Page 5 of Madness Becomes Her
“Right on time,” Lewis says as he sits across from me, tucking into a chair like nothing happened in the last few moments.
“Thank you,” I tell the man when he opens a napkin and places it on my lap.
I don’t know where I am, how I got here, or who these people are. But I know one thing: I’m glad I was on time.
CHAPTER TWO
MADNESS IS CATCHING
Tea time is hectic. So many conversations are happening simultaneously, and none of them seem to make good sense.
A duck sitting caddy corner to me is angry that her shoes wandered off again; when how did they wander off in the first place without her feet inside them?
That conundrum perplexes me until the badger beside me tells me that a frog at the market told him that the second Tuesday in April is the worst Tuesday around when he thinks the third Tuesday in December is clearly the worst.
It’s madness, the lot.
Somehow, I’m perfectly okay with it.
The man beside me takes it all in. He never adds or takes away from any conversation; he only seems happy to be amongst friends.
His face is painted white, and his hair is a dark chestnut. His ethereally green eyes are so round and captivating that I could get lost in them. I mean… someone could, but not me.
I have to find my way back to reality.
To my reality.
Not whatever this is.
“Where am I?” I finally gain the nerve to ask.
The man’s green eyes widen as he looks at me. “Wonderland.” He says it as if I should know that.
“Is this hell? I mean, I fell through the world. I fell so far.”
“Sometimes, one must fall far away from their path to find their center,” he says, as if he’s given me some life-altering advice.
“How do I get home?” I ask him. “How do I leave Wonderland?”
His green eyes harden as he snaps them toward me. His hand holds his teacup perfectly still against his lips. “Wherever could you want to be other than here?”
I swallow. The tea’s notes of orange and jasmine linger on my tongue as I grapple for an answer. “I have a life up there.”
“Had.” He says it matter-of-factly, as if I’ll never return.
Sadness curls in my chest, but then I stop and wonder why.
I have nothing to go back to. I had nowhere to go.
I only had people who didn’t want me or people who had me and didn’t know how to treat me.
“Drink your tea,” he tells me, and I denote the kind tone of his voice as I nod, wiping away a tear. “Tea will make it better. It always does.”
The afternoon slips away, and I try to keep a handle on my sanity; I really do.
The conversations around the table are absurd. And by the time that tea is over, it’s getting dark.
The man I’ve come to know as Hatter stands, and the entire table disperses, saying goodbye and heading off in every direction.
