Author's Note: Hi folks. The third 'official' chapter is still in the works but I'm still pluggin' away at it. Just some tweaking that needs to happen to make the dialogue flow more naturally, but I felt badly because I told people I'd have something up by Tuesday, which unfortunately I wasn't able to do. So, I figured, just for fun, I'd post something. If the story were on a dvd, this chapter would be considered an "Easter Egg" or a hidden scene that one has to find somewhere on the menus. Hopefully there's some fun to be had in the works.


Puberty in Oakdale

"Dad!"

"No, no. Tris. It's okay!" Shane said.

"Okay? I'm having recurring auditory hallucinations. How on Earth can it be okay?"

"Because I hear them too!"

Tristan stared at his brother in awe. "You heard the strings too?"

"Yyyep."

"And the piano earlier?"

"Uh-huh."

Tris looked around. "But where were they?"

There was a casual ease in Shane's shrug. "Nobody knows."

"But why's this happening to me?"

"That's just puberty in Oakdale."

"Well then I don't mind tellin' ya that I don't like it."

"Aw, it just takes some getting used to."

"But I feel like I'm losing my marbles."

"No. No, you're not," Shane said, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "This has happened to all of us. We helped Dylan through it last year, this year it's your turn and in a few years we'll all help Lee through it too."

Tristan gave himself a moment to run those words through his mind on a loop, until his dust had settled. "Do Dad and Pop hear the music?"

"I think they do," Shane said, "but it's best you don't press 'em on it. Sven asked about it once and they took him to a shrink."

"And they don't think it's weird?"

"Apparently not."

"But... Why?"

"Because it would never occur to them to wonder if it was weird or not," Shane explained. "Just like you didn't think it was weird yesterday."

Tristan's eyes widened. "The music was there yesterday?"

Shane smiled. "Sure was."

"Why couldn't I hear it?"

"It's not that you couldn't hear it, it's that you didn't hear it, just like Mom and Pop don't hear it." Tristan began massaging his temples. "I'm sooo confused."

Shane leaned forward in his chair, propped his elbows on his knees. "Just think about this for a second: What does Pop do for a job?"

(Is this a trick question) Tristan wondered. "He's a critically acclaimed movie director and he teaches a film class."

"Have you ever seen his classroom?"

"Yes…"

"Hah!" Shane snapped his fingers and pointed. "See how natural it felt to say that?"

Tristan appeared strangely absent from his own body when he said, "Uh-huh."

"Right. That's what'cha call an Oakdale reflex. You answered 'yes' automatically, because you're supposed to have been there, but now stop and think about it. Have you actually ever been there."

"N-n-no." Tristan's eyes grew wider this time. "Oh God! My whole life is a lie!"

"No, no, no, Buddy. That's not the point at all. It's sorta like…" Shane scratched an itch behind his ear. "…like things people just accept as truth even though there's no reason to think that."

"Like what?"

"Like, uh…" Shane quietly clicked his tongue as he pondered. "Like you know how when it comes to romance, people say 'there's someone for everyone.'."

"Uh-huh."

"Heard it all your life, right?"

Tristan shrugged. "I guess so."

"But is it actually true?"

"Shane, please don't take this as a criticism because I don't mean it that way, but..." Tristan his behind a sigh as he paused for thought. "I'm twelve years old. Girls just stopped being yucky six months ago so I think the question is a little over my head..."

In that moment, Shane understood why Noah just couldn't resist tussling Tristan's hair. "You're right, you're right. My bad," he said, "but just think about it for a second. If there really is someone for everyone then there's a hell of a lot more lesbians on the planet than we've been lead to believe because fifty-one percent of the human population is female and that's even with all the female infanticide happenin' in China."

"O-kay," said Tristan as he processed.

"But what about 'opposites attract'?"

It took a second to register; so many new thoughts flying by, picking out any single one was like catching a fish with your bare hands. "Hmm? Oh! Uh..." Tristan's eyes attempted to cross of their own volition, but he wrangled them back into place. "I guess I buy that."

"Yet birds of a feather flock together."

"Oh boy," Tristan sighed, gripping his forehead. "Headache."

"But do you really have a problem accepting both of those to be true?"

"Well... no…" said Tristan. "At least, I don't think I do."

"Well eventually, the Oakdale reflex is exactly the same way. You accept it as the truth, even when it's not, and you don't feel the need to prove otherwise."

"I see," said Tristan, "I think - But does this little adjustment happen anytime soon? Cause I'm a brand new kinda scared at the moment."

"Sooner than you think. And just tell one of us if it's freakin' you out a little. We all know what that feels like, and I can promise you, nobody's gonna think the less of you for it."

Tristan was a worrier even when the world made sense to him; now there was a whole knew set of rules to find room for in his mind. (This may take awhile) he thought. "So this is life from now on?"

