The Had Matter

“I just don’t understand where this aggression is coming from, Alice. The man has extended an invitation to you, and it’d be rude not to accept. Now, you just march yourself straight up to your room and stay there until dinner’s ready. You’re going, and that’s final.”

Alice turned on her heel and reluctantly soldiered to her room, making sure as she went to express her disdain in every way possible; stamping her feet, crossing her arms, heavily sighing and pouting, and muttering such things as, “it’s not fair,” and, “you just don’t understand.”

Once in her room, she sat on her bed, immediately falling back with her arms still crossed, and began weeping. She would never cry anymore without considerable provocation, as crying can be a dangerous business. Nonetheless, she feverishly fixed her eyes upon the ceiling and freely wept. How could she help her aunt to understand? What could she say that would make any sense to a grown up about how she knew what she knew, and why she didn’t want to attend? She wept bitterly at the prospect of the tea party and at the isolation of her situation.

Eventually, her tears subsided. Alice was left feeling slightly dizzy and somewhat disoriented. Mostly it was on account of all the crying, but it certainly didn’t help that she had already slept through breakfast and had now refused lunch in her futile attempt at defiance.

Despite that, she remained steadfastly focused on her favorite corner of the ceiling, on the little patch of plaster that had started to crack and peel. The pattern that the cracked plaster had created on the ceiling was curiously close to the shape of a crescent moon (though often, it appeared to her as a faceless smile), and as Alice was reminded once again of her former adventures, she began to replay the tea party over and over again in her mind.

It was a rather discombobulated recollection. Indeed, she could scarcely make any sense of the encounter (which was the common thread in her collective experience of the other world). There was a faint memory of timelessness, an unsolvable riddle, the letter M, and a treacle well, which of course, wasn’t even a real thing. The only thing she could be certain of were her parting words. “I’ll never go there again.”

It was her final words and the feeling that attached itself to them that rang clearly in Alice’s memory. She simply couldn’t subject herself again to the maddening nonsensical gatherings of the Hatter’s tea parties, no matter how trite or redundant her aunt’s insistence would become. But, she could no more explain her refusal to accept the invitation to her aunt than she could assign any logic to it at all. Her oddly lucid adventures of the mad world that seemed to mockingly mirror the one she currently occupied were known only to herself. She knew with all certainty that were she to share her adventures with anyone on this side, she would find herself in the most unpleasant predicament of appearing as mad to them as the world she’d previously occupied had been to her. And so, Alice often suffered in silence, unable, and subsequently unwilling  to explain her uncanny knowledge of things that she otherwise should not have known anything about at all.

By the time dinner was ready, Alice’s indignation had subsided. While she wasn’t ready to surrender, the prospect of a meal made her less amenable to expressing it. So, when her aunt’s voice echoed up the stairwell and flooded her room, she quickly heeded the call and directly took to gobbling her meal in silence. 

Her aunt of course took full advantage of the afforded opportunity to reinforce her stance, that Alice must attend the tea party that Monsieur and Madame Millinery were hosting. It was only proper. She mistakenly, although only half-wittingly took Alice’s silence for submission and began mentally preparing her for the party by going over the details of what Alice should wear and reminded her of such things as table manners, polite pleasantries, and proper procedure. Alice’s concentration, however, centered on the porridge and bread in front of her, and made no allocation for her aunt’s words whatsoever. Therefore, as the day quickly approached, Alice was quite unprepared for the ambush that awaited her.

That morning, Alice’s aunt came into her room, humming a wonderfully melodic tune that lulled Alice as she prepared for the day. Her aunt had made no further mention of the tea party since their dinner discussion the week prior, mostly on account of her not wishing to further argue with Alice about it, but also because she had assumed that Alice was at least half-heartedly listening when she’d laid down the law concerning it. She really had always underestimated Alice in such things. Additionally, it wasn’t entirely unusual for Alice’s aunt to come in with breakfast on a tray, and afterward to help her dress in the morning. It had occurred to Alice at one point that her aunt had been particularly interested in the appearance of her hair that morning, but it was not foreign for her to fret over such things, and the blue and white dress that she chose was her favorite. So, as her aunt fixed the finishing touch of a black headband into place, Alice was oblivious as to what was to follow.

