For the dead.

 

You didn’t read it wrong.

Okay, a couple of people still living thrown in for color.

I had a friend of mine tell me this morning that’s she’d love to have dinner with Pearl S. Buck. She asked me who I’d want to break bread with. Nobody really.

Tea on the other hand is a different story. It would be a lot easier.

With dinner, I’d probably waste something on my shirt. I’d be scandalized! Then, someone would have broccoli or some other cruciferous vegetable caught in their teeth. I’d probably have nightmares.

But I digress.

I’d have oolong and lady grey along with those little cookies every one nibbles on. What are they called? You know what I mean.

My first guest would be Lewis Carroll. I’d slip some kind of libation in his tea and get him to do a drunken reading of Jabberwocky. Lily Tomlin would be there as a vast array of characters (Edith Anne, Tess, Ernestine…). Talk about your crazy commentary!

        

Neil deGrasse Tyson because the man is like the Billy Dee Williams of science. I’d go as far as saying he’s cooler than the subzero temperatures in actual space. He’d talk about some shit none of my guest would understand, but we would nod and smile because he’s just so congenial.

James Baldwin and Langston Hughes because IMO opinion they wrote some of the most powerful poetry and prose during The Harlem Renaissance. Then, there is Ralph Ellison and his Invisible Man. How can I not want to meet…want to know them?

Finally, there would be the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen herself. Can you imagine the conversation as they compared notes regarding their prospective times in history?

I’d sit there and watch, sipping on my lady grey and nibbling on my cookies. There would be a big ass smile on my face. So many questions would be running around in my head.

I’d ask Baldwin, Hughes and Ellison if they were proud of the legacy they left behind. I’d ask if they could see actual progress in the black struggle or sniff out the illusion that we’ve moved forward a great deal.

I’d ask the Bronte’s and Austen about their take on love and womanhood in the modern day.

I’d listen, laugh and probably cry.

Tipsy, Lewis Carroll would be the last to leave, holding the white rabbit’s hand.

Now, THAT would be a tea party for the ages.