Shane leaned back in his chair. "Well, not always."

"Ouch. Big headache. Huge."

It takes someone unique as Shane to make chuckles seem sympathetic, but in that moment, they did. "It get's easier."

"Promise?"

Shane nodded, as if renewed of purpose. "Now le'me ask you this:" he said, as if setting up a gameshow question. "Did Pop break up with Aunt Maddie to be with Mom?"

"Yes."

"That's the way it's gone down in history?"

"I... think so."

"But is that what really happened?"

"Well, yeah" Tristan jiggled his head "I mean... no." He then plastered his palms onto his cheeks. "Oh God! It's like The Matrix on a farm!""

"No, no. See. Same deal."

"But that would mean Pop lied to us," said a distressed Tristan. "That doesn't make any sense. He'll take half an hour explaining why some of us get to stay up later than others but he lies to us about how he and Dad got together?" Intuitive by nature, Tristan asked, "Why? Is he ashamed?"

Touchy subject. "Well… yes, but only if Ma calls him on it. Then Ma gets all bitchy and Pop pouts and broods which is why it's best you not mention it."

"But…"

"And don't worry, 'kay?" he said, with his own special style of tender affection. "Pop would never lie to you. Mom either. You can take that one to the bank. If ever there were two people obsessed with honesty…"

"Even though he told me something that's not true?"

Shane had this part of the speech prepared; he'd recited it twice before. "Do you know how to get to Pop's office?"

"Yes.. I mean… No." Tristan squished his eyes closed. "Darn it."

"See? You didn't just lie to me," Shane assured him. "Something somewhere changed the truth and the truth changed in your mind but in order to lie to me you would've had to know you were doing it."

"Shane, this is really nice of you, but I'm starting to get a little exhausted."

Shane let the comment pass. "And you say that Pop told you about Aunt Maddie?"

"Right."

"But can you remember him telling you?"

"Um… No."

"Can you remember anyone telling you?"

"Actually, I can't." Tristan's frowns often resembled the smallest, most vulnerable pouts. "So then why do I think it?"

"That's just Oakdale. Nobody knows. It's like somebody somewhere keeps rewriting history and we all just accept it as the truth," Shane said. "See, you're so used to saying yes that you do it automatically, even if it's not technically the way it all went down."

Tristan asked what seemed the obvious solution: "So then why don't we all leave Oakdale?"

"Because Oakdale's like that angry chick from The Grudge. Once you've experienced it, you're screwed. It follows you everywhere."

Tristan scrunched his nose. "That lady's freaky."

Shane clicked one cheek, the one he flexed when he smiled. "So is Oakdale."

Tristan bobbed his head. "Good point."

"But this is the really important part:" Shane again leaned forward in his chair. "You'll only be aware of any of this stuff on 'Nuke' days. And since tomorrow, it's not a 'Nuke' day, you'll forget that you ever were aware of what we're talkin' about right now."

"Wait, what's a Nuke day?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure. At least, I don't know why they happen. But they usually happen either once or twice a week, unless life really sucks at the moment and then it's pretty much every damn day," Shane told him. "You'll just start to notice things… Like the way every Monday through Friday CBS goes blank for an hour at two o'clock, except for the commercials?" Reading Tristan's face, he knew it was time for a little reassurance. "Here's the good news," he said. "Nuke days can only happen on Monday through Friday, so we get every weekend off. No exceptions."

Tristan's eyes had glazed over by the images that flew through his mind's eye like a video as it fast forwarded, making mental notes of the things he would be paying closer attention to.

"And here's something that has me scratchin' my head every time," Shane went on. "Ya know how Ma sometimes does one of his little sappy Hallmark confession speeches?"

Tristan smiled at the thought. "Mm-hmm."

"And somewhere in the middle he'll turn his back to Pop but still keep talking to him."

"Right."

"And then when Ma stops speaking, Pop takes a few steps forward? Maybe puts a hand on his shoulder?"

"Uh-huh."

"And then Ma will turn his head but only slightly and keep talking to him."

Tristan then realised where this was going: "…instead of turning all the way around! Oh my Gosh! That's so weird! Why doesn't Dad just turn all the way around?"

Shane shrugged. "Nobody knows."

"Are there any other places like this?"

"Well… I know there's some place called Springfield where weird stuff happens but we can't ever go there."

"Why not?"

"Because we can't ever leave Oakdale unless we're kidnapped or running after somebody. Except New York because it's in walking distance."

"But we live in Illinois."

"Right."

"So if we live in Illinois, how can New York be in walking distance?"

"Nobody knows," Shane said. "Mostly because nobody's supposed to know."

"So other than New York, we're trapped?"

