Traffic in the Attic

Weird Vs. Wrong

Moments later, back up in the attic...

The nightly gatherings that had become somewhat of a tradition among the nine brothers began as nothing more than a per chance social gathering to air out the comings and goings of each day. It just seemed to be the natural ending, regardless of what had occurred beforehand. Though the pattern of gathering fluctuated slightly from day to day, there were several cornerstones that never wavered: Dylan would be the first to enter the attic, Shane and/or Steve would inevitably interrupt at some point, Tristan would silently take note of who had and hadn't yet made it, and Chris would leave early for reasons he never explained.

By now, Dylan had temporarily ceased his business with the Book of Shadows and was sitting in his usual place: to the far right of the unusually long, orange futon. Tristan had joined him in his own spot just two 'seats' down. He was particularly thankful that he'd come a bit early; otherwise he would've missed part of the entertaining "conversation" in which Chris and his sons were deeply engaged. The location: the entrance to the attic. The topic: Going to visit Baby Christopher. The positions: Chris pro, Rider and Riley... (most definitely) con.

"You guys, I get it;" said Chris, "it's a little weird, but..."

"Weird?" Riley interrupted. "No Dad, Martha Stewart in a mosh pit... is weird. Ray Charles at a shooting range... is weird. Saving Private Ryan with a laugh track... is weird."

"The Pope in spandex... is weird." contributed Rider.

"Professor X with an afro... is weird." Riley continued. "Orlando Bloom playing a character with indoor plumbing... is weird."

Rider added: "You on a commercial for mood stabilizers... is weird."

Riley zipped his hand in front of Rider's mouth. Gasps filled the room. Only silence followed.

Like a volcano deciding whether or not to erupt, Chris locked his jaw, folded his arms rigidly and scowled, as his eyes glared forward like two blue-green lasers.

"Whoops." Rider uttered meekly, knowing that he'd crossed the line.

Riley gradually lowered his hand. "See Rider, this is why I never ask for your help with these things."

Rider gulped loudly. "Dad?" he said hesitantly, hoping to see some signs of movement. "Dad, if you're in there, blink once; if not, blink twice."

"How's he gonna blink twice if he's not in there, Einstein?" asked Riley.

"Good point." Rider responded. "But you gotta admit, it did seem like the natural ending to that sentence."

Ignoring the comment, Riley whispered to his brother. "Don't make any sudden moves. You might startle him."

Chris cleared his throat with a creepy calmness. "Mood stabilizers?" he asked, straining to keep his face from grinning. "And would you like me to show you just why you'll never find me on a commercial for mood stabilizers?"

Rider and Riley squinted their eyes, like carnival volunteers preparing to be pied in the face.

"Timeout!" Wyatt shouted as he and Shane sauntered into the room carrying several large bowls.

"Phew!" exclaimed Rider, as his uncles made their way into the attic. "Saved by the bell."

"Not for long, Junior." returned Chris.

"We bring sustenance!" chimed Shane, handing a bowl of popcorn to Tristan and a bowl of trail mix to Dylan.

Dylan chided: "Is that what you crazy kids are calling birdseed these days?"

Never one to turn down a challenge, Shane replied, "Are you still bitter because you can't tell what colors the M&Ms are?"

Dylan let out a deep, dramatic sigh. "Sometimes it even keeps me up at night." he said. "You are so perceptive. You Princeton grads sure are an impressive bunch."

"Harvard." Shane growled.

"Same thing."

Coincidentally, all four of the traditional occupants of the orange futon arrived first: Shane on Tristan's right, between himself and Dylan, and Wyatt on his left, at the other end of the futon.

"What's the topic?" asked Wyatt, gulping a handful of popcorn.

Tristan answered: "Chris vs. the Twins on visiting Little Chris and Little Wyatt tomorrow."

"Yes!" Shane quietly exclaimed. "Who's winning?"

"The score's tied." answered Dylan. "At this point, it's anybody's game."

"Looks like we got here just in time." Wyatt remarked.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" said Tristan to Wyatt. "I have something for you!"

"For me?" asked Wyatt, sincerely grateful but hardly surprised. "Always the thoughtful one, aren't you."

Reaching underneath the futon Tristan produced a simple white paper box, about an inch deep, and the length and width of an average shoebox.

"Thanks" said Wyatt, as he proceeded to open the simple, tasteful box to find a large cotton handkerchief in Wyatt's favorite color: purple. Knowing that Tristan's frequent gifts always came with a message of some sort, he felt comfortable asking for some help in answering the riddle. Taking the handkerchief out of the box and holding it out in front of him, Wyatt said, "Okay Tris, I'm gonna need you to walk me through this one."

"It's just in case you start foaming at the mouth again." said Tristan, with the typical enjoyment that always came with offering such explanations. "Now you've got something to wipe with." Finding no hint of amusement on his brother's face, Tristan frowned disappointedly. "Too early for jokes?"

Wyatt shrugged his shoulders. "It just makes me a little sad that..."

"It does?" Tristan interrupted. "You're right, I dunno what I was thinking; I guess I just figured that if you knew I could laugh about it then you could maybe start to laugh about it and that way you'd know that..."

