Pool_1

Villains dress like heroes. They're smart. Heroes that look like heroes are villains, or could be villans." Attacked suddenly with a hissing and hooting over his irrelevance to the current exchange, Mac retaliated with yet another story, Chuck's story. Bill offered his services, "Anybody want coffee refills?", as the group settled in for Chuck's story. Marcus began, "My sister was struck by a car at the age of eight. My oldest brother Chuck, almost four years old, clung to her hospital bed while she was unconscious, screaming Sissy! W-w-w-ake up! Sissy. Uh-uh-nu-nu-mommy, he couldn't say nurse, d- d-d-d-don't l-l-l-let Sissy d-die. Uh-uh-nu-nu-mommy. D-d-don't let her d-die. Little Chuck had a bad stutter. My next oldest brother, Aldo, and I were not born yet. Sissy was all little Chucky had. Mother's hard work had left Sissy to be deputy mother to her little guy. The bond was not just that of sister and brother." Marcus lowered his face but elevated his eyes as if to engage some phantom before him. Perhaps this was the voice of that phantom taking over that revealed how little Chucky endured his sister's coma clinging to her hand for two months and in her recovery made it his totality to protect her from harm forever. The next six months in the hospital found little Chuck posting guard at her door, keeping noisy folks away while my mom tutored her. S-s-sissy's readin b-b-books! Shshsh. Mom, who slaved in the silk mills and never finished third grade, used these six months to teach herself as well as his sister. Too well. Maria-Carmella knew only music and looms, nothing about curricula. If it was in the books, it got learned. Sissy recovered completely, physically, except for a wide red scar that went from her left outer eyebrow to her right lower jaw. Her cross to bear, and Chuck's.