“Pay attention to the bold, it may end up telling the story like it was intended to be told.” – This Writer
THE DAY THE MAD HATTER DIED
(This is to be considered as a time frame)
Here I am.
Waiting for the call of my life.
As I waited while looking, no studying, this motionless painting created by a French painter, no artist, who used nothing but oil paints, a palette knife and a surface, I realized the wait was going to be longer than I realized.
I’ve convicted myself…
I convict myself when I stop thinking. My life becomes unimportant when there is no coherency behind my frivolous speech. I feel to be not alive.
If I stop moving forward in a progressive fashion that is when life isn’t valuable. However, I could never dogmatically tell you what moving forward in a progressive fashion means. Well, I could, but I’m sure you’ll be disappointed by the ending. Ergo, I am writing you today with hopes to explain to you about the events surrounding the death of the Mad Hatter, which ultimately might shed some light on progression, and possibly life and love.
April Forth, the one and only Two Thousand and One. It was the day I found a reason to continue in my journey.
Here’s what’s the matter.
I was walking through this quaint, quite neighborhood in Somerset, Old PA, and heard a sound I had never heard before before some finely composed words raced through my mind. A gasp of warm air in my lungs made me feel exhausted, never mind it made me feel exhausted. Nonetheless, make no doubt about it, it wasn’t the warm air that exhausted me. It wasn’t the sound, which sparked the conscience change, either. It was the mind altering effects of specific words and thoughts. What can I say? Without a thought in my mind Alice was there, she had met the Hatter’s brother. I’d put money on it. I proceeded to sit on a corner and gasp for air, the same air that exhausted me, which gave me the needed courage to stand. I hear that’s a dirty habit. My back left pocket began to vibrate, “The Mad Hatter is dead.” read a text message from an old friend. “This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever read.” I thought to myself. “The Mad Hatter didn’t died. He still lives in Jersey.”
The only shock about the text was such an ostentatious claim. It wasn’t the news, but the claim. He lived in a two story yellow brick house with a wrap around porch, painted green. His front door was too red for him to be dead. He had put shutters over his windows that were painted purple. How he chose the color is a funny story. When we were at a specific home department store shopping for colors, the Hatter asked a sales representative about the most ostentatious color of Purple, I immediately thought he wanted to make a pun about Oprah Winfrey, I was found to be wrong when a color purple from Sherman-Williams and from Behr caught his eye. He chose neither. He made his own. By mixing hundreds of colors together.
New Jersey was beautiful in the Fall. I drove from Old PA. Arrived in NJ. My knees were still weak even after all these years. The drive seemed endless even though it wasn’t a long drive at all. I reached a point in my drive where I smiled in my mind at how beautiful the sky looked against the colors of the trees turning into their natural warm tones.
Once crossing the threshold of his home’s front door you’d see a ultimately awkwardly long narrow hallway, which led you to the back door which led you to his garden, he called his garden ‘Take Some Time’. As you’d naturally turn to your left you’d notice several photographs on the walls surrounding his dining room’s kitchen table, which was just as long as his hallway. He built this house I’m describing for you. You’d see images of me, of course, The Hatter’s brother and Alice, The Queen of Hearts who’d we call Hearts, Kat, Jake Hair, some hippies who always insisted on dressing themselves with clothes with flower patches on them. All the photos were framed with different styles of frames and designs. Most of them were built using wooden materials. God, I missed The Hatter. I know he’s okay. He hasn’t died, he still lives in Jersey. On the kitchen table he’d place the most lavish of meals, consistently surprising all of us with his choices. He held parties at his home he’d call ‘The Happiest Place on Earth’. No one ever missed out. We always made the date. Alice, one year ago, wore her sexiest white apron, with blue piping on it, and strip teased danced for us all while Kat played his banjo. About that time is when I fell in love with Alice. She fell in love with me. But that’s another story. The Hatter would make us all some of his special tea and we’d trip in Take Some Time. He had five bedrooms upstairs. After that one year Alice and I’d always sleep together. We rarely slept but it was what it was. We loved his home…
The rain was stupendous. The rain was perfect. Visually it looked like the clouds were the rain, they were so low. From a distance all I saw was black and purple. Everyone was slow moving. Even the cars everyone came in were moving in slow motion.
