If A Latte Foams in the Forest

Her mother sent her out to find a broken television. Out in the woods behind their house, there were numerous broken pieces of electronics scattered between the trees. Some covered in moss, some not. Trisha had her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. Her fake suede boots were pinching a little at her heels, but she’d break them in on her errand. She placed her cowboy hat slightly askew on her head. Its color helped bring out the warm tones in her cable knit sweater that were offset by her cold butter leggings that she’d ordered online just a few days earlier. Her mother had started coughing up blood that morning, but Trisha was sure the ailment would resolve itself now that autumn had arrived. Her mother flailed in the summer the same way every woman in their family did. They were not a summer family. Winter was a passable season for them, and spring could be survived, but autumn was when they bloomed. Trisha opened the backdoor to their converted farmhouse and took in a bucketful of fresh air. Her mother screamed something about a pumpkin man, but she paid it no mind. She had a broken television to locate. Once its cracked screen was placed lovingly in front of her mother, everything would begin to set itself right.

Half a mile into the forest, she discovered she was thirsty. The Stanley Cup she’d brought with her was nearly empty. She’d filled it with a PSL latte, but as soon as she had her first sip, the thirst overpowered her, and she consumed nearly all of it in just under a minute. She told herself it didn’t matter. As soon as she found the object of her quest, she’d turn around and head home where there would be many, many more lattes waiting for her now that she’d purchased the required machines to make them using her dead father’s credit card. Her mother warned of bats who come in the night and demand payment for debts from beautiful young women, but Trisha knew that was just a myth. Somewhere above her a bird was startled and several leaves fell onto her cowboy hat. She lightly shook them off only to see that they were droppings. Part of her wanted to scream, but she wouldn’t let the calm of a September day be ruined by her own skittishness. Besides, wasn’t it all nature? And wasn’t nature beautiful? One dropping was a strange color. A dark red. She was careful not to step on any of it as she made her way deeper into the forest.

Non-functioning items could typically be found near a brook, which caused Trisha to search for the sound of dribbling water. She thought she was getting close when she raced off the path to her left and came upon a bear urinating against a tree. The bear was wearing a gamboge sweater. Trisha looked away while the bear relieved itself. When it was done, she asked the creature if it had seen any broken televisions in its travels that day. The bear spoke with a soft voice, and whispered to her that cats were collecting all the broken televisions, blenders, and air fryers for themselves.

“They’re carrying them deep into the woods,” the bear said, “And placing them at a makeshift altar they’ve constructed honoring the Cheshire Cat.”

Trisha was afraid of this. Alice in Wonderland took over the cultural consciousness every so often, and when it did, various animals in the forest would begin acting out of character. No wonder the bear was wearing such an ugly sweater. Trisha could see it now. The cats would collect everything in the forest that was of any interest to anyone, and then mushrooms and moss would be the only things left. She reapplied her chapstick, and asked the bear where this “altar” was located.

“I wouldn’t go looking for trouble, Alice,” said the bear, already letting the Carroll story seep into its mind. Trisha had never been named Alice. When she was born, she was named Gertrude, and then changed it when she turned thirteen. Her mother still called her Gert from time to time, and when she did, Trisha refused to feed her for a few days. A person’s transformation into someone fantastical must be celebrated. And distribution of forest offerings was paramount to a well-balanced ecosystem. She would find the altar and explain to the cats that they were not entitled to get everything they wanted.

No one was.

The bear directed her to a spot in the forest that looked over a small chasm. It was another hour’s walk, and Trisha wouldn’t reach it until evening. Part of her thought about heading home and coming back during the day time when the cats would be out scavenging, but she didn’t like to return home empty-handed. Whenever she did, her mother would laugh at her failure and then recite entire episodes of Unsolved Mysteries.

No, Trisha would get what she came for.

She smelled the altar before she saw it. A deep, smokey fog began to seep through the tree trunks. Trisha used her scarf to cover her mouth. Pushing through a hobblebush, she found herself in a small clearing right at the edge of the chasm’s drop. Looming in front of her was a tower of broken televisions. Cracks ran down every screen. Some had multiple cracks, missing knobs, and the occasional snapped antenna. Laying down in front of the tower were around two dozen cats. Their eyes appeared to be closed, and Trisha thought she could hear them purring.

What was making them so happy?

Trisha carefully made her way to the tower. It was around eight feet high, but there were other, smaller broken televisions on the ground near it forming a kind of semi-circle. Her plan was to grab one of the tv’s and return home. While she still believed that the felines needed to be spoken to about their hoarding, now didn’t seem to be the time since they were clearly in some kind of trance. Besides, she was hungry and her feet hurt. She could feel blisters forming and there was a canker sore on the inside of her bottom lip where she bitten it by accident while eating a pumpkin spice muffin. Her arms itched from the dry water at the house, and the stubble under her armpits was bothering her. Life was just a never-ending process of falling apart while the leaves changed and the snow fell and the rain poured and the sun scorched and all of it over and over again, but she was determined to enjoy it all. Not like her mother, who merely saw it from a window. Trisha would be out in it. She would fearlessly breathe and step and confront--if necessary.

The smallest broken television seemed to be one near a tabby cat that had its back arched and its claws outstretched. She decided she would grab that one and briskly back away from this obscene gathering. Trisha had no religion aside from autumn. Her religion was cable knit and golden honey and almond brown and red oak and cinnamon and chili on the stove and stews and soups and fireplaces and coffee shops and coffee dates and harvest moons. A group of hypnotized cats worshiping a broken Babel tower that wouldn’t even turn on seemed deranged to her.

Trisha grabbed the small, red television, and that was when she heard the hissing. It was coming from behind her. The tabby was still calm, but one of its brethren had awoken. Soon, she could hear another hiss and then another. She dared not turn for fear of what she might see. That smoke she’d been smelling seemed to adjust itself. Now it smelled like nutmeg and cloves. Trisha felt as though she were going mad, and that felt understandable.

How could she be expected to stay sane when it was so dark, so early?

Something sharp struck the back of her boot. There was an intake of breath, and then she felt herself falling. She tried to remember how long Alice spent falling, but she couldn’t.

It had been years since she’d read that book.