Wyatt normally waited for Tristan to finish these nervous rants, anxious apologies, and fretful explanations of his regarding certain assumptions he had made, before informing him he was worried for nothing. In fact, said assumptions were almost always accurate; his interpretations of people's responses, however, were nearly always entirely wrong. "Actually, Tristan" Wyatt interrupted. "I was just going to say that it's too bad that I'll never get to use it, but I'm glad to have it just the same."

"Oh." Tristan responded, snapping back into reality. "So then..."

Wyatt put the top of his forehead against Tristan's, with a clownishly wide expression in his eyes. "It's perfect." he said finally. And, as usual, it was.

"Phew." Tristan sighed, letting his shoulders sag from their nervous peak.

Over by the room's entrance, the father versus sons argument continued...

"Are you telling me that being 25 with two 18-year-old sons sounds normal to you?"

Riley responded, "Dad, telling people you peddled us to school everyday by pulling our little red wagon behind your tricycle is kinda cute. But, when the nice old lady who stops to 'ooh' and 'ah' over you at your stroller asks me, "Young man, is he your first child?" and I answer, "No ma'am, actually I'm his first child.' That's right at the top of both the "sick" and "wrong" lists."

"And,"Rider added, "If both of us are there, she'll say, "What agency did you two boys go through? My son and his lover have been trying to adopt a child for years."

"Okay, listen up, offspring." said Chris, taking a step forward.

"What did you just call us?" asked Rider, stepping forward as well.

"Off-Spring." Chris answered. "Got wax in your ears, little man?"

All who watched snickered at the comment. Both of Chris' sons were easily an inch taller than he and their voices, particularly Riley's, were deeper than his would ever be. It was comically endearing, but it no longer seemed unusual.

"Actually I do have wax in my ears." returned Rider. "The national Q-tip shortage hit us harder than we thought."

Wyatt quietly asked Shane: "Why do we never record these meetings?"

"Record them? Hell, we should televise the whole day." answered Shane. "It's not like anybody would ever believe it's real."

Dylan added: "We could probably get a mini-series outta this day alone."

"No kidding." said Tristan. "And it's not even over yet."

Back out on the floor, the 'battle' ensued...

"You wanna go a few rounds with your old man, Rider?" Chris threatened.

"Hah!" Shane laughed from his seat. "That never gets old."

"Are you saying you think you can take me?" asked Rider.

"Are you saying you think I can't?" returned Chris.

"Don't need to think it when the whole world knows it, old man!"

"I'm hearing a lotta talk there, green-eyes." said Chris, stepping aggressively closer to Rider. "How about we settle this in the Dream Room."

"You must be dreaming if you think you can take me."

"Well I guess we'll find out soon, won't we." said Chris. "In fact, why don't we go right now? You ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready." answered Rider.

"You sure?"

"Yeah I'm sure."

Chris gestured with his arm toward the attic doorway. "After you then!"

Riley stepped between the two men and pretended to cry on his father's shoulder. "Daddy please don't make us go visit mini-you. Please!"

"You guys, calm down." said Chris, laughing at Riley's dramatic display. "I never even said you had to go; I just asked if you wanted to."

Suspicious confusion riddled Riley's face as he stepped back away from his father. "You mean... We're getting all upset for nothing?"

Chris nodded with a knowing smile. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"Ahem!" Dylan cleared his throat. "Remind you guys of anyone?"

"Dad," Rider began, "It's not that we don't wanna go. It's just... congratulating your one-year-old father because he made it to his Parker Brothers' 'My First Potty' in the nick of time, not to mention teaching him how to ring the little victory bell to celebrate his little achievement is a little bit... well... wrong, wouldn't you say?"

"Seriously Dad," said Riley, "Are you prepared to pay for that much therapy?"

"We're talking yeeears here." added Rider.

"You know what guys," Chris joked, "I hope you both inherit twins... no, I take it back, triplets on your 20th birthday. Oh, and before you ask me to baby-sit, the answer... is no."

It took Chris a second to determine whether or not the slight hint of surprised sadness on each son's face was genuine or not.

"It's okay Rider," said Riley, playing it off by patting his brother on the shoulder. "If it turns out that 'Pneumonia' is not in the dick-tea-on-airy, then we can give Dad to Dylan."

"Guys," said Chris, sounding a bit given out."Why don't you go down to your rooms and we can talk about this later."

"Okay." said Rider. "But, if we do decide we're gonna do this, I've a gotta couple of questions."

"Same here." said Riley.

Chris paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "I'm already regretting this," he said, "but... what?"

Rider began. "As for your diapers, do you prefer tape or elastic? Is there such a difference or am I just making it up?"

"About the fit," said Riley, "do you like it pretty snug or would you rather let it hang a little loose? What are the other baby's doing these days? We wouldn't want you to be outta style."

Rider went on: "Should we use hypoallergenic talcum powder, or are you good with the fully leaded stuff?"

Interrupting their line of questioning, Chris merely said: "Rider, come here." and motioned for the young man to step forward. When Rider was close enough, Chris started examining the white strip of hair above his son's forehead.

Rider's eyes crossed as he looked up where his father was staring. "Dad... what are you thinking?"

Chris hesitated a moment with a pensive look on his face. "Pink or purple..." he said. "I just can't decide."