Aristotle once postulated 'Horror Vaculi' and the cosmos trembled at the truth. The Postables knew that hypothesis, that is to say Oliver knew it, he just knew it in its English form, 'Nature Abhors a Vacuum'. Put another way, peace will always be filled by chaos, whether in physics or within the emotional environment of a man. Put still another way, the peaceful ambiance of the DLO was about to change, and the balance of the cosmos was already tipping in a very peculiar direction. It was not the sudden clamor that was only seconds away, that was normal outside the DLO. But that clamor would be the precursor to a very odd day.

The DLO was humming like the finely tuned machine the Postables had made it to be. Rita Haywith was hand sorting a large basket of DLO refugees into two smaller baskets; one for NHJBSs (No Hope Just Bury at Sea) and SW4Ts (Somebody Waiting 4 These). Norman Dorman had Phoebe Amidon under one wing and the two were finishing the reroute of a parcel that had been lost, badly battered and rescued. Phoebe, who loved spending time with Norman and Rita, was adding the postage to the rescue. Shane McInerney was clacking at her computer and laughing from time to time, and mumbling, "How do you like my cascading cache invalidation now? Huh?" Oliver O'Toole was finishing the DLO Weekly Report with one eye and watching Shane with the other just because he liked watching Shane. Every few minutes she would look up and their eyes would meet. In those odd moments the cosmos would shudder happily with approval.

"Norman," Phoebe asked, "why is the DLO so peaceful?"

"It's the Dead Letter Office. Dead letters don't bother anyone." He tipped his head to one side, listening intently. "Unlike the living ones," he added. "Brace yourself."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Beware the Jabberwocky, Phoebe. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch. And I left my vorpal blade at home so the creature won't be slain today. We'll just stand silent and hope she doesn't notice us."

As promised by Aristotle's plenism just seconds before, the doors of the DLO were suddenly thrown open to crash into the walls with an impact that shook the floor. A large wheeled cart was thrust into the DLO by Floor Supervisor Fuentes, eyes of flame and burbled attitude. On the cart were half a dozen carefully wrapped flats, all 4' x 5' and 4" thick.

"Sit!" Fuentes hissed when Oliver stood. "Go make coffee. McInerney! Here! Now!"

The sigh of irritation Shane made at being interrupted was audible all the way to the door, giving Fuentes a sudden case of 'one squinky eye syndrome', a malady not see since the days Inspector Clouseau had tormented the hapless Chief Inspector Dreyfus.

"These flats arrived at Denver Post Office but the manifest has been damaged," Fuentes held up half a sheet of paper and indicated a badly shredded edge. Shane and Fuentes stared at each other, both knowing that the Floor Supervisor could have picked up the phone and called the Post Office of origin to get the delivery details but didn't want to. "So now this is the problem of the DLO, Missy." Fuentes raised one eyebrow, a challenge, then handed Shane the partial shipping manifest when she stopped next to the flats.

"I will get a guy right on that, Supervisor Fuentes," Shane said, giving the woman a smile so syrupy it could have stuck a bus to the street and handed the manifest to Oliver.

The doors banged open again as Fuentes stormed out mumbling, "You people drive me batty."

"Short trip," Rita said softly, looking over Oliver's shoulder to read the manifest.

A blood curdling phrase shouted in the hallway outside drifted back into the room, "Off with their heads."

"The Red Queen is the bad one," Norman whispered. "She is preeminent and likes to tell all the other characters what they are allowed to say and do or she feels threatened."

"And do?"

"And, double do," Norman grinned.

"So what is her problem?" Phoebe asked. "Did someone in the warehouse give her a wedgie?"

Oliver looked away lest Phoebe see his smile. Then, "Norman told me that you will be needing to find a 'commercial internship' for your Sociology Class next fall. So I arranged it so that you could have your internship here with us."

"Way cool," Norman said as Phoebe and Rita clapped their hands with delight.

"Wait," Phoebe said. "Fuentes would never go for that."

"She didn't," Shane said. "So we went over her head to my friend Becky in D.C.. That is why the Red Queen's cookies are frosted."

"You're in kid," Norman said. "You're almost a Postable now."

"Jabberwocky, really Norman?" Oliver asked, clearing his throat.

"Well, at The Home, Alice and her books were favorites. The older cousins would always read them to the younger cousins. Phoebe said she is reading the first two books in school." Norma shrugged. "Just helping her see the story outside the covers of the book."

