"Who are you?" said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, "I – I hardly know, sir, just at present- at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then."

"What do you mean by that?" said the Caterpillar sternly. "Explain yourself!"

"Do you know where you're going to… do you like the things that life is showing you…."

Frank irritably set his book down onto their coffee table with its ornately carved legs- a most blatantly opulent display that Fenton Hardy ever allowed Laura to splurge on a whim. It clashed with everything in the modern chic but comfortable furniture in the living room but Laura loved it, at least for a while, so it was adopted most expensively into the Hardy's household. Brightly colored beanbags in shades of blue and yellow, red leather couches and a lush white furry rug conflicted most painfully with the deep mahogany, antique-styled coffee table but what was bought could not be returned as easily as the process of purchase and so the they were stuck with it for a while until Laura could finally grudgingly admit that it had to go.

Usually, Frank was as patient as a turtle- a curious bystander amused at the hustle and bustle of life. But he was rudely jolted away from the magical land which Alice had stumbled across on the other end of the rabbit hole (which someone once debated was actually a wormhole in the middle of Earth that led Alice to a new dimension. That made no sense at all to Frank since, at the very least, Alice would be torn to shreds somewhere down the scary tunnel) and he had felt like he was piggy-backing on Alice's consciousness to witness quaint characters and hilarious encounters. Joe was mumbling a most annoying song over and over again while he fiddled with some expensive camera that Frank had meant to ask Joe about if he was not so engrossed in the book. No doubt if Joe had bought it himself on a whim, Fenton would grill him most tortuously and probably punish him for buying such an needless equipment (that is if Joe could not find a valid reason for the buy) by making him wax the coffee table that everybody hated.

Frank hated to be disturbed when he was reading. He had asked Joe kindly earlier if Joe could just make himself scarce but Joe promised to be as quiet as a rabbit. Joe was indeed fulfilling that promise but he did not inform Frank the rabbit was a songster.

"Joe…" Frank growled and gave his kid brother the eye. Joe, a seat away from him on the three-seater, turned to him and apologetically smiled.

"Sorriez! I'll be quiet!" The impish blond hissed loudly and placed a finger on his lips after as a sign of commitment. Frank curled his lips sideways, glancing at Joe suspiciously before picking his book up again to continue where he left off.

"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir," said Alice, "because I'm not myself, you see."

"I don't see," said the Caterpillar. (Ha ha. Poor Alice…)

"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," Alice replied very politely, "for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing." (I know what you mean, Al. Having many roles to play in life is confusing too. Which one is the real me? Are they all me? And why do I wake up after that internet chat feeling like that's this nagging, prickling, more ire raising question at the tip of my tongue? Where are you going too… do you know…)

Frank found himself humming to the Diana Ross' song that Joe was singing yet again as he wiped the lens of the camera with his Oakley sunglass pouch. Catching himself, he realized that he had almost slammed down the book onto the coffee table. Joe looked up at him and he glared into those feigned innocent sapphire gems, knowing Joe was up to some mischief.

"Ok. (I'll stay calm). What's up?" Frank's words sounded disjointed like staccatos over notes which should be slurred through those compressed lips. Joe shrugged and smiled, perhaps happy that Frank was finally showing him some attention.

Go call your girlfriend and leave me alone.

Frank had woken up at four in the afternoon and the winter sun was already setting. The Internet chat had stirred his urge to revisit Wonderland so he simply wanted a quiet read in the living room. Joe, who was all along in the kitchen when he arrived downstairs, had reached a compromise with him. Joe could utilize the living room if he could be quiet. Obviously, he could not.

"I have a most… hmm… surreal experience today." Joe tilted his head to one side in a gesture of serious contemplation. Frank pounded his forehead with the knuckles of his right hand, wishing Joe could just be direct earlier on and tell Frank he wanted to talk instead of performing those grating actions to annoy Frank into giving him some notice.

For a whole five seconds, Frank hammered on his forehead. When he was finished, he looked at Joe and smiled as amiably as he could, feeling like he should wring Joe's neck instead. Joe stared at him with inquisitive concern.

"Are you going crazy?" Joe asked outright. In asking questions, Joe could be ever so candid and tactless.

"Yes and by you. What's the experience?" Frank replied after letting out a resigned sigh which Joe must be immune to after all these years.

