"What do you remember about Mom's mother?" His sister, who was a full ten years younger than him, asked at their mother's funeral. "I was just four when she died. I don't even know if my memories of her are real."
So, he turned to memories in his mind that have lived there since the days when he pulled a bright red wagon and dressed in Robin Hood clothes - memories that had become whispers by then and were maybe as suspect as hers.
Then, he talked. She listened. And, as he watched her ears collect his words, he saw his new role before him.