole but the aroma surrounding me is something I cannot quite place. It’s… not soil. It is ink! Letters twirl around me—and I hear various snippets of conversation in indistinct voices…

These sensations intensify as I pick up more speed until I land with a gentle thud. I’m plopped into a chair… and… and… and as far as I can tell, I MUST BE AT THE MAD HATTER’S TEA PARTY!!

The table is large but the March Hare, the Hatter and the sleepy Dormouse are crowded together at one corner.

The Mad Hatter sits cross-legged on a chair too large for his frame, his feet dangling over the edge as if he is a child at play and everything about him screams absurdity. His clothes are a patchwork of mismatched fabrics, polka dots that melt into stripes, paisley patterns swirling into checkered lines, colors blending together in a dreamlike haze. His top hat is far too big, decorated with strange symbols, glistening buttons, a sprig of dandelions and a piece of paper that reads "Time's Up!"

The Dormouse seems to exist outside the realm of reality. Its body is oversized and puffy, more like a soft, spherical cloud than an actual animal. The fur is a blend of bright shifting colors—a psychedelic tie-dye pattern that shifts with every movement. I floats gently above the ground, defying gravity, as though it’s not quite tethered to the physical world.

The March Hare is impossibly tall and lanky, his limbs elongated to an almost comical degree. His fur seems to change depending on his mood, flickering between soft pinks, greens and yellows.

“No room! No room!” they cry out upon seeing me.

Bewildered and confused, I look around when I realize something’s missing. However, if I am where I think I am, then someone is missing. “Where’s Alice?” I ask.

“Alice?” says the Mad Hatter, sipping from an oversize teacup that looks too large for him. “Who’s Alice?” He turns to the March Hare. “Do you know anyone called Alice?”

“Alice who?” says the March Hare, his eyes bulging. He throws a biscuit at the Dormouse and wakes him up. “Who’s Alice?”

Then Dormouse drowsily points at me. “He must be Alice.”

“No, no, I’m not Alice,” I say. “Alice is female with long blonde hair and blue eyes. Has she been here yet?”

“Here? Where is here?” asks the Mad Hatter. Around him, objects float and shift unpredictably.

“Your tea party,” I say.

The Mad Hatter checks his large pocket watch. “What day is Alice expected?”

“We expect no one,” says the March Hare, his face full of mischief and confusion. “Every day.”

“Maybe I have fallen down this rabbit hole instead of Alice,” I ponder aloud.

“You mean instead of a looking glass?” squeaks the Dormouse.

“Oh,” I say, focused on the Dormouse. “So you do know who she is?”

“Who? Alice?”

“Yes.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He’s a she.”

“And we’re a we!” says the Mad Hatter gesturing wildly at his fellow tea-partyers.

“And you’re a you!” says the March Hare, pointing at me. “Cup of tea?”

It finally dawns on me that there is no sense to be made at this tea party. This is a mad tea party, and I might as well join the madness instead of challenging its participants. “Thank you. Tea for two,” I say.

“Who is two?” asks the Mad Hatter, talking to the teapot.

“Why, Alice and myself,” I say, patting the chair next to mine. “She’s just a dimension away.”

“Dementia, you say?” asks the March Hare.

“Are you talking about Dee-Dee Dementia?” cheeps the Dormouse.

The Mad Hatter looks up, down and all around. “Where’s Dee-Dee?”

“She’ll arrive after C-C,” peeps the Dormouse.

The March Hare twists in his seat and cups a hand over his eye. “See where?”

“See what?” adds the Mad Hatter.

“See who?” shrills the Dormouse.

The Mad Hatter checks his watch. “See when?”

I throw my hands up in despair. “Why?”

“Why what?” asks the March Hare.

“Why… why am I here?”

“Good question,” says the Mad Hatter. “It’s not like we invited you.”

“Why not?”

“Because we are expecting Alice,” says the March Hare. “And you are sitting in her seat.”

“What?!” I exclaim. “You told me you don’t know who Alice is!”

“Of course we know who Alice is!” squeaks the Dormouse. “How else could we have invited her?”

“Okay, forget about why I’m here,” I say. “How am I here?”

“How am I here?” poses the Mad Hatter.

“Because it’s your tea party,” I say.

“That still doesn’t explain how.” The Mad Hatter crosses his arms defensively.

“Nor why,” adds the March Hare with whimsy.

“But we know when,” yelps the Dormouse knowingly.

“Six o’clock!” they all yell in unison.

“Six o’clock?” says a dismayed voice.

I turn in my chair to see who the new voice belongs to…. and of course it belongs to a scampering white rabbit who seems very disconcerted by what time it is. Catching my own eye, he says, “I’m very late!”

“I know!” I laugh.

“How do you know?” demands the Mad Hatter.

“You kidding? Everybody knows!”

“But how?”

“And why?” adds the March Hare.

“Who’s everybody?” squeaks the Dormouse.

“And where’s Alice?” demands the Mad Hatter, narrowing his eyebrows.

“She’ll be right behind the white rabbit,” I say.

We all look towards the direction from which the white rabbit had been scampering and, sure enough, a girl with long blonde hair and blue eyes appears, trying desperately to keep up.