A Rather Curious Tea Party

“Are you an angel?” I didn’t know how else to refer to the creature standing in front of me. I only knew that this towering being couldn’t possibly be human. Humans didn’t have wings, did they? I certainly didn’t.

I had thought that today was going to be like any other day. Apparently I was very, very wrong. It had started as usual, or I think it had; I’m pretty sure I had the same pumpkin waffles for breakfast I always had.

“I’m not an angel,” The creature answered, “But what are you?”

“Um,” How to reply? “A girl?” Duh. What else would I be? A goddess. A chicken, perhaps. I didn’t feel like a chicken. Was there a correct way to respond to such a strange question? Though I suppose to him (if it was, in fact, a him), my question would be just as strange.

“Well, obviously,” he conceded, “But what card are you? Hearts? Diamonds? Or are you a chess piece?”

“Why would I be a chess piece?” I asked.

“Well, you couldn’t possibly be a creature,” he answered, “Not a bird, or a lizard, or even a hare!”

I don’t know why he thought I was a card or a chess piece. And I certainly hoped I wasn’t a lizard. I glanced around my porch, checking to see if anyone was watching. Except… since this winged boy had appeared, the porch had, in turn, disappeared.

It seemed now that I was in a large room, one that reminded me vaguely of a rabbit hole. If said rabbit liked clocks and cabinets, and pastries and antiques of all odd sorts. There was a bottle on the table with contents that looked rather a lot like raspberry cordial, and a label that simply read DRINK ME. How could I have gotten here?

Maybe I had inhabited somebody else’s body since breakfast this morning. Was I still me? I felt like me. I looked down at my hands and at the hair falling into my face. I looked like myself. But that didn’t necessarily mean I was still, in fact, the same person.

“Excuse me, sir?” I asked as politely as I could, “But would you mind telling me where we are?”

“Well, the Rabbit Hole, of course,” he answered, rather taken aback.

“Yes, yes, but which rabbit hole?”

“Are you suggesting there’s more than one?”

“Well, I’d suggest there are more than two, but you make that seem rather silly. Honestly, I was under the impression that there were hundreds of rabbit holes.” This time I was the one taken aback.

The winged boy shifted on his feet, bending down to my face. “What a curious thing to say.”

“I guess…” I mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze. To my immense relief, he stood back up and clasped his hands together.

“I almost forgot!” He exclaimed, “The Hatter’s tea party! It started at four. Though the time has always been four for the past three months, so hopefully it’s still going on. Would you like to come to a Mad Tea Party?”

It took me a minute to realize the question was directed towards me. I shifted back and forth on my heels.

“What’s the difference between a Mad Tea Party and a normal one?” I wondered.

The boy pondered this for a moment. “I suppose they’re exactly the same except that everyone who attends is crazy.”

I felt slightly offended. “Are you implying that I'm crazy? Because that's a very rude thing to say.”

“Is it?” Another look of confusion. “I wasn’t aware.” He started walking away.

“Wait!” I called out, “Where are you going?”

He turned back, his silvery eyes taking on a slightly annoyed expression. “The tea party, of course. Aren’t you coming?” He disappeared down a dark dirt tunnel. Did he really expect me to follow him? He did, didn’t he?

“Hold up! I’m coming, I’m coming! Mr. Whoever you are. I’m coming!” I hurried after him, stumbling on sticks and stones as I entered the dark tunnel. I was a couple of steps in when I realized the dark tunnel wasn’t dark at all; it was glowing! Hundreds of jellyfish-like creatures bobbed in midair, radiating a candle-like light.

Soon, the boy was back in view, and I could see a light coming from the end of the tunnel. My pace slowed. Was that a breeze I sensed coming down the tunnel? It smelled like sweet grass and… Earl Grey tea? I hoped so. I loved Earl Grey tea.

“Here, put this on.” I looked up at the winged boy, who was holding something rather curious out to me. A maroon tailcoat with jade-green embroidery and a top hat of similar color. “You’re going to want it at the table. The weather likes to play games.”

“I would think the table would like to play more than the weather,” I mused as the boy helped me shrug the coat on. We walked side by side as we exited the tunnel, and I was met by another wondrous sight.

There was an odd assortment of creatures and people gathered around a large rectangular table. The table was set in a large clearing of apple trees in full bloom. It was piled with mismatched china and the most delicious-looking food I had ever seen. Cherry tarts, pumpkin cake, and tea! Earl Grey tea! Though it was an odd purple color.

The people gathered around the table were stranger than the tea. The man at the head of the table was old; his red hair (at least I thought it was red, but maybe it was more orange) was streaked with white. And he was wearing the strangest hat I’ve ever seen; it was large and red and covered with marigolds and tiny scrolls with illegible writing on them. He was laughing profusely at a joke the brown hare next to him must’ve been telling. I really loved the Hare’s blue tail coat.

“Well, if it isn't Mr. Angel,” The hare bellowed, finally noticing us.

