Merc McDoozie: Elder brother to Pistol
I haven't seen Pistol in years. But that's maybe because he refused to visit me, even though I sent him visiting orders by the dozen in the early years. I stopped sending them eventually, when I realised he just couldn't face it.
A shame, really, because I miss the little guy. We were close, believe it or not. That's what hurts the most.
Yeah, close. You wouldn't think so, would you? There's him - skinny little four-eyes, and me - the big, tough guy. But Pistol got me out of trouble with Dad, on more than a few occasions.
And there was the name thing. My name would have hung better on him, and his on me. I always envied him his name, to tell the truth. And he thought he had it tough. Imagine being saddled with Mercutio?
I know he had this thing with making up different stories about why he was called Pistol. Like the one about mother being into botany and calling him after a plant part. He thought that was hilarious, though I had no idea why, at the time. I found out later that it was a different spelling, though I still didn't get why he nearly bust a gut laughing about it when he was telling me. Still, I never got his sense of humour. Maybe he got my share.
As far as names go, we both had it easy compared with our big sister. She visits, by the way, which surprises me, considering we didn't get on well as kids. Calls herself by her middle name, Cordelia, nowadays. Yeah, we all knew about mother's love of Shakespeare, but what was she thinking, calling a little girl Goneril? You can imagine what she had put up with from her classmates. Last time she came, Cordie told me she thought Pistol might be ready to see me, now all these years have passed. Maybe I'll send him another visiting order.
I'm not holding my breath, though.