Page 3 of Cleats and Pumps

When I turned and saw the giant caterpillar, I laughed out loud. Einotcha Bey was the queen who ran all the shows at The Queen’s Cut. She had flirted with me so hard it became a running joke with the queens and go-go boys who worked there.

Einotcha was at least six-two, maybe more, weighed well over three hundred pounds and was at least twice my age. She wasn’t my type, but I adored her. Regardless, I learned early on not to get too close if I didn’t want her hands exploring the recesses of my body.

“Baby,” caterpillar Einotcha said, drawing my attention. “It took you long enough to get here. Now, you know what to do, eat that mushroom over there.”

Unlike normal, Einotcha was dressed in a caterpillar outfit. The colors were psychedelic, covering her whole body, even with a hood that sprouted antennas.

“How do I get out of this dream?” I asked, only to get a laugh from her.

“Child, you know ain’t nothing that easy. If you want this dream to end, you need to find yourself, Linc—find your inner diva. And while you’re at it, put some clothes on.” His smile grew more mischievous. “Not that I’m complaining.”

I looked down and realized for the first time since I started dreaming, I was stark naked. To the laughter of Einotcha, notknowing what else to do, I rushed to where the mushrooms were, plucked one, and tossed it into my mouth.

Even in my dream, my head spun, and the world went black.

When I woke, I was lying on the floor of the same ‘hobbit hole’ as before, but I was wearing an ugly yellow sequined gown that likely would’ve fit Einotcha. It was way too big for me. I looked closer and laughed when I saw the sequins were, in fact, tiny little mushrooms.

Now, I could reach the table that held the key. I picked it up, went to the door, and opened it. The shrooms meant I was the perfect size to pass through.

There were a lot of ups and downs in the dream. Where my mind couldn’t remember the details of the story, it filled in the gaps with bizarre scenes. Each of the scenes held a piece of clothing for me. Although, nothing fit properly.

By the time I got to the Mad Hatter’s tea party, I was wearing lace gloves, stilettos that were impossible to walk in, and multiple strings of pearls some fishlike creature gave me when I passed through a walled garden and saved it from the clutches of a screeching bird.

I caught sight of myself in a mirror. It was labeled ‘mirror,’ but it had been crossed out, and someone had handwritten ‘looking glass’ underneath. I looked like I’d gotten lost in a thrift store. My hairy legs showed under the gown, and my beard made it clear I was never going to be confused with anything but the hillbilly redneck I was.

I walked to where the Mad Hatter, a woman I’d met in college who called herself a drag king, danced around the table. “Linc, you made it!” he crooned, then took his top hat off and bowed.

“Hello, Michell.” That was the name he went by in drag—otherwise, she was Michelle. Not original, I know.

“Sit, sit, we’re about to begin,” he said, pointing to a chair painted in an array of colors. Not in any artistic way; more of a,this is the paint we have left, so let’s paint it haphazardly on these chairs, sort of way.

I sat and laughed as I looked around the table to see many of the creatures I’d encountered on the way. The mouse who had joined rabbit Mr. Hendrix in yelling at me for throwing pebbles at his house sat on the table in a teacup, clearly drunk off his ass.

“Hey, what’s in this tea?” I asked, only to have the entire party look at me, annoyed. They ignored me and went back to their merriment.

I watched each creature perform ridiculous acts, mostly reciting poetry that made no sense. The Mad Hatter did a strange hat trick I’d seen in circus acts, but with teacups sitting on top of each of the hats, and of course, he was horrible at it. The teacups kept falling off and shattering on the ground.

Finally, after way too long, the party was over, and the mad hatter and his rabbit companion unceremoniously told us to leave.

“Wait, don’t you have something clothing-wise to give me?”

The entire group stopped and turned toward me. “Linc, did you just ask me, The Mad Hatter, to give you a hat?”

The group tittered, but I shrugged. What else could I do? “Um, I guess.”

“Brave of you,” the drunk mouse said.

“Yes, very brave,” a giraffe-like creature I hadn’t met until we got to the tea party agreed.

“Why, why is it brave?” I asked.

Michell sighed. “I’m afraid my hats have a mind of their own. One never knows what might happen when one is applied to one’s head.”

I cocked an eyebrow, not just at how many times he’d said one, but also, not knowing what I was getting into.

“So, what, I’ll shrink or grow big again?”

“No, nothing so drastic. Here,” Michell said, throwing a red top hat with pink lace ribbon around it into the air. It landed squarely on my head.

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