That stupid mask of Scottie’s comes back to mind. Bandit. Yes, of course. The mask he used to wear was just like a cartoon bandit might wear, surrounding just his eyes in black. When he started wearing that all the time she decided her brother wasn’t just weird, he was crazy, beyond hope, and there was no point in worrying about it. She was fifteen and he was twelve, and suddenly, all he ever talked about was raccoons. Raccoon-this, raccoon-that. She heard about raccoons till the word made her sick. He read books about raccoons. He went to zoos and museums. He got himself a raccoon hat and started wearing it at the dinner table every night; till, one night, she grabbed it while he slept and threw it into the trash. When an imitation raccoon pelt appeared on his door; she threw that out, too. She just couldn’t accept that her little brother wasn’t going to grow up and act like a normal person. When he started wearing that stupid little black mask that outlined his eyes like the "mask" of a raccoon, and not just all day, but wearing it to bed as well, that was it. That was all she could take. That was when she gave up.