I desperately needed the protection of a father or big brother. Without either, I was left unprotected from the two terrifying neighborhood bullies, Lonnie and Damon. We called them “The Brothers of Death” because they could take our lives at whim, and we weren’t allowed to forget it. Lonnie was monstrous, and often before an assault, he peered at me with bulging eyes that looked as if they were going to pop out of his head. His teeth were sharp as daggers and ferociously devouring. His arms and chest were huge like those of The Hulk, and he could tear me to shreds in an instant. 

Unlike his brutish brother, Damon was serpent-like and reptilian. His assaults were cloaked and surprising and meant to shock and awe. We nicknamed him “Water Moccasin” because he’d surreptitiously slither up behind us like a snake in swamp water, twist his arms around our necks, and squeeze like a vise until we were close to passing out. We children were too small and weak to escape from Damon’s windpipe-crushing stranglehold, so we gasped, suffocated, and choked mercilessly until released.