Smoke
It was snowing when I woke up. It was not the torrential, hard, blizzard snow that you read about in adventure novels and it was not the soft, powdery, lovely snow that you read about in children's books. It was sludgy and wet and sadly disappointing, with muddy splotches wherever someone had walked.
I was sitting on my couch, staring out my window when my brother walked up behind me. Together we watched the Finch children run across the street, over to Ms. Maudie's house. They were always running over there to talk to her or to enjoy some of her cake. Usually it was for the cake. My brother after a few moments of silence said, "Those children are forever getting into trouble." I just ignored him, as I always do. Eventually he left and I went back to my silent vigil. I tried not to hate my brother but he was so much like our father.
I watched the two children drag the slushy snow over to their house in a cherry bucket. Before my eyes they slowly molded together a dirt mound, which they covered with the snow. As the boy added more and more details and as the girl covered the back, the snow started to take form. I noticed a similarity to the loud, disgruntled man who lived a few doors down, Mr. Avery.
When they were finished, their father walked into my field of vision, and I watched as he talked to them; then he walked over to Maudie's and started have what looked like an animated, dramatic conversation with many arm movements.
I watched on later through the day as people walked by and the snow stopped falling. There were times here, on my couch while I was watching the people of Maycomb, when I wished I could not only see, but also hear them. They seemed to take the friendliness and small talk for granted. I spoke so little that when I did make motions to speak to my brother, it took effort and my voice is always dry and raspy and lead to notions of disuse. I never felt the need to speak, but I felt the want of voices around me, friendly, warm voices filled with laughter.
It was around one when I awoke to the noises outside. I had once again fallen asleep on my couch, a small, brown blanket wrapped around me. I pushed the heavy curtains aside and looked outside. A group of people stood around Maudie's house, staring at a loud, cackling fire that was enveloping it, their silhouettes dancing in the light. My brother ran through the room to the front door and before darting away he yelled at me, "Just stay here Arthur." I looked on through the window as he ran towards the commotion.
A few good men of the town were being stupid with bravado, charging into the house and dragging out furniture. The two Finch youths had walked out near our gate. I watched as the loud, annoying oaf Avery squeeze himself out of an upstairs window. The young Finch girl seemed distressed…and cold. I waited a moment, unsure of myself, and then I got up and slowly walk towards the front door. I stared at the handle, an old rusted bent piece of junk, which seemed to be the house's theme. I decidedly grabbed it and turned the knob.
It was colder out then I expected and so I rushed over to the two children. I delicately placed the blanket over her shoulders. She seemed to have reflexively grabbed it and pulled it tighter around herself. I waited a moment, to see if either would notice, half of me wanting them to and the other half not.
I walk at a faster pace back to my house, back to my familiar surroundings. Back to my couch and my window, my window where I observed the small, closed in world of Main Street unfurl around me, where I could never fit in and never be able to be looked at by someone else. It was what I wanted, wasn't it?
