Prewriting 4.2

(I will mention this earlier in the paper: The biological father of my foster brother, Charlie was arrested for murder. It was a major story in my town. Given the fact that Charlie was named after his father, the name "Charlie Gilleo," which was synonymous in my town for murder, was not only connected to Charlie Gilleo Sr, but also Charlie Gilleo Jr, my foster brother. Everyone in school knew about his father. And worse for him, everyone in school believed in his father's guilt.) The time leading up to Charlie's dad's trial was tense to say the least. We all had to watch what we said around the house. It was a sensitive and tense time for Charlie. His dad's name was in the paper every day. It was a huge story in Hyde Park. Thankfully, Charlie was a big kid for his age so no one said anything hurtful to his face about his father. His intimidating demeanor kept him safe from explicit mocking. However, what may have hurt even more to Charlie was the inevitable whispering when he walked to the halls and of course the silence he endured when he entered a room, fully aware they were just talking about his father. On the day of the trial, my mom and I were driving back from a doctor's appointment. It was then when my mom got the call: Charlie's dad was found guilty for murder. Charlie's father's guilt or innocence was beside the point that this was the news she dreaded haring. She knew this would change Charlie forever; this would shatter him. And nothing would ever be able to fully put him back together. My mom then pressed on the gas a little more and sped home, knowing the situation we would walk into would not be pretty. Charlie always had a temper problem. We were working through it, but this verdict would send all of that progress down the drain. When we entered the house we saw two holes in the wall, broken glass, and drips of blood on the floor. My sister looked baffled, not knowing what to do. Her only words, "He locked himself in the bathroom and won't come out." I was afraid. I know he would never hurt me, but I was more afraid of what this damage meant for him- a reflection of the damage of himself. My mom begged Charlie to open up the door but didn't hear anything. She thought the worst. Finally after pounding on the door for ten more minutes, Charlie opened the door, looked my mom in the eyes, and fell into her arms sobbing. He had broken his hand that night from punching in the wall so we had to take him to the emergency room. A cast fixed his hand, but wouldn't come even close to fixing the damage he would endure from this verdict.