The Hatter laughed, “Late! Late! You’re later than the White Rabbit on his wedding day!”

The boy’s brow furrowed, “The White Rabbit didn’t have a wedding day.”

I crossed my arms and glared at the boy. “I thought you said you weren’t an angel.” I hissed.

“I’m not,” he explained. “It’s my name, Iam Angel. Just because someone is named something doesn’t mean they are something.”

“I thought that was exactly what that meant.” A little girl said, lifting her head from her arms, “The Marvelous Master of Muchness was exactly that, a marvelous master of muchness and mousetraps.”

“Now Tillie, that’s just silly!” The hare – who I had decided must be a March Hare – exclaimed, adjusting his yellow coat, “I quite agree with Mr. Angel, my name is March Hare, and I wasn’t even born in March!”

“No, but you went mad in March.” A giant gray mouse mumbled just before he let out a long snore.

“Ooh, you, girl, why are you sitting down?” The Hatter asked.

“My feet are tired, and my dishes are done, and my roses are watered,” I answered sharply, upset by the Hatter’s rude tone.

“Were they white roses?” Tillie asked, big black eyes shining.

“Roses are red,” The Hatter sang under his breath, “And violets are blue…”

“How does any of that give you the right to sit down?” Asked the Hare.

“I invited her,” Iam answered, “That must count for something.”

“What’s her name?” Another girl, identical to Tillie, asked.

“I don’t know, Elsie, but she sure is pretty,” Yet another girl’s head appeared, identical to the other two girls’. I was flattered that she called me pretty. It was quite a compliment when little children called you pretty or smart. They always meant what they said and said what they meant, and meant said and what.

“What is your name, miss?” Tillie asked.

“Rosanna,” I answered, feeling as if roses were blooming on my cheeks.

“Rosanna!” The Hatter exclaimed, “I have a riddle for you: why… is a raven like a writing desk?”

I thought for a minute. It was a rather confusing riddle, but I always liked to think I was good at riddles. Ravens. Desks. Both are black? But a desk wasn’t always black, and I wasn’t sure a raven was either.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Why?”

A smile spread over the Hatter’s face. “I have absolutely no idea!”

“Then why would you ask me?” I was angry now; it was a totally unfair inquiry. “When you don’t even know the answer yourself. You must be mad!”

“You are absolutely correct, my dear.” A grin appeared in thin air, bringing a purple-striped cat with it, “Everyone here is.” I yelped and nearly fell out of my seat. Mr. Angel caught me and glared at the floating cat.

“You needn’t scare her like that, Cheshire.”

Cheshire ignored him. “I have a poem for you,” He said, grin growing somehow wider. “Would you like to hear it?” Did I? It was bound to be strange and curious coming from someone like that cat. Then again, today was full of strange and curious things.

“Yes, please,” I obliged.

The Cheshire Cat cleared its throat,

“There was an old man who lived in a shoe

He was quite uptight, and rather to-do

One day a little boy came by to ask about a cattle

The old man was rather upset and started a butter battle!”

“I don’t think that's quite right at all,” I frowned, “It’s all stuff and nonsense.”

“Or is it nonsense and stuff?” The Hatter asked rather unhelpfully.

“Aren’t those two the same thing?” I replied, folding my hands primly in my lap.

“No,” The March Hare replied, “I already told you! It’s like saying you eat what you are instead of you are what you eat!”

“Well, those two aren’t the same at all!” I exclaimed.

“That’s what he’s been trying to tell you,” Angel explained. I huffed. This was the most confusing conversation I’ve had all day. Tillie and Elsie seemed to be enjoying it, though.

“But what does it mean?” Asked the third sister.

“I suppose that’s up to the eye of the beholder, Elsie,” The Cheshire Cat supposed. Wait, the third sister was Elsie? How had I gotten everything so mixed up? I adjusted the buttons on my coat, embarrassed.

“Rather the ear of the beholder,” The mouse grumbled, opening dreary eyes.

“Or perhaps the mouth of the beholder,” The Hatter giggled, tipping back his chair, “Who wants Te-ea?”

“Earl Grey, please,” Mr. Angel and I replied. The Hatter picked up a china cup for each of us (one with pink roses for me, and one with white wings for Iam) and poured us the heavenly yellow drink. We sat in silence, drinking our tea as Elsie, Tillie, and Lacie began singing a song about Treacle. Or musics, I can’t remember which.

“Mr. Angel,” I whispered in his ear, “Is this a dream?”

Mr. Angel, to my surprise, shook his head. “If it is, it’s not mine or yours.”

“How can you tell?”

“Wonderland dreams are only for children; you and I are nearly adults. Adults don’t come unless it’s real.”

“Real is up to examination here,” I added matter-of-factly. Mr. Angel nodded.

“Of course,” Iam Angel said seriously, “Cheers.”

We clinked our china cups and watched the Hatter get up on the table to dance. It was a rather silly, endearing dance, as he was holding hands with a caterpillar.