As the sun peeked through my curtains that June morning, so too did two beady eyes: eyes that could only belong to one Dill Harris. His mischievous laughter drifted to the front of the house, where the sharp snap of our screen door and the startled yelp of Calpurnia signaled Dill's entrance. Calpurnia, her voice of sorghum syrup and hands as wide as bedslats, was just as excited as I was about the advent of summer.
Summer brought adventures that were not confined to schoolrooms and textbooks; summer brought purple twilights and Dill. A full summer had passed since the days when our town had been consumed by disease, culminating in the hottest day of summer, when Tom Robinson had been pronounced guilty for the rape of Mayella Ewell. I had seen hatred in the eyes of so many adults: some of that hatred directed at white folk- some at black folk. No one deserved hateful glares more than Bob Ewell, the man who had hunted Jem and me down like autumn possum. That night of terror- and then salvation- seemed even further back in history, like a faded family photograph.
That was the night we met Boo.
I had never seen Boo since. His face the color of creamy linen, Boo did not like strangers. Atticus seemed to understand this. And so now, did I. But Dill, I suspected, would never relent with his game to lure Boo out of the Radley house. Perhaps I was wrong?
Boo's bright face exploded around the doorway, accompanied by a flurry of words and gestures. He bounded over to my bed, hopped on, and proceeded to tell me the story of his journey here. After months of begging his mother and (new) stepfather, not to mention frequent letters to Aunt Rachel Haverford, Boo finally secured a month-long parole from Meridien, Mississippi confinement. The promises offered by Maycomb and a reunion with his best friends- not to mention, Miss Maudie Atkinson's Lane Cake. This would be a wonderful summer.