Dean For as long as I could remember Dean had always protected me. On my fifth birthday Dean protected me from the grocery lady. It had always just been me and him. Him and Me. I remember this one time. I musta had been about five, that we were in the grocery store and the old lady who was checking us out smiled at us. I knew she was smiling at us because she looked at him and then she looked at me. I guess I looked pretty funny, while Dean had fallen asleep in front of the T.V. last week I had trimmed my hair real short. I thought it looked real fine. Dean had taken a deep breath, tooken off his hat, smoothed his hair down, and then put his hat back on and told me that I had to ask permission to use the scissors from now on. Between that and the fact that Dean never knew what clothes to buy me so I usually wore a mismatch of jeans and t-shirts or overalls, I looked more like a little boy than a little girl. But she still said, “You’ve got a beautiful little girl sir” to Dean...