Shane rubbed her shoulder affectionately against Oliver. "What do we have here?"

"Apparently this," Oliver said, laying his hands on the flats, "is the Charles Kingsleigh Lepidoptera Collection. I suggest we try – ."

"The Denver Museum of Nature & Science. Already done my dear Mr. O'Toole," Shane said. "I – well, sort of peeked in the system and found the original manifest. All we need do now is deliver it."

"Peeked Ms McInerney?" Oliver put his face next to Shane's ear and whispered, "You always amaze me, Shane."

"The Denver Museum of Nature & Science is a municipal natural history and science museum in Denver, Colorado. It is a resource for informal science education in the Rocky Mountain region," Rita recited from memory. "We'll have to borrow one of the USPS vans to get these there. I'll go round up some keys."

"What's a lepidoptera?" Phoebe asked.

"The Lepidoptera is an order of insects that includes moths and butterflies. One hundred eighty thousand species of Lepidoptera are described, in 126 families and 46 super families, 10% of the total described species of living organisms," Rita recited from memory as she walked back into the DLO. "I have keys," she said, jingling them. "Let's head em' up and move em' out."

The Mail Van was not built for speed or for comfort. It was built for utility with a wide open back that easily accepted the Charles Kingsleigh Lepidoptera Collection with room to spare. In addition, what the Mail Van was perfectly suited for was the pleasure of three friends on a small tour of the Wonderland sometimes called Denver. Rita drove, allowing Norman and Phoebe to gawk and laugh at characters on sidewalks.

"Norman! Look!" Phoebe cried suddenly. "It's the Hatter."

Norman laughed. "That's nice Pho – wow! It is the Hatter."

The man hurrying along the sidewalk was tall, lanky, dressed in blue plaid trousers, a pink shirt with yellow bow tie under a dark green green vest, a very long jacket of an orange so bright it hurt the eyes to look at it, and bright green very large top hat four sizes too big pulled over a mop of curly red hair.

"Wow," Rita said. "That is some get up." She slowed and pulled to the curb as Norman rolled down his window.

The man turned and faced them. "I'm late, I'm late for a very important date," he said then took another step closer to Norman's window. "I know that line belongs to Nivens McTwisp, but I need to borrow it just now. I really am very late. Can you give me a lift?"

"You're the Hatter!" Phoebe exclaimed.

"Yes," the man smiled. "I'm afraid so, entirely bonkers. But, all the best people are," the man smiled. "But for me, only for today, the matinee performance. And I am late."

"Where to?" Norman asked as he reached back and popped open the side door of the van.

The man tipped his enormous hat, "The Amphitheater at Washington Park, only four blocks that way. You are welcome to stay for the performance."

Rita laughed. "Can't. Have a delivery to make."

"Besides," Phoebe added, "the Jabberwocky might find out."

"What lesson did we learn from that?" Norman asked as they pulled away from the curb and turned toward the Museum again.

Phoebe stared out the window for several blocks, thinking. Then her face brightened and she smiled. "Don't judge books – or people – by their covers. Take some time to get to know them before throwing them under the bus. People will often surprise you in the nicest of ways if you just give them a chance."

Several blocks passed in silence as three pairs of eyes watched with anticipation for what else might surprise them this day. Then, "Oh," Rita said. "What do those two remind you of?" In the block ahead were two girls, on one either side of the street, each waiting at a bus stop, one to go east and the other west. Both were wearing dark red jumpsuits, bright yellow blouses with a blue bow tie, and a dark blue toque.

"Tweedel Dum and Tweedel Dee," Phoebe said. "But why on different sides of the street?"

"They appear to be twins," Norman said. "But are obviously having a disagreement about which bus to take. They dress alike to give the illusion of a matched set."

"It's called enantiomorphism," Rita agreed. "They are purposefully trying for a three-dimensional mirror image of each other. But they are not mirror images. Look closely."

"One looks to be happy and the other seems to be very upset."

"Two different mind sets with identical bodies and faces. Oliver calls it the double mind. Take a good look, Phoebe, and notice the differences. There is a lesson to be learned here. There was once a small yard that was home to two large dogs who were identical to each other in every way except attitude. One dog was angry, mean, prideful, and arrogant. The other is happy, peaceful, serene and compassionate. In that same yard was only one dog dish and only enough food for one of the dogs to eat. So of the two dogs, which one was strongest?"

