A new writing journey had brought Dill and I to Tulsa, an unexpected destination by all means.
I had to write an article about classism, and apparently, three boys were killed over just that. I had yet to hear any other story similar from anywhere else.
All I knew was a rumor; and all The New York Times saw was a story.
It was a short drive for our family of four from Maycomb. Well, compared to our other ventures. And the fact that we took a plane to see my father in town contributed to everyone's newfound patience.
Maudie, our eight year old daughter, was reading a book. Charlie, our four year old son, was content to staring at the plains. Dill was driving, and I was fiddling with the map.
"Do you have any idea where we're supposed to meet... Mr. Curtis?"
"Somewhere in Tulsa, and we've still got three hours, sweetheart." Dill said, absentmindedly, while starting at the signs ahead.
"Isn't he only seventeen?" I asked. It was a strange thing of me to forget the names of my next subjects. And, well, everything about them.
"Yes, he is. Do you remember his name?"
"No.. It started with a P. I know that much."
Dill laughed, "It was a weird one too." His laugh and voice didn't change with the years, but however, he did get a few wrinkles, as had I. But that added to his beauty. He only aged gracefully, like a fine wine.
"Well, it obviously was, if I can't remember it either."
"Miss Valence is older. Miss Sherri Valence." He reminded me. We had everything about her down, including the fact that she was deeply in love with Mr. Curtis, a younger man.
This whole thing made me remember an experience we had in the city, years and years ago, before Maudie and Charlie were even born. We met a boy downtown, and that's how we reunited, by his bidding.
"You think Dallas is down there?" I wondered.
"The chances are slim, darling." Dill answered me.
My heart shattered deep down at that thought. I missed Dallas, and I had so much more to tell him.
I sighed, hoping we'd get to Tulsa by sundown.
"Mommy, are we there yet?" Maudie asked.
"Soon, sweetheart. We'll be there."
The radio played a Beatles song, one of my favorites. It was just released on their new album earlier in the summer.
"You say you've seen the seven wonders, and you bird is green. But you can't see me. You can't see me..."
One of the many things about me is this: I'm one of the oldest Beatles fangirls anyone will ever meet. Even my husband would agree, and it's made me quite popular with the interns in New York. Maybe that's the reason for their success; they can connect with someone, even a 'crabby, middle aged writer' like myself.
When we all saw the sign welcoming us to Oklahoma, the four of us took a collective sigh of relief.
We would finally get answers.