Shane tried a slightly different tactic. "Have you ever been to Chicago?"

A moment's thought. "No."

"Does it feel like you have?"

And the heavens opened up. "Yes."

"Now if you told me you'd been to Chicago would it feel like you were lying?"

"No. Not at all."

"So in the end, you don't feel trapped, do you?"

Fascinating. "I… guess not," said Tristan, "but I do feel like I'm trapped in The Truman Show."

Shane grinned. Tristan was never hard to knock down, just hard to keep down.

"And here's another thing…"

"Oh Gosh, there's more?"

"Don't worry; we're about to drive her on home," Shane replied. "Now then... When's your birthday?"

"April 28th."

"What year?"

"2022."

"What year is it now?"

"2029."

"So technically if you subtract 2022 from 2029 you should get the age you are now, right?"

Tristan felt his forehead tighten."Right."

"What is 2029 minus 2022?"

The realisation spread like slow dawn over Tristan's face, and he finally said in a voice just above a whisper, "Seven."

"But how old are you?"

"Twelve," Tristan gasped in horror. "Oh – my – Gosh! Where did my life go?"

"But see, it works both ways," Shane kept on. "How old is Pop?"

"Just turned 40 this past October."

"But how old does he look."

"Um… Late twenties? No older than 30."

"Now should that be possible?"

"Well if it is, then that stuff Dad makes him put on his face is a lot more powerful than I thought."

Suddenly a look of excitement sparked on Shane's face. "Oh! Okay, ya hear how the piano just started?"

Tristan turned his head slowly to one side, then slowly to the other. Where could that silly piano be? "Seriously, that's just good old-fashioned wrong," he said. "and more than a little creepy."

Shane waved it off. "It won't be tomorrow, unless Ma or Pop do something really stupid and they need another Nuke day this week to fix it."

Tristan's worries were gradually becoming excited curiosities. "Really?"

"Actually, technically it will seem strange tomorrow, but only because I told you that it would when the strings started in. Never, never, never make promises to anyone when the strings are playing. Ma and Pop do it all the time and the whole world turns to crap about two weeks later, and stays that way until the 'Nuke' days die down. Then they'll be disgustingly happy almost every damn day and they'll say all this lovey-dovey crap like everything's perfect and how lucky they are to have found each other and for some reason they'll think it's all gonna be smooth sailing from here on in. It bugs the livin' Hell outta me but, hey, that's life on a 'Nuke Day'."

"So… I always thought we were a happy family."

"Oh, we are. On non-Nuke days this family kicks serious ass, and actually I'd say about half the 'Nuke' days are pretty damn good themselves. Especially the days called obligatory Nuke days."

Just when Tristan thought things couldn't possibly get more complicated: "Oh no. There's more than one kind of Nuke day?"

"Yeah, but just the two kinds."

"What's the other kind called?"

"They're called 'Front Burner' Nuke days."

Shane couldn't help but grin when Tristan replied, "That sounds dangerous."

"Nah, not so much," Shane said. "But remember this: never say anything supportive or encouraging while the strings or the piano are playing, because any promise you make will most likely be broken anywhere from a week to six months after you make it. It's especially important to remember to never promise anybody you'll always keep them safe or be there for them if there's any music playing. Any music at all. Because that either puts them under a bus, or gets 'em kidnapped, or shot, or paralyzed – only from the waist down though, or gives 'em amnesia, or all of the above."

And just like that, Tristan's headache was back. "What about what you're telling me now?"

"Oh nah, that's fine. This is all exposition of fact. They're usually pretty safe during musical interludes," Shane said. "And here's just a little fun fact: When you get tied up, even if the ropes are limp as wet noodles, they'll still hold you in place. And somehow a tiny strip of duct tape is all it takes to take your mouth shut. I mean it's like it was practically super glued your mouth together. Doesn't make a bit of sense; even a weakling could just move their jaw and peel the tape off, but..."

Tristan's posture straightened of its own accord. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"Oh I am."

"What?" Concern saturated every pore of Tristan's skin. "You were kidnapped?"

Shane chuckled a little. "Sure. Happens to all of us sooner or later."

"Oh, now I'm scared."

"And if the music weren't playing right now I'd promise you that you'd never be killed because that would bring the ratings down. Kids can die in the womb but once they're out, they're pretty safe."

Oh dear. More termenology. "What are ratings?"

It had never occurred to Shane to wonder. "Uh… Ya know? I'm not even sure. But higher ratings are better than lower ratings and kids getting permanently damaged drives the ratings down. If the child of a power couple gets killed the ratings go way way down, so if the music weren't playing, I'd tell you…"

"…that you promise you'd never let anything happen to me and I would always end up safe."

"Bingo! See?"

"Wow, I think I'm getting the hang of…"

"Uhn! Uhn! Uhn!"

