“I love Alice in Wonderland. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Then it’s decided,” Ms. Evans says as she walks over to a counter that is holding a phone. “You go get ready, and I’ll call a car for you.”
Before I change my mind, I do exactly that and rush out of the kitchen, prepared to show everyone who worries if I can ever be independent that they are wrong. I can do this. I can.
The eyes of Alice stare back at me. The statue is bigger and more magnificent than I could have imagined. The Mad Hatter and the hare… I want to touch it, but I’m not sure if I should. A bronze Alice perched high on a giant mushroom, surrounded by the Mad Hatter and the White Rabbit as he checks his pocket watch. Engraved around the base of the statue, there are parts of a poem that stand out to me most:
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
Ms. Evans was right about the park giving me a piece of nature I so desperately missed. I needed fresh air. I needed to see and hear birds. I needed to see trees and grass and not just buildings and roads. But my heart also beats so fast and furious that I struggle to breathe normally. The driver of the car promised to wait for me, so at least I know there is a way to return home, but being so far away nearly makes my knees buckle. What if something happens? What if I can’t reach Christopher?
I clutch my cell phone in my pocket as a reminder that I’m only a phone call away.
There are people here. Lots of people, but they aren’t looking at me. They’re busy. They are preoccupied with themselves. So in many ways, I’m alone, even though I’m within arm’s reach of strangers.
I take a few steps to the right of the statue so I can see it from another angle. I relate to Alice. I too have gone down my own rabbit hole. I’m in a Wonderland of my own. A mad, mad world where everything is foreign and different. But I’m coming out of it stronger. I have to believe that.
Each day that passes feels better. I’m starting to feel as if I’m no longer the scared little girl in the schoolhouse. I know I have a long ways to go, but coming here by myself, in an expansive park I’ve never been in, I’m proving this to myself.
I love Christopher, but I don’t want to need him.
I want him to love me but not feel he has to shield me from everything.
Alice found her own way in Wonderland by herself. She was strong… and so am I. I can do this. I can find my own way. I have to. I want to.
“One of my favorite parts of Central Park,” a man’s voice says beside me. “It’s nice to see someone else take the time to appreciate it like I do.”
I turn to find an elderly man standing next to me, staring at the statue like I was.
“I didn’t expect it to be so big,” I say.
“First time?” he asks. “Where are you traveling from?”
“I live here now. I’m trying to learn the city and was told to start here.”
“Wise choice, and welcome. I’ve lived here most of my life. New York is the best place to live in the world, but I’m biased.” He chuckles. “Where are you from?”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to lie, but I can’t exactly be honest either. Then it dawns on me. I’ll never be able to truly talk about my past with anyone. That part of my life died, and I have no choice but to try to push it out of my mind. I can’t talk about my childhood. I can’t share memories neither good nor bad. I have to start over.
Unlike Alice, I have no home to return to. I can’t leave the rabbit hole. I’m in it now. I’m always in it. This isn’t a dream I can wake up from.
“You know,” the man continues when I never answer his question, “Alice is considered to have paranoid schizophrenia, and the Mad Hatter being bipolar. There are even mental illness syndromes named after them. I don’t know if everyone knows that, but it’s true.”
I tilt my head and look at the statue through different eyes with the little-known fact. “I can relate with Alice. Everything in her life was so… big. Or small. I feel that way sometimes. Nothing is the right size around me.”