Being promptly ushered down the stairs and into a car that was awaiting her, Alice wondered about it, but her aunt so seamlessly choreographed her avoidance of the topic with her timing of the events as they fell into place, that Alice had little time to properly assess the situation before it occurred to her what was happening. As her aunt closed the motorcar door behind her, she smiled and waved at the already rolling vehicle (which she had previously instructed the driver to do so), and called out, “Oh, have fun, dear! Have fun at the tea party!”

Drats, Alice immediately thought as she quickly put the pieces together. But by then, it was too late. She was already on her way, and there was no recourse at the moment but to resign herself to her feared fate. Reluctantly, she folded her arms with a heavy, rather grown-up kind of sigh, pursed her lips, and began planning her escape.

The Millinery tea party was the social highlight of the elite. It was the equivalent to a ball in fairy tales. No expense was spared and no seat ever went unfilled. It would have been an unforgivable social faux pas to do so. As such, Alice’s appearance at the event was quite expected. Only Monsieur Millinery himself was privy to the whimsicality that her arrival was highly extraordinary, and most unusual.

He reciprocated the honor of her arrival by immediately appearing at the door of the car and holding it open for her, taking her by the hand and assisting her onward. Had he not manifested this gesture, she’d already devised an escape that included bolting the moment the door had been opened for her. 

The other guests at the party took notice of the gesture, as Monsieur Millinery was not in the habit of welcoming guests in such a manner, and one would expect that this kind of treatment would be reserved only for royalty. So when Alice was favored in this way, it made her the center of attention, and all of the other guests immediately became interested in her presence, occupying all of her time with trivialities, and scantly leaving her a moment alone. 

This preoccupation was precisely what the host had anticipated and was essential to his plan.  You see, Alice had been somewhat of a nuisance to Monsieur Millinery. He had been accustomed to the run of the realm for ages now. To be more specific, the Millinery family had more money and influence than any other family in the region in which they resided. They’d enjoyed being in the coveted position for as far back as their family fortune had afforded them, and they didn’t take kindly to competition or challenges in that arena. In fact, before Alice, it had been well over a decade since the matter had been contested. The Millinery motto was to keep people at arm’s length, with just enough rope to hang themselves, and not a notch more. They wanted people to know them intimately enough to envy them, but not intimately enough to discover the truth of the matter, that it was all a facade. The illusion was the deception. But, as long as the illusion held out, so did their status, and their prestige, and their power.

Alice was a very unlikely and problematic source of trouble. The imbalance that she’d already caused was enough of a threat  to garner the attention of Monsieur Millinery himself, and so, as the guest list was being proposed mere weeks before, Alice’s name was notably the first attendee on it. He knew that if he addressed the invitation to Alice’s aunt, there would be no question of Alice’s own impending arrival, but he knew better than to assume that it meant that her presence was secured. Therefore, he’d made preparations to lavish upon Alice the full measure of his approval, making certain that all attendees understood the importance of her appearance, though they would not understand why, nor could they. These kinds of matters were solely reserved for those in positions of power.

Alice was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who wished to speak with her and those who desired to remain in her company. However, the people were not talking to her, but rather at her. They weren’t as interested in what she had to say as they were in being seen with her, so there was nothing terribly interesting about any of them, of which Alice responded rather coldly to, which in turn made them all the more attracted to her.

As noon hit, that is, the sixth hour of the day (according to the old time), the guests took their prepared places around the grand table. No detail was overlooked. The exquisitely set table was replete with real silver flatware, true China teacups and saucers, and fancily folded cloth napkins. There were candelabras that held white candles which flickered softly in the somewhat still, outdoor air, and elegantly embroidered name cards placed at each setting which specified its intended guest’s name. Alice’s seat was the highest place of honor after the host’s seat and she begrudgingly sat down without adhering to any of the formally recognized social graces observed by her counterparts. 

Monsieur Millinery clinked a fork gently against a crystal glass and an immediate hush fell over the crowd. 

“I welcome you all to this afternoon’s High Tea, served daintily for your good pleasure.”