"Oh right!… the strings." Tristan heaved a dramatic sigh. "In that case, I'm never gonna get the hang of this."

Shane smiled. "Atta boy!"

"But what's a power couple?"

"Uhhh, they're basically soulmates who spend half their time pissed off at each other but say they're happy as clams."

"Really? Why?"

Shane shrugged.

"Right," said Tristan. "Oakdale."

"And there's a reason we're all different but in very specific ways," Shane said. "See, I'm the biker boy bad-ass with a heart of gold. Now, how can you tell?"

"Let's see…" Tristan tapped his chin as he looked Shane over. "Well, obviously the black leather jacket and the black biker boots," he said. "Then there's the scruffy beard…"

"Right."

"And you've got that kinda cocky, rugged, but affectionate grin thing going for ya."

"Good. Good. What else?"

"Um… Your hair's cut kind of short and spikey."

"Uh-huh. Anything else?"

"Uh… You wear your black shades no matter how cloudy it is outside..."

"Right," Shane said, with a hint of pride in his voice. "Now what keeps me from being a total cliché?"

"Uh… Probably the fact that you're always reading classical fiction novels, especially Charles Dicken's because bad guys in his books are brought down by their own devices and that's your favorite form of poetic justice… There's also your lactose intolerance… and you wear Harvard tee-shirts and sweatshirt under Pop's plaid shirts because one day you're gonna…"

"Whoooah, whoat, put the breaks on, Andretti."

Tristan's eyes flashed wide. "Oh sorry! The Strings."

"Right." Shane forced a relieved exhale. "So is that it?"

"Well… You always kiss Dad on the cheek and call him 'Ma'," said Tristan, sounding less certain. "That's not very biker boy, especially on account of him being a man and all."

"No, you're probably right."

"So…" Tristan looked away for a moment, then asked, "So what am I?"

"A-ha! See, you're the shy little worrier with a nurturing personality who's always so busy worrying about how everybody else is doing that you forget to stop and think about yourself."

"I thought that was Rory."

Shane found himself nodding. "Close! Ya see, Rory's the sensitive, artistic, dreamy, romantic type who doesn't have a logical bone in his body but thinks in abstract hoops and circles and feelings. He's also a big-time nurturer but in a more traditional, almost maternal sort of way. You're too young to remember Grandma Emma, but other than the fact that Ror should never be allowed within fifty feet of a kitchen without supervision – and I'm pretty sure the Oakdale Fire Department would back me up on that – Ma and Pop say he's got her sweet and generous way about him."

"He's not a cliché is he?" Tristan asked hopefully.

Shane shook his head very very slowly but assuredly. "Nnno – no – no, he's not," he said. "He's a level five black belt who fractured the high school quarterback's arm in three different places when the creep got a little handsy behind the bleechers."

"Oh yeah! I guess you don't really see that much in the dreamy romantic type, huh."

"Nope. No, ya don't."

Then Tristan braved the question:

"So am I a cliché?" Shane, quite unintentionally, spoke to his brother as if he were attempting to comfort a very young child. "Well now, let's see. You're a conservative dresser who only wears solid colors but you've got that really, really long copper hair straight out of a damn Pantene commercial. Plus, when everybody else is falling to pieces, that's when you really pull it together."

"But Rory's got long hair too."

"Right, but Rory's hair is black and curly and he wears it like that elf did in Lord of the Rings, and it's an extension of his graceful, sensitive nature whereas you have long hair because people who enjoy supporting others from behind the scenes and prefer to go unnoticed usually don't have long hair, because long hair on a guy draws attention. Plus you usually wear it down unless you're doing chores at Grandma and Grandpa's farm" Shane could've gone on like this for hours; he'd always dreamed of being a teacher, like both of his parents. "It's also pretty unusual for twelve year-olds to be as passionate about gardening as you are. Plus you're a twelve year-old vegetarian by choice. Also pretty rare." Shane's entire manner suddenly became more lively. "Hey! Music stopped."

Tristan's head fell forward. "Oh sweet lord, I didn't ever think it was gonna stop."

Shane could sympathize. "Just hang in there; it always does." Then he said what he'd been puttin off. "Last thing" he re-situated himself in his seat. "If both the strings and the piano are playing and it smells like there are roses or scented candles burnin' nearby... You need to get your little fussy, perfectionist ass the Hell away from Ma and Pop's room."

Tristan naively asked, "Really? Why? What'll happen?"

Shane patted his little brother's shoulder. "I'm gonna shield you from that one."


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The Oakdale "phonomena" doesn't actually happen within the confines in the story. The characters don't hear music. I just was having a little fun - and sleep deprivation brings strange scenerios to one's mind. Hope you had at least a little fun with it though!!!