"I met a clown in campus. And he gave me this camera, did cartwheels and sang silly songs. And then I found this paper with these tiny letterings which I magnified with the camera and this is what it said… I have fulfilled the onus of reproducing it in more legible handwriting." Joe summarized his day's events before proudly announcing the tiny initiative. He reached into his pocket and drew out two pieces of paper which he handed over to Frank. Frank's brows were raised higher and higher with each sentence that rolled off Joe's tongue. He examined the papers closely and saw that Joe was telling the truth. On one, the handwriting was so tiny it was impossible to read without a magnifying glass of some sort and he was rather impressed that Joe thought of using the camera to focus in onto the wordings. On the other was words that were illegible, though not due to size but to penmanship. However, Frank knew his brother too well to not be able to decipher the horrible, chicken scribbles.

"Hmm… interesting- an answer to a riddle being asked in another time and space- what time and what space? Isn't this the only time and space we know of?" Frank read and pondered out loud before he gnawed on his right hand's knuckles- an action that somehow always seemed to be able to spur his brain into action. Next to him, he sensed Joe either shrugging his question off or was in complete bafflement.

The former proved to be correct.

"Maybe he meant it figuratively or he just wanted to sound cryptic over nothing. Eniweis… I don't think this is just a chance encounter… I think…"

At that opportune moment, their doorbell rang. Wondering which fool would brave the cold and darkness to travel on the streets to their house, Frank halted his brother with a raised hand and went to the door to receive the guest.

"Good evening!"

Frank stood in some shock at the sight of their visitor while Joe jumped up excitedly when he saw who it was at the door. A man about five feet two dressed like a postman from the turn of the century stood at their entrance. His face was painted like a tin soldier – layered on with thick foundation the color of white and a red dot on each cheek. The funny man looked up at Frank with his hands akimbo as he boisterously greeted Frank, unmindful of the freezing chill that was making Frank's nose run again. Literally pushed out of his shock by his barraging brother, Frank blinked several times, wondering if there was a carnival nearby and if Joe had accidentally (a talent of his to attract the most peculiar personalities, most of them beautiful women and life-threatening to the Hardys) offended someone from there.

"YOU! CLOWN!" Joe enthusiastically pointed at the postman and shouted happily. The postman did a double-take and with a most anxious expression, faced Joe again.

"Clown? Where? Is he right behind me? Dang that moron! Always showing up to ruin matters when it really mattered. Matters mattered… matters mattered…" The postman wobbled his neck sideways as he repeated his own lame pun over and over again with a stupid grin plastered across his face. Though Frank was still speechless, Joe looked like he was about to give the small man a bear hug.

"Oh, c'mon! You have the same funny face and beady black eyes! Don't pretend! The trip starts with the mailman! That's what you said and now you're the mailman! So, what do you have for me this time?" Joe cajoled the mailman who narrowed his tiny eyes at the most unflattering comment about his facial features. His anger was not soothed even when Joe ended with a conspiratorial hushed voice and a friendly, cheeky wink. Frank reminded himself to buy Joe a "Little Miss Manners" book soon.

And make him memorize it from cover to cover.

"Funny face and beady black eyes? BEADY BLACK EYES? They have more soul in them than your cold blue ones, buster!" The mailman indignantly puffed up his cheeks and Frank scowled at Joe who shuffled his toes and mumbled a sorry that sounded like 'sores'.

"I'm sorry, mailman. But you're definitely not from Bayport Postal Service. May I know what you have for us before I ask you to leave?" Frank took over from Joe and enquired with distanced politeness. The mailman averted his attention back at Frank and his expression relaxed. Just when Frank was expecting a reply, the mailman raised up his right hand and extended four fingers while hiding the thumb.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" He asked Frank most sternly. Frank exchanged a wary glance with Joe who jerked his head at the mailman, indicating that Frank should just answer that dumb question so the whole episode would be over soon.

"Four."

"NO! THERE'S FIVE FINGERS!" The mailman informed Frank triumphantly. Frank rolled his eyes, convinced then that Joe had attracted a lunatic home. Birds of feather flocked together.

"Four." He repeated his answer. Joe snickered and he glared at Joe.

"FIVE!"

"Four!"

"Why four?" The mailman challenged. Frank inhaled in heavily and counted the fingers for the mailman, touching the tip of each extended digit.

"One, two, three, four! FOUR!"

The mailman released his thumb and beamed at Frank. "You see! Five!"

"The thumb wasn't there before!" Frank protested and the mailman wagged a finger at him.

"Nope! It's there. It's just hidden. It doesn't mean if your eyes can't see it's not there! You know it's there. Everybody's got a thumb."