As the van passed by, Phoebe stared closely at the two girls, first the angry one on the left, then at the happy one on the right. "It isn't fair," she said at last.

"What isn't fair?"

"The strongest dog is the one that gets fed.

Norman slipped an arm around the girl to encourage her. "But that is the lesson Phoebe. There is nothing fair about life. Nothing. There is no such thing as a life free of pain. The choice you make is what to do with that pain. Every day you write the book of your life by the choices you make. You choose to be angry or peaceful, mean or compassionate, arrogant or quiet, every choice defines who you are."

"I could choose not to grow up."

Norman and Rita both laughed. "Many make that choice," Rita said. "That's where the generation of the entitled came from. Most end up working in politics. Look at the mess that has gotten us into. Do you want to be that screwed up?"

Phoebe laughed and settled back in her seat. "I see it. No, I don't want to be that childish."

As the van passed a grove of trees near the Museum, a rabbit broke from the brush and dashed across the road. Rita braked hard to avoid the animal.

"The March Hare," Phoebe laughed. "That's like the March Hare."

"Her name is Haigha in the books," Norman said.

"Mad as a March Hare," Rita recited from memory. "Idiomatic phrase derived from the observed antics, said to occur only in the March breeding season of the Lepus europaeus. The phrase is an allusion that can be used to refer to any other animal – or human – who behaves in the excitable and unpredictable manner of a 'March hare'."

"What does that mean?" Phoebe asked.

"A March Hare is a slave to impulse, undisciplined, crazy.

"That one might be cousin to Lester Kimsicle," Rita mumbled.

"Who is – ?"

"Never mind Phoebe," Rita added.

"What's the lesson?" Phoebe asked Norman.

"Wisdom," Norman replied. "Crazy is why we try to pass wisdom along to you. From wisdom come justice, judgment, equity and prudence, and when you keep those close, the March Hare will be far away from you."

An hour later the van had been returned to the warehouse and the Postables were filing back into the DLO. Someone unexpected followed them in, a bright blue butterfly that hovered around Phoebe for several seconds and then came to light on Shane's computer.

"Oh my," Shane exclaimed. "What is that?"

"That is a Lepidoptera," Phoebe said.

"A Lepidoptera Nymphalidae morphini to be exact," Rita said. "Sometimes referred to as Absolem's Blue."

"You never cease to amaze, Rita," Oliver said.

Phoebe studied the butterfly carefully, smiling. "Why do you suppose it is here?"

Norman laughed and laced his fingers behind his head. "After this day it should be clear, I think. To quote Absolem's words to Alice, "Who - are - you?"

"What?" Phoebe asked, blinking surprise.

"Who - are - you?" he repeated. "Remember when your mom was missing and the kids across the street mocked your hope and tried to define it for you?"

"Yes."

"In the same way that they could not define your hope, the world cannot tell you who you are. A picture in a magazine or a talking head on social media cannot define Phoebe Amidon. That is something you must do for yourself, every single morning."

"To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man," Phoebe quoted.

Norman laughed. "I think Oliver is rubbing off on her. Phoebe, Alice said, "It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then." That is truer than you know. You aren't the same person you were yesterday. Innocence and imagination that appears in the hearts of young children changes as they mature. They lose their 'muchness'. There is a scripture that spoke to me in a very special way one day, it said, "For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope." If you walk with God beside you, Phoebe, you don't need 'muchness' because you have 'suchness' and the world is open to you and you can become a strong young woman."

"What will I do?"

"Whatever," Norman smiled. "With God's 'suchness', you can do more than six impossible things every day."

"But I am still young, and small."

"So was the caterpillar that became that Lepidoptera Nymphalidae morphini. It's all about trusting the timing."

"Hello all," Randilynn called from the door.

Phoebe rushed to her mother and the two huddled, whispering, with their heads together. Then Phoebe returned to Norman and handed him a card. It was a Father's Day card for a step-father, but the word 'step' had been marked out with a red Sharpie and the word 'special' written above it. "Father's Day is also about foster fathers, step-fathers, and even mentors that I call special-fathers. Thank you, Norman."

Norman looked like he was about to blubber and Oliver handed him his handkerchief. The Postal Detective dabbed at his eyes and opened the card. Inside was an illustration of Alice staring up at the caterpillar perched on his mushroom, with the message in flowing script below.

"Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality."