Day 5 after Trea's Death
I get up from the table and go into Trea's living room. My clothes are worn out and dirty. I am not going out to buy more clothes. I don't even have the money for it. Searching the closet of Trea's, I see casual suits. They do fit him well... I choose the one that reminds me most of him: A dark grey suit with a lighter grey shirt. And a dark grey hat to match. He would have looked amazing in it. Of course, while everything everywhere is black, white, and grays anything Trea is in full color. I don't know why. But it is completely unavoidable. I hold the suit closely, tightly, and take in the scent. These clothes are going to be the last place I'll ever be able to find his scent. I slip on the suit and leave the shirt's top button undone. A tear slips down my cheek. It's too big in the arms, legs, and waist. Too bad I don't have high heels to make the pants less long. And I've always liked long sleeves being too long. I take a look in a mirror. I look comical, if I felt in the mood for laughing, that is. If I would just brush or comb my hair, I might actually look ok. What do I care, though? It's not like I have anyone to look ok for any more.
I berate myself. I have me to look ok for. Trea wouldn't want me feeling this way all the time. He'd be pained to know that I've been in such a pitiful-oh-me-why-me state over him. Although, if you asked me, he should feel flattered that he means that much to me. Picking up Trea's brush, I fix my hair. I will go out, after all. I'll find me some heels and some food. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can do this. I open my eyes again, turn the handle, and walk out the door.
The sunlight is warm on my face and hands. When did I last feel sunshine anywhere? I honestly can't remember... The birds are singing, too. I can't remember the last time when I just sat back and listened to them. Has the worlds really gone on without me? When it seemed to me that everything was at a complete standstill? Even in this place, it is impossible for the world to stand still when there is grieving. I almost turn back around. No. I will go to the market square anyways. I keep walking.
And has thou slain the Jabberwalk? Come to my arms, my beamish boy... Ha! Yeah, right. And who is to tell me to come to their arms? A part of the poem that will never be seen, never come to be. I guess that I can't expect something so old, so common to be true in every imaginable way possible.
I arrive to the market square. The green stripped tent, the only place with color. And the little bit of red at the top. I shake my head. I'll contend with it later.
I look around the square, searching for a place to get the heels from. To my right, I see a big sign that says: Shoe maker and Repair Shoppe. Well, that must be it. I walk in the tent. I stop, half-way inside the shop. Shoes and materials are strewn in every which way. It's exactly like Trea's Hat tent! Well, with shoes instead. I'd have never guessed anyone anywhere would have a shop just like Trea's. I shake my head and go to the shoe maker.
"Hello, miss, how may I be of assistance to you?" a young-ish man says to me.
"I want some high-heels," I reply.
"Ah... any specific kind of heels in mind?"
"A pair that are nice enough to go with most anything and are comfortable enough to wear all day, every day." He raises his brow slightly.
"Are you expecting boot-like heels, typical heels, or spike heels?" I'm silent a moment, mulling it over.
"Boot-like heels are the most likely to be both comfortable and practical," I settle on.
"Are you sure you want only one pair of heels? Most want a pair for dress ups and special occasions, and another set for everyday wear, and another pair for getting dirty or working."
"I'm sure. If I want more, I'll come back for the others." He looks at me curiously.
"What is wrong?" I give him a quizzical look.
"What do you mean what is wrong?"
"Most women love shoes and can't get enough of them. When they want only one pair for every day and all occasions it usually means something is wrong."
"I've never been much of a shoe person. That's all." And yet, he's right. Something is wrong. Trying to clear my head noticeably, I say, "So, can you make my heels?" The shoe maker shrugs his shoulders.
"Sure. What do I get in return?"
"I don't know what fair would be for you. For anyone, really. Where I come from, we trade things and services for what we call money."
"Bah, that's useless here." I some how figured that.
"Ok, so what would you want to trade for, then?" He thinks about it carefully, eyeing me, trying to size me up.
"I've seen that suit before..." he mutters under his breath. His eyes then light up. "A hat! Get me a hat from Hatter!" Pain sears through my chest and I look down.
"..." my mouth open, with no sound coming out, and I taste iron under my toung. My eyes begin to well up. Knock. It. Off, I command myself. He doesn't know. "I can't," I finally force out. He looks me over again.
"Then why are you wearing his suit?" I try to maintain my composer, taking slow, shaky breaths.
"Are you going to make the shoes or not?" I snap at him. The shoe maker stares at me suspiciously.
"Did you steal the suit?" I laugh at him scornfully.
"No! Why would I ever want to do that?"
"I'm serious. I don't serve thieves." The look on his face tells me he's serious.
"Do you really need to know why I can't get the hat for you from Hatter and why I'm wearing his suit?"
"Yes."
"To make the shoes?"
"Heels! And yes. If you can't get the hat because he doesn't know you and you stole that suit, I am refusing to make it."
"Fine," I relent. Ugh, since when are shoes such a big deal? "Hatter was killed by the Jabberwalky, whom I killed too late. I was very close to Hatter, and I can't bring myself to get rid of anything that is his. I wear his suit because it is the closest I'll ever be to him!" I glare at the shoe maker. "My bitter sorrow ought to be more than enough to trade for a pair of stupid heels!" I spat. "I will not pay you more than that."
The shoe maker looks at me wide eyed. "Ha- Hatter? The King? Is gone?" It catches me off guard every time some one calls him King. "Ho-" he takes a deep breath. "How long?"
"I don't know. Its been five days that I've out-rightly known about it. Maybe six. I have lost all sense of time since."
"How close were you??? To Hatter?" His eyes are troubled.
"Closer than friends should ever be." His expression turns from one of grief into pity.
"I had no idea..." he starts.
"I know. Few know anything about it yet."
"Who knows?"
"So far, only March Hare. Unless he's told the others."
"What others?"
"When the time comes, you'll know. Everyone in Miser-land will know then." He takes in a sharp breath at what I called his home place: Miser-land. I swallow back the pain. "Just make the shoes for me, will you?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Right away, your Majesty." I feel my eyes well up.
"Do me one more favor."
"Yes, your Majesty?"
"Do not equate me with royalty. Not with the King..." I can't finish the sentence.
"Yes, Ma'am," he says with understanding. "Come back tomorrow to pick the shoes up." I nod my head briefly in acknowledgement and walk back to the house quickly. I don't want to be recognized.
No comments:
Post a Comment