The Queens Tea

By S. Hileman Iannazzo

Upon receiving the invitation my stomach churned with dread. The brightly colored stationary that weighed heavily in my hands felt much more like a summons than a polite demand of my time. My name and the request were scribbled hastily, and nearly inscrutable. Of course, I didn’t need to fuss over the script, because at first glance, I knew exactly what it was. I’d never seen one before, but I had heard the rumors of such lavish luncheons, hosted by an ever elusive monarch. I wondered briefly why I had been chosen to attend, surely my company would be considered dull and ruin such an occasion. Still, when the Queen invites one to tea, one does not refuse. To not accept would be unacceptable. To annoy the Queen would permanently place one outside of her good graces. Even as I was scared to death to sit and partake with the sovereign, I feared more a lifetime of being outside her good grace. Previous guests to previous events who, on purpose or by accident, displeased her Royal Highness, had all gone on to suffer all varieties of malaise. The Queens’ reputation for impatience and temper was wildly gossiped about in hushed whispers in dark corners for fear of being overheard.

I was able to discern that my attendance was required that very afternoon! I trembled as I rushed to my wardrobe to scramble for suitable attire. A visit with the Queen, as told by those who went before me, begged the invited to prepare for whatever whim the Lady fancied. I had no way to know if I should wear my most formal or perhaps a summer linen? Would we lunch indoors or outdoors? Need I wear gloves or a hat? With the clock ticking against my favor, I panicked and grabbed at a floor length crimson afternoon dress. It brushed at my ankles but hid my only pair of ‘dress shoes’, which was lucky as my only decent choice were loafers, leather and suited more for an outing to the beach. ‘They would have to do’ I thought to myself as I preened shamelessly in the mirror. My hair was a desperate lost cause even as I pasted it down with goop bought at the drugstore. I had time for one last glimpse before rushing out the door, and down the gardens path towards the teahouse that I may meet the Queen. I was thankful our adventure would not be held at the palace, and prayed I was graceful and able to endear myself to HRH, after all I feared a lifetime of melancholy.

To my surprise and dismay, my journey to dine with the Queen was brief. In only a few minutes I arrived at the establishment.

A concierge took my coat and escorted me to a table in the very back of the restaurant. The table was adorned with beautiful dishes, and those dishes were adorned with beautiful painted mythical creatures. As I sat and placed my napkin on my lap, I noticed that my own place setting was decorated with sea creatures and dolphins. The handle of my cup resembled the tail of a mermaid. I steadied myself, checked my posture and only then realized I was not to be the only guest. Seated to my left, sitting silently, with an everlasting frown upon his brow, was a bear of a man; So rude that he did not stand at my arrival or introduce himself at all. The woman seated to my right was also quite unaffected by my presence. She was dressed all in a blush pink color, and had not bothered to remove her hat. I mumbled a quiet hello and taking their cue, I sat stoically and painfully uncomfortable. I averted my eyes from everything except the empty chair across from me. No one at the table so much as sneezed or cleared their throat, and I found their perpetual quiet rattled my nerves.

I heard her approach moments before my eyes clapped sight of her. A ruckus, that I could not describe, except to say that there was a high pitched laugh followed by a beastial growl, and some shouting.

The ornate velvet drapes to the rear of our table parted, and at long last I saw with my own eyes, our Queen. HRH was petite, and when she removed her pale blue headpiece, her golden hair bounced up and down, held loosely in place by elastics. The rumors of her undeniable beauty did her no justice, as hers was the face of angels, like the cherubs painted on the glass of a chapel's window.. At once I felt foolishly overdressed as she pranced about in a layered skirt of tulle, knee high rubber boots and a cardigan sweater that was two sizes too small. She was flanked by two servants, who never looked up from looking down at their feet. They were nameless and may as well have been faceless as well for they blended into the background, as was certainly intended.

I paid no attention to my fellow guest as I rose to curtsy and bowed my head in reverence.

“Sit!” was the only greeting HRH was to bestow on me. Instinctually I sat, and as I did so I realized that the bear of a man and the woman in pink had not even attempted to acknowledge the Queens’ arrival at all. I pitied them, knowing that this snub would not be forgotten, and in some fashion they would be forced to repent.

I struggled to find the right words to greet the mighty ruler and to thank her for her hospitable company, but before I could spit out a sound, HRH caught my gaze and smiled broadly. She plucked a tiny brass bell from the center of the table and rang it violently. Almost immediately the staff were bringing out trays of colorful desserts. Cakes and cookies of all imaginable types, candies and a great many confectionary masterpieces were laid out before our party. A man wearing a jaunty hat and a striped suit poured warm chocolate into our tiny fragile cups.