One night; As Alice laid upon my bare chest while I strummed her long blonde hair between my finger tips I could hear The Hatter singing in his kitchen. He spoke of life and of love with the sweetest words which fell upon my ears like the most succulent nectar. He hummed. He whistled. He sang. I can still close my eyes, like I did then, and hear his octaves mesmerizing the smell of Alice’s hair into this memory I could never forget about. I can hear the color purple swaying it’s way up the stairs under the crack in between the door and the floor swirling inside our room as Alice’s bare back gleamed in the moonlight.
The French painter was close to The Hatter. She painted several images for him. This one though made it to the top. In my office, after Alice left, I built a wall to remember the greatest days of my life. Mostly art from all of us. Mostly art from my friends. Francois’s piece was at the top. It was an image painted of all of us at The Hatters Choicest Edibles as we posed like it was the last supper. With The Hatter in the middle, as I was on his right side as Alice sat next to me Hearts next to Alice Jake Hair next to Hearts as Jake Hair’s cousin, Steve, was next to Jake Hair and Steve’s love next to him. On The Hatters left side was his brother as then all the hippies sat, which Francois was one of the hippies. She used neon colors and black paints to build our definitions. I was lost looking at it…
Purple riding around like lightning. Purple walking around like antelopes. Time caught back up with me, I guess as it had seemed to stop for quite the time. I was wearing a purple tie The Hatter had bought for me along with my black suit, black shirt which was buttoned up to the collar. My sleeves were kept together by two top hat cuff links on each side. They are made of authentic Silver. To bottom it off I wore black leather wing tip style shoes.
The upstairs hallway was normally illuminated by candle light. I made my way in our room as I was kind of drunk. I opened the door to our room. The incandescent light from the candle showed me Alice and her smooth naked skin laying on our bed as her body seemed to move with the flicking light. I walked in and closed the door. She smiled and laughed. I can still feel her.
It looked like Wonderland but felt like hell. The rain was still steadily causing the man with a white collar to be inaudible, even if my mind was able to keep attended. All the umbrellas covered us over it felt like we were standing under a suspended canopy. I felt a hand covered in black leather slide into mine.
I left my office in a trance. Went to my room and shed my clothes after which blanketing my body in black and purple.
I woke up. I was alone. I was in our bed just making it my bed as I then made it. I panted myself in blue jeans and a white button up collared shirt. Walked towards the downstairs when the brother to The Hatter’s door opened. There was Alice, almost nude, with The Hatters brother laying in his bed. She told me, “I love The Hatters brother.” That was the last time I was at The Happiest Place on Earth. I drove my Silver 1956 Porsche Speedster home to Old PA.
The hand in leather was attached to the hand of the woman I loved, Alice. Her tears were as blue as her eyes. She turned and looked at me. I looked back at her. We looked at each other as the sound of rain drops and the sound of all these umbrellas rubbed together like a symphony as the man with the white collar went silent. They lowered The Mad Hatters body into the earth. Draping his casket in purple. All the umbrellas left until it was just Alice and I. She showed me a moon crescent smile my way. “I’m happy you came.” Alice whispered. Those words exploded my heart. I stared at her. She rushed me a hug that would not quit. As the rain dissipated I eventually dropped the last umbrella present. She whispered to me, “I love you.” I pulled her back enough to see her sharp blue eyes, “It’s a shame it took the day The Mad Hatter to die for you to tell me such words.” She pulled away slowly, expecting me to say something different. Glacier blue tears dropped out from where they were produced, from her icy eyes. She turned and started for her car and driver. I grabbed her hand…
“I never said I wouldn’t return your love.” I kissed her. Holding her like we first met… Saying again and again, “I love you Alice.”
So it goes The Day The Mad Hatter Died.
Dedicated to my Alice, “The One Who Got Away”.
Although the funeral has not engaged itself in my life as of yet.