"Be nice to that schoolteacher of yours", I said, attempting to wipe just one of the many smudges of dirt off my little brother's face, and then tousling his hair. A few bugs jumped out as I did so.
"Aww, you know I'm jus' a pleasure to have in class" Burris replied, grinning that mischievous little grin of his, and then bounding out the door in the direction of town.
I rolled my eyes and smiled. It was the first day of school, which meant that Burris would, as always, show up, raise hell for some poor unsuspecting young first-grade teacher, and come back home, not to show up for another year. It keeps the truant officers off him if he shows up that one day; when it comes to us Ewells, you take what you can get. Anyone who tries to get us to do something we don't want to do is fighting a losing battle. My daddy hunts out of season all he wants. This is what comes with being a Ewell.
Thinking about my father made my stomach hurt a little bit. He was real, real drunk last night, and it wasn't a pretty picture. There was now a bruise on my arm and a cut on my little sister's leg. This also comes with being a Ewell.
But today, my father was nowhere to be found. The sun was shining and the birds were singing and our ramshackle house was relatively clean. I plopped myself down on the chair in our front yard As far as days go, this was shaping up to be a good one. Taking whatever small shred of happiness and fulfillment you could find, well, I guess you could say that also comes with being a Ewell.
I know it sounds strange to live this way. The rest of Maycomb looks at us as more like animals than people, and maybe that's why we act that way. Maybe we're just born like this, wild and uncontrollable and dirty, and that's why Maycomb looks at us this way. Chicken or egg, I try not to think about it to much. We are who we are, and yeah, I guess it'd be nice to have a daddy that tells you he loves you or brothers and sister's who went to school every day, or maybe a friend my own age, but I don't. I have a father who hunts out of season, gets drunk and hits us, brothers and sisters who run wild around the household, bored out of their minds and lonely (no one is ever going to let their child play with a Ewell kid. Hell will freeze over before I see little Burris or one of 'em playing with one of the kids from town or even a country kid, even a Cunningham. Those Cunninghams are poorer than poor but they have their dignity, and even town folks respect 'em. Us Ewells have no dignity, no respect, and that is what makes us Ewells), and I've never even met a single person my own age. It must sound so strange to someone else, but this is how it's always been.
My name is Mayella Ewell, and this is my life.