Going back to bed was probably the most unpleasant thing I could have done. There is no rest for the wicked or weary and I believe I am a little of both. I just layed there as I listened for the aftershocks of the bombs I just dropped. For a very long half an hour I heard nothing, not even a pin drop. I got scared that maybe I gave Atticus a heart attack this time. Maybe I gulit-tripped Hank into a suicide attempt. Who the fuck knows? The worst was running so fast through my mind that I didn't want to know.
I could have shit when I heard a motor running. I didn't even hear anyone walk out the door, footsteps down the stairs, nothing. I breathed again when it occured to me that it couldn't have been Atticus because he had his liscence taken away due to his rheumatism. Atticus Finch would never break a law; his body was falling apart, not his mind and even then I don't think he would do such a thing on his most demented days. It couldn't have been Aunty because she refused to drive after dark. It could only mean Hank was the one driving off and I still kept wondering about that possible suicide attempt...
That was when I heard footsteps come up the stairs. I could tell it was Atticus because of all the pauses he had to take to get up them. Poor guy could get passed by a kite on his bad days. I heard him turn left when he finally made it and then knocked on Jean's door.
"Scout, Scout," he repeated with every knock.
"Let him in, sweet," I whisper to myself. I don't know if she heard me or if our minds were just in sync because she opens her door a few seconds later. I held my breath for what was going to be said. Would she tell him to get lost? Would she him to go to hell? Would she crumble on top of him and tell him how much she still loved him? Nothing was said but I heard him walk in and then the door shut.
I was not missing what was about to go down. I never forgot a trick that Dill Harris himself taught me: if you take a glass and hold the bottom of it to a door with the open part of the glass to your ear, you can hear anything. There was a small bathroom connected to my room and I always kept a glass in there just in case I ever wanted water in the night. I tiptoe fast to grab it and then I sneak out the bathroom door and make a quiet as possible beeline for my sister's bedroom door.
"I just don't understand why you didn't just tell me," Jean sobbed as soon as I my ear was pressed to the glass. I didn't want to hear that.
"Tell you what, sweet?" Atticus asked, gently.
"That you didn't really believe what you always said was right."
"I do believe it, sweet. I do believe in the law and what is right and what is wrong."
"I think everything those meetings stand for is wrong. We are all people, you know: White, black, jewish, catholic, I could go on."
"Sweet, you don't seem to understand what those NAACP people are trying to do to us down here..."
"Oh, no! They want to give black people the same courtesy as we do with white people. How awful!"
Oh, those moments where you want to laugh so hard but you can't...
"That's not why, sweet. They are coming down here and putting everyone at risk..."
"Of what, Atticus? You think they are going to give every black person a whip and tell them, "See how they like it!" and let them loose on the white side of town? You think they are that willing to hurt us white folk?"
"They probably would like to see us pay, yes."
"You can't be serious!"
"Honey, all those years of opression and slavery, think about it. We have regressed them so much that it will take the same amount of years before they are near our level."
"I can't deal with this right now, Atticus."
"Why can't you?"
"Because all I want is my father back."
"Baby, I'm right here. The same man who would read with you at bedtime is the same man who is talking to you about the NAACP and why they are putting society at risk."
"This is not my father; the father I know is in there somewhere and I need to be with him. Get me a book."
"A book?"
"Yes, pick a book, any book and we'll read it together. That is the only way I'm going to get through to him."
I couldn't believe what was unfolding. I actually had to put the glass down and try to breathe easy. I have never heard her talk to Atticus like that and I never thought she would have it in her. When I put my glass back into use, I hear my sister sobbing out the words of The Federalist Papers. Jesus, of all the books Atticus picks, he chooses that one. I'm going to back to bed now because I am now the one who can't deal with this. Just when I was about to crawl back in, I saw headlights and then heard a car pull in the driveway. I go to the window to look outside and there was Hank with a bottle of alcohol in his hand. Fucking idiot; he isn't worth staying up any longer for.
