Before me is a table filled with mismatched china and floral patterned tea cups filled and spilling tea on a white linen tablecloth. Scattered around the spilling tea are cakes on pedestals, pies on silver rimmed plates and brightly painted sugar cookies stacked higher than the vase of wilting flowers at the center. And I realize that I've prepared the meal, but I can't enjoy it. At the head of the table is the one who broke my heart and to his right is his friend. They're both speaking but it's complete nonsense. They're laughing as if what's being said is funny, but I don't think it's funny at all. Then I realize that I'm holding a small wooden cage with a rabbit inside and to either side of me are my children quietly eating.
The cat paws at my hand. She tells me she needs to go outside. So I pull back the covers and shiver as the cool air hits my shoulders. I follow in a half sleep state, still thinking about the little rabbit in the cage. I open the back door and the cat disappears into the darkness. Halfway across the yard, she turns around and all I can see is her yellow eyes looking back at me.
Another table, an angry woman. Gone are the hazy grays and fragile china. Here see bold hues, strong lines. The whole scene is more feeling than visual landscape. The table is strewn with paper and books stacked too high. She can't seem to be pleased. No matter what I do she needs more. And around her are others who need more. I'm frozen in an overwhelming state of inadequacy. The mad woman grabs the rabbit from my hands and dunks the poor creature in my coffee. I frantically pull him from the cup. Pathetic, dripping wet, his pink nose twitches wildly with cold. My smallest sprite comes from behind me and takes the pitiful rabbit from my hands. She gently wraps him in my scarf and tucks him away in his little wooden cage.
The cat wants back in and the alarm will go off in minutes, so I get up and fix a cup of coffee. I shower, dress, and make pancakes, all the while replaying the bizarre dream. I can't make sense of how real it all felt. I feel silly for trying to analyze my overactive imagination so I leave it alone. I go upstairs to get the girls up, make lunches, and then we leave for school. While sitting in the barely moving traffic, I suddenly understand. "It was a WHITE rabbit!", I say aloud. The girls perk up, "Where? I don't see a rabbit." "No, it's in mommy's mind. I think I've gone mad." "Oh, OK", they say, settling back into their seats, as if this is the most normal thing in the world for their mother to say on the way to school.
He was the Mad Hatter. She was the queen. Even the cat played her part. But I'm fairly certain that I'm the wrong Alice. I'm standing before the looking glass and all I see is the impossibility of it all. The story has been written wrong. It's too much nonsense and far too confusing. I don't care what you think, I'm not the Alice for this story. The pathetic, white rabbit is coffee stained and I can't take care of it.
There's a small hand in mine, the one who wrapped the poor white rabbit in my scarf. She writes me notes and leaves them under my water glass beside my stack of books. Then she flips through the yard, smiling as she plays. And her sister brings me rocks and bright red leaves and shines like a star. I told the boy about my dream. "I think I'm going mad," I say. He laughs, "Probably, but remember, 'we're all mad here' so it's OK."
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