Chapter 15

AS THE SUN dribbled its rays at the ring, it shone at Margaret's eyes and it made her flinch. Their engagement is literally blinding her as she tried to make sense of everyone's decisions. She especially tried to make sense of the lady in the mirror's decision. She stared and wondered how this all came to be.

"If I looked like that, I'd be staring at myself in the mirror all morning, too." A naked Charles sprung up the sheets and towards Margaret, caressed her arm as he kissed her nape. "Last night was fun," he resumed.

Margaret kept frozen for a few seconds then she blitzed to face her fiancé. "Yes, it was, but it's already,"—she looked at her phone—"5 minutes to 7 and we still have a lot to do." She kissed his cheek and showed him to the front door. 

They alright-ed with the decision and went to do their respective tasks. Charles left for the coordinators and Margaret, the moment her betrothed's car roared away, slammed her face in the bed. Peanutbutter got inside from the open door and joined her in the softness of the bed. He put his paws in her hands and wondered what monstrosity has clung to her mom's ring finger. Margaret, too, wondered. 

The several days pre-party passed by too quickly as her emotions just decided to play hopscotch with her brain in order to confuse her more. All those thoughts about Albert got left behind the backburner in order to face the newer and more idealistic problems. Like this Koji Suzuki flick of a duty-filler in her finger; all the scratches in her hands and the explosion of colors in her nails overcome by the one ring and ruled them all out to become the new focal point of her digits. She gazed at the 9-carat token of vows in her hand and gazed at them long. 

And like crossing your eyes for a long time, the ring started to blur. Later, so did her room...and so did her head. She was taken aback so she tried to get up as quickly as possible to look at the mirror. What greeted her made no sense.

"I never thought I'd live long enough to see the day my son marries someone as wonderful as you. Congratulations Marge." Instead of her face, the Baron spoke to her. Startled, she closed her eyes and shook her head to wake up from this unearthly daydream of hers.

But in her wake, the Baron reached out his hand from the plane, shook her hand then went his way.

In confusion, she scanned around her room. She looked up to see her lightbulb slowly turn into one turn of the century chandelier while the walls in her room started expanding to reach the glass and marble walls of the ball hall. Her agoraphobia began to haywire as soon as her familiar room became this fine wine and dine ballroom. Margaret looked for cat in her fear, only to discover that there were multiple Peanutbutter’s.

What the fuck?

They kept fissioning until, even eerier, they all started morphing into humanoid blobs—all complete with glamour in their skin, splendor in their gowns, grandeur in their suit and duplicity in their faces. And as everything came to be, she realized where she was transported to: she's at an engagement party; her engagement party!

Now that she’s present, she once again examined the room to see who the characters were. Several important people in the city acting important, the bourgeoisie being gross, the butlers being proletariats, and some more other people from the company; obviously the ones that can afford the air they breathe here. The Baron and Charles were also on her side of the area.

Where's the stinger? she thought as she continued her newfound love for putting names on faces. Her eyes ricocheted around the lavish jewelry, the phony smiles and the expensive liquor she'll definitely feast on later. Then, she got stung.

Across the room was Ana, wearing something out of a Victoria's Secret formal catalog; and her date, Albert, wearing a three-piece suit.

"But you hate wearing suits," she muttered to herself.

Charles was oblivious to her whole ordeal as he went on with the formalities talking with the elevateds. He went on and took Margaret's hand to greet the Honorables at the stage. She put on her allure to go with Charle's charm and proceeded to let the whole night continue being a blur. 

The next thing she knew, her apartment was again her abode and Peanutbutter slept peacefully in her hands.

"Has it all been a dream?" she wondered as the date begged to differ. "Monday? What the hell happened to Sunday? Was it all real?" The confused tipsy lady yanked her hand from the sleeping spread-named fang bread.

She tried to get past he splitting headache to recall several important details from last night. The lights that danced the ballroom, the people that shimmered and the buffet that got ignored, and a very angry crowd for some reason. Margaret remembered as much as a goldfish as she looked back at Charles’ speech, some form of dance she despised, and a whole lot of blobs.

“Why is my memory so patchy?” She tried to remember exact events that transpired to no avail. Margaret just remembered the important faces she encountered: Charles as the fiancée, the Baron as the hosts, VV as the driver, GD as the friend; and the one who prevailed the most in her pitiful subconscious—Ana. 

Her face appeared so much when trying to remember the swirly whirly apparition of a night she had. The notion of her hippocampus seemed to suggest that they were having a heart-to-heart talk so she was not worried at all that a slap exchange or a hair tug-o-war between them ensued. 

Furthermore, what boggled her the most is that, Albert, the one he’d been stressing out her whole life, was missing from it. Margaret tried to squeeze some memory of him during the party but there was minimal to none. Did Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory herself, intervened too much to help her move on from the paramour she’d never have? Was it just a cause of three sheets flying away from her grasp? Or was it something else entirely? That she did not know. Because as remembered having interactions with these people, she can’t put in place where, when and why.

She looked at the time. 7:10. 

As she stared at her phone eyebrows meeting, it rang to a familiar name. Margaret answered hoping to ask for an explanation for her 24-hour somnambulism. But before she can talk, the caller already talked over. 

"Peggy? Where are you right now?" GD inquired.

"In my apartment, why?" she answered. The other line was very busy and noisy in an unusual way, GD keeps getting interrupted by the people and the commotion he was in. 

"GD?” She noticed a dominant sound drowning out everything, so she queried it, “What's with the sirens?"