"Not if the thumb's missing. And you're wrong. You asked me how many fingers are you holding up. Your thumb was hidden because it was pushed down. I see your thumb but it's not up. " Frank muttered under his breath.

"Exactly. You are astute. Freedom is the freedom to say two plus two makes four. And woe to the man who had lost his thumb. It's terrible to lose a thumb or even your last finger. You'll feel so funny." The mailman stroked an imaginary goatee on his chin and Joe giggled some more.

"But if a man who never had a thumb would never know he's missing it. He'll feel funny if he suddenly had a thumb." Frank countered, arguing for the sake of argument. The mailman shook his head.

"Or ecstatic because he suddenly feel more complete. But honestly, you don't need a thumb to feel complete. It's the inside as they say. You're so lucky. Winston did not get someone as understanding as me to know that I'm wrong and you're right about the fingers I am holding up. They beat up poor Winston to make him see five. They told Winston a lie and forced him to believe in their damn lie! Now, if I were to ask you how many fingers have I raised up, FIVE will be correct because in raising my hand, I've raised ALL the fingers I have on that hand."

Frank was a little perplexed but finally, he made the connection to the lengthy reply that would be a little askew for someone unfamiliar with political literature.

"1984. I get it! Of course. Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two equals four but O'Brien made it painful for him to speak the truth until he finally wrote down, as time went by, 'two plus two makes five' and think that it's the absolute truth!"

"1984? Long passed." The mailman was then absentmindedly reaching into the brown bag he was carrying which appeared rather empty.

"The book by Orwell. 1984. You're talking about the character Winston…"

"Hey! Winston's my dear friend! He's not some funny character in a book… but it's a good book. Did you read it?" The mailman had totally ignored Joe and Frank too had forgotten about the existence of his brother.

"Of course I did, or I would not have recognized your reference, right?" Frank gestured vaguely at the mailman who stopped rummaging in that seemingly empty bag after he drew out a manila envelope . The mailman passed it to Frank who took it gingerly.

"The man went crazy because his mind was made to believe what his heart and conscience knew was falsehood. The truth is inside him but menacing shadows clouded it. When you deny the truth you know, you're in for a tough time. His mind never healed. We buried his sanity last night." The mailman took on a somber tone and Frank wondered if he should observe a minute's silence.

"But!" The mailman joviality was turned back on again abruptly. "But you can start to avoid that fate that our friend Winston had fallen into! You can start to drown out the noise and seek that quiet voice inside again which is all true and pure!" The mailman then turn to Joe and grinned. "The trip starts with the mailman. I have to go. Goodbye!"

"Not so fast!" Frank grabbed the mailman's hand and the mailman stopped. Joe arched a brow which Frank ignored.

"Yes?"

"They forced Winston to see five fingers and you said it's a lie because there's only four but when I said there's four, you said there's five and you would have convinced me there really if I didn't point out to you about the fallacy of your answer. So, are you lying to me? Am I, if I failed to tell the truth, brainwashed by you?"

The mailman brought his brows together at that moment so close that they touched. "No. I am not lying to you. You see, in this case, interpretation comes in. Your perception is your reality but I'm merely showing you another way of looking at an issue. It may be right, it may be wrong but it's just another perception which is my reality though I concede in the end your perception is the one that hold true. You believed in the truth and you fought for it. Lucky for you, I didn't point a gun to your head to force you to convert to my false beliefs or you'll be in quandary- to save your life, lie and believe in the lie; to speak the truth would mean death. Now, O'Brien was forcing a falsehood down Winston's throat and it killed Winston's spirit the moment he believed in the lie. In the same way, it's happening to a lot of us in a lot of ways and strangely, it's us who are doing it to one another. Discourses are shut down and truth is never found… do you see?"

Frank followed the argument but was not sure if he understood it completely. The mailman shook his head and clapped Frank's shoulders.

"You'll see, sonny. And so will your brother. Maybe you may even unearth one of the Truisms of Life that cannot be denied for the simple fact that that it's true." With that, the mailman walked away to an archaic Beetle parked just outside on the street. Frank and Joe just let him go, and though Frank had no idea what Joe was thinking of, he knew Joe could not be oblivious to the conversation that had just occurred. As the car rolled away miraculously, unaffected by the weather that would have stalled everything, even biological functions, Frank saw that Joe was still staring intently at the spot where the mailman had stood while he talked to them.

"He's the darn clown!" Joe whispered hoarsely. Frank stared at the envelope in his hands and very slowly, unsealed it.

"Ah, Joe… I think we've got to pack… there are two air tickets and some money inside…"

Credit- Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll