Mayella Ewell stood at the sink of the kitchen, scrubbing off the leftover food from a dish. It was a wonder that they had enough food to leave a residue, or that anything on a plate of theirs was left uneaten.
A change in the sink's chrome made her eyes flash to the window.
"Lookie, Pa, there goes that Helen Robinson," Mayella's glance followed the woman. "Pa?" Her looked shifted to her inebriated father, unconscious at the family table. Her tone darkened, "Oh, so you just gonna sleep the day ag'in, huh?"
She turned again to the window, her eyes locked on the woman with the skin as dark as her conscious. The words came out choppy and forced, "You know, Tom, talked about her sometimes…he sure was crazy about her" a slow smile crept into existence, "I guess that's all I ever really wanted, was someone to be crazy about me," her attention focused on the dish, "I think everybody deserves someone like that…I mean, you even had Ma, for however short of a time that was."
A gentle sigh and quiet chuckle at her childhood memories ensued before she continued, "I remember those long summer days when Mama would make ice cream and we'd all set around and talk…and you'd just set and smile at Mama..."
She looked to her father and slowly sharpened her words, "What happened to that, Pa? Just because she's gone and you ain't got nobody to take care of yourself don't mean you c'n keep me here, to take care of yo' house and yo' chillun' and yo' things when I ain't got nothing of my own," she noticed the home she was in for the first time in a long while, "and I ain't gonna get nothing of my own, 'cause I'm this goddamned bird, cooped up in this cage of a house, fixin' a nest for seb'm little chicks that ain't even mine!"
Her arms dropped to the sink for support as a hiss escaped her cherry, sunburnt lips. Her voice was quiet, "You know, Pa, I heard somewhere that seb'm was a lucky number. But we ain't so lucky, is we? Oh, no, that's just me," she resumed her chore, furiously scrubbing at the plate, "'Cause, I can't seem to find a man to love me, or say nothin' without getting hit, or get this goddamned food off of this plate!" she screamed the last bit, and threw the china into the tub before her. She panted dry and exhausted; there was nothing left for her father, no love, no hate, no fear – that is, until she heard his chair shift.
Her feet didn't exist, her arms were left behind, she was only a pair of eyes and a voice when she faced her father, "Mayella, what the hell did you do? Did something happen in the kitchen?" His drunken slur allowed Mayella to explain herself.
"No, Pa, nothing happened. It was just clumsy me, droppin' dishes," the eyes followed him as her father stood up, his glare filled with conviction before anger, as always.
"You ain't gonna leave me, now, are you?"
She felt her feet again as she took a few steps back, "No, Pa, no. I would never leave you…just…go back to sleep, Pa."