I felt my eyes widen at such a display. Slightly embarrassed I wondered if the Queen could tell I had begun to salivate. My nervous gut that had preceded this affair left me empty and hungry. I was about to serve myself a slice of butterscotch cake, when a small hand reached across the small table and deposited a fistful of tiny red candied fish into my mermaid teacup, overfilling the warm cocoa onto the saucer and table beneath it.

“EAT ISH'' the queen proclaimed, and so I, a humbled peasant, complied. HRH was obviously tickled with herself as she set about handing “Ish'' to the other guest. “A mooora?” she asked me; “Yes Please” I answered as finally my fear had subsided and I began to let my guard down. “All White” She said with an unexpected charm. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief and good will as we gorged ourselves on fried potato chips and green jello, jelly beans and candy bars. The others at our table proved to be devastatingly boring and the Queen and I soon ignored them purposefully, except to eat with our sticky hands from their neglected plates.

We were getting along quite well as we made a pigsty of our settings. I knew I was suffering the most wonderful high brought on from the pounds of sugar we devoured. I began to sing silly songs, and HRH giggled. We held a spitting contest from our chairs, the Queen cackled in delight when spittle soon covered the lady in pink’s fine dress. “A Me?” She asked. “What’s that?” I asked, though I was quickly learning and mimicking her distinct accent. “A Me?” she said again. I shrugged cheerfully and took a big swallow from my mermaid cup. When I looked across the table at my hostess, I stifled a laugh as she was presently sitting in her chair, upside down, balancing with her hands as she sat on her head like that for a lengthy portion of our occasion, asking me to join her in her upside down view of the world. I was unable to comply, as myself betrayed me, my body aged and tired, as hers was young and sprite, alas I could not see the world as she did. I wished with all my might to relive the part of my life that she was now thoroughly relishing. Knowing the truth, instead I changed my wish that she never lose that spark of childhood that so many of us forfeit with time. She seemed to understand my shortcomings, and was content with my encouragement and glee. As the afternoon wore on, my face ached from smiling and my stomach cramped from laughing. It struck me as odd that all of the gossip mongers failed to mention HRH's penchant for tomfoolery and utter nonsense. I was delighted in her company, and she in mine.

The foodstuffs were removed from the table, and the other guests were escorted from the room.

“Ah Pay Doh”? She asked, finally tipping herself in the oversized chair to sit on her knees. Admittedly I did not know what “Pay Doh” meant, but I readily agreed to participate. If she could have snapped her fingers, I'm sure she would have, but lacking that skill she rang the tiny bell again. PAAAAYY DOHHHHH” She screeched. Seconds had barely passed when three servants deposited a bevy of plastic yellow lidded cups and plastic ‘tools’ were delivered. ‘Oh yes’, I thought to myself, my advanced age wasn’t so severe that I was ignorant to the playthings presented to the Queen and I. We set about creating butterflies and snakes and tiny slices of pizza with the modeling clay. No sooner did HRH have before her a doughy specimen, she would immediately begin cutting it to bits with a dull plastic knife. I cheered aloud to her amusement. She gathered a small lump of clay in the palm of her hand and yelled “Haaa-Choooo!” before chucking the makeshift snot across the table. I laughed again, as did she.

I couldn’t remember a time so filled with glee and amusement!

I still hold dear in my heart the simplicity and pureness of that day. The tiny Queen, who ruled her kingdom with brute force if necessary, was not to be feared! (although truthfully I never did see or hear from the lady in pink or the bear man ever again) HRH was full of blind optimism and magic. She burst into songs most randomly. She sang as if she were upon a theaters stage, with the whole of her voice. She danced jovially to the tunes she made up for herself. When she danced, I found myself joining her, flailing about in a crazed but innocent manner, each of us clapping our hands. We barked like dogs and ate shaved ice, we played hide and seek and diseaseasuars. We laughed and laughed until we were overcome with exhaustion. The Queen ran to me, threw her arms tightly around my neck, woofed a few times and then licked my cheek. It was time for me to leave, and time for HRH to retire for the night. I sang to her as I put on my coat, “I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck!” She smiled and scurried under the table to shite herself. I loitered, waiting for her to finish up, and when she did, the tiny Queen shouted “Cockate Bott’el” I was still waving and still smiling foolishly when her servants arrived with her ‘bott’ell’ and whisked her away.

With HRH absent, the enchantment I’d felt faded abruptly. It was suddenly so dreadfully quiet in that room I couldn’t wait to be away from it, I rushed outdoors and wandered back to my garden’s path.

I marveled as I walked slowly home, at how wonderful the queen was, and how lucky I was to be her Nummy.

Fin.

*Nummy- Toddler, meaning Grandmother

*Diseaseasuars- Toddler, meaning Dinosaur