He waited for all of the customary nods and smiles and upraised cups to subside before continuing.

“It is my great honor to present to you today a young lady by the name of Alice, who has graciously accepted our invitation to join us for tea. She is most welcomed by the Millinery family, and it is our hope that you also will extend her a most warm welcome.”

Monsieur Millinery never actually announced the reason for the honor, and it would be impolite to have requested such information, so everyone simply nodded their eager approval toward Alice and high tea commenced. 

Alice managed to make it through all the pleasantries and propriety with a sense of quiet dignity, being just as perplexed as the other guests as to why she was being treated as a dignitary. She resisted the impulse to escape three times while sitting at the table, though she wasn’t quite sure why. After high tea concluded, she was straightaway escorted to her motorcar and was returned home. 

Upon her arrival, Alice’s aunt anxiously greeted her. She was pleased to find Alice in the same state of cleanliness as she had been when she’d left the house, and none the worse for the wear. Her aunt took this as a sign of success. She made Alice some lunch, but Alice wasn’t hungry. She climbed the stairs to her room and fell into a deep sleep almost immediately. 

She dreamed of the other world she’d known, with its nonsensical ways and its illogical happenings and relived all the adventures she’d previously experienced  with one notable exception. In this dream, the tea party she attended was changed ever so slightly. While it still remained illogical, there were subtle differences. The tea cups were all clean, though the attendees continued their journey around the table uninterrupted. There were a few more guests occupying the chairs, and the conversations had been faintly altered. She was also less inquisitive of and more attentive to the words spoken to her. Nonetheless, they still had the same effect on her in the end.

Alice slept well into the evening and almost missed dinner entirely, except that her aunt brought up a dinner tray to her room, tenderly waking her from her slumber, and speaking softly and reassuredly to her, which Alice thought to be a bit curious.

Alice ate the dinner and afterwards, she felt better. But, no sooner had she finished eating, she fell back asleep and slumbered straight through the night and past breakfast until mid-morning. She sat up for a moment, fruitlessly grasping at the fleeting memory of her dreams before deciding to get out of bed.

When she’d descended the stairs, she found her aunt standing in the kitchen holding a silver and white envelope with fancy calligraphy writing on it. When Alice asked about it, her aunt started gushing, telling her how it was an invitation to the high tea at the House of Millinery next week, and that Alice’s presence was requested. At once, Alice began to adamantly refuse. Her aunt was baffled by her aggressive resistance. After all, the Millinery high tea was the social highlight of the year, and she would have liked to go with Alice if the invitation had left even a hint of the possibility.

“I just don’t understand where this aggression is coming from, Alice. The man has extended an invitation to you, and it’d be rude not to accept. Now, you just march yourself straight up to your room and stay there until dinner’s ready. You’re going, and that’s final.”

Monsieur Millinery anxiously paced in his corridor, wondering which approach he should attempt next. The girl’s resistance to acceptance was unprecedented. The challenge she presented was a bit unnerving, as he had been accustomed to so easily subduing the feeble attempts at resistance from her predecessors, the other attendees of the tea party that he’d so readily swayed in the past. In fact, why, their very places of honor at the table of high tea were directly commensurate to the level of resistance that they’d displayed. However, even the strongest of them had paled in comparison to Alice. It drove him quite mad to endlessly attempt the same sabotage, each time from a slightly varied angle, with each attempt proving as futile as the last. The only clear result was defeat. But, Monsieur Millinery could no more accept this idea than dear Alice could accept the lie.

What he hadn’t known, what he would never come to know, is that he’d been had. 

The conundrum of Alice and her insistent resistance was the construct of a timeless loop, a prison cell of his own making, a lesson on repeat that would never end because of the hatter’s  own refusal to acknowledge the possibility that one would choose truth over the comfort of prestige and power. He did not, nor could not understand that there was a place beyond the futility of selfishness hidden in the heart of innocence. As a result, he was sure that there was a way that he’d just not thought of yet, a way to deceive her, and to enslave the idea of logic and liberty. And so, round and round he went, continuing always to serve high tea, to bow in pretense, to lie in wait hoping to bait, and consequently to remain a perpetual prisoner of his own devise, never able to escape his own madness.