I realised how happy I am to celebrate Christmas Eve by watching the Polar Express with my parents. Seeing is believing, huh? Bless those who do not see, yet believed. :)

This is the end for Scout and Boys. Have a pleasant holiday, dear readers and Merry Christmas

Jem

I was set down from the carrier's cart at the age of three. The June grass, amongst which I stood, was taller than I was, and I wept. I had ever been so close to grass before. It towered above me and all around me, each blade tattooed with tiger-skins of sunlight. It was knife-edged, dark, and a wicked green, thick as a forest and alive with grasshoppers that chirped and chattered and leapt through the air like monkeys.

I was lost and didn't know where to move. A tropic heat oozed from the ground, rank with sharp odours of roots and nettles. I put my head back and howled, and the sun hit me smartly n the face, like a bully.

From this daylight nightmare I was awakened, as from many another, by the appearance of my mother. She leaned over me, her shining face hung up like a shield between the sky and me.

Mother.

Mischievous, muddle-headed, full of brilliant fancies, half witless, half touched with wonder, she was popular during her school days; and she was beautiful, most beautiful at that time

"Jem…Come on, Jem, wake up…" Scout's face suddenly replaced Mother's, and the uncanny resemblance shook me up. How similar they were…

I got up from the ground, realised that I had fallen asleep with a book on my chest. "What is it, Scout?" Closing my eyes to uncross my vision, I opened them up again and was startled to see Scout dressed up. It wasn't the first time I've seen her all prettied up, but she looked like a picture this Sunday. All-dressed up with a striped blouse and choker, a new bonnet, and crochet-work gloves, she looked seventeen and shapely.

Pulling me up, Scout twirled me around, dusted my shirt and clipped the cufflinks on, before giving me a pinch on the chest. "Stop giving me that drunk look, Atticus junior. Heaven's alive of we'll be late for Aunt Maudie's wedding. I can't believe that dreamy child is finally getting married to poor Uncle Jack." That tongue of hers is still as sharp and blunt as ever. "If it wasn't for Eunice here, I would've called the Sheriff to escort me to the church."

Miss Simpson?

Ah, I cast a look at the russet-curled Eunice. She had grown far and disturbing with secretive prettiness. Her russet curls were like apple peelings framing a polished pumpkin face and there was a waft fruity air of exploding puddings. She must've been baking for the celebration of Peace Day. It was one of the greatest occasions the little town of Maycomb had celebrated every year.

"Historic moments of national rejoicing," Eunice seized the white-topped tray from the front seat of the brass-lamped motor car and strapped herself with it on the back seat. I wondered how did Eunice know what I was thinking then.

"Jem, onto the passenger-seat. You're too drunk to drive." Scout took over the wheel and drove to the chapel. The car was that of the Simpson's family.

Yessir, Aunt Maudie is getting married on the busiest day of all in Maycomb where everyone was invited or self-invited themselves, though everyone brought of his best from field and garden. The usual rush – chaos in the tent labelled 'Kitchen', shrill orders can be heard from under there some young mothers scrubbed their little darling boys under the pump, getting the grease and mud off their hair; little groups of boys and girls dressing up in their white robes for the wedding choir; Eunice being one of the seniors in the group wore a red chequered sash around her waist.

Funny that I'd been noticing her a lot, recognising the words she was mouthing: 'Almighty and Most Merciful Father, who alone worketh Great Marvels…" It must be verses from the selected wedding hymn that she's reciting.

"Aunt Maudie wanted her to lead the choir into the song, so Eunice is nervous about that," Scout confidently answered my questioning looks at Eunice. She gave me a sort of a sly wink and I felt uncomfortable right down to my toes. To enter the church on this one morning of the seventh day of the week, especially on this special occasion was like crawling head first into the horn of plenty, a bursting granary, a vegetable stall, a grotto of bright flowers. I looked at the crowd: many were huddled in groups, youths together or family groups, but here and there a young couple, newly-engaged, sat red in the neck and hands. The leading benches contained our gentry, their pews marked with visiting cards: the Lords of the Manor, Squire Jones and the Croomes; then the Army, the rich and the settled spinsters and finally the wealthier farmers. All were neatly arranged by protocol.

The priest adjusted his flag on his robes and gave an indication of his arms. The organ began the procession. As if on cue, everyone stood up in orderly fashion, paying his or her respects to the bride… who has yet to walk down the aisle. Eunice began to sing, the beautiful melody so aptly pitched to its correct function that I felt compelled to sing along. There it was, two little peridot fairies floating down the white carpet, flinging petals aimlessly, and completely covering the floor with white, pink and a much darker pink. Miss Maudie dressed in white was reflecting silver-white-everything; I was dazzled by the shine of her fabric and trying to focus crossed my eyes.

Even though my vision wasn't in its right state, I still managed to grasp the wedding just fine. The exchanging of vows and rings were perfectly synchronised and I could hear many people letting a breath of relief, or a sigh of romanticism. Earlier today, I heard that Uncle Jack almost threw the chickens out of their cages and looking up their arses to see if the ring was hidden in the folds. Those were ridiculous moments best kept in secret, but fortunately, he found the ring woven in the safety pin of his corsage. In the future down the road, they would have spent another 40 years together and have a couple of children of their own, but that is going too far down the future.

There are times when lights don't serve its purpose anymore and were better off being constant stars in the night sky, but I'll always remember the brightest moments of my life when I've received the beginning of a newfound feeling that lit up the rest of my journey. Looking back at her, she looked smooth and precious, a thing of unplumbable mysteries, and perilous as quicksand. She had a lot of common with my sister, who by the way was surprisingly engaged in a blushing dance with Cecil.

My sister and Cecil… I shook my head and wondered nothing less of friendship, but there were times where I may be wrong. Anyway, excuse me for my current distraction in narrating the story, but I feel like asking Eunice for a little waltz; something good might come out of it.

Til then, I bid everyone the finest day.

The End.

I'm happy :D