Scout’s Diary
Dear Diary,
Surprisingly, I am not extremely shaken following the events of yesterday night. I worry for Jem, but I am not afraid of any mysterious attackers, or the blackness of night any longer. I am writing this record of the events of last night in case they go to court. A wise decision, to gather my thoughts; Atticus would be proud.
After Jem and I were attacked, we were carried home by a mysterious figure that was now standing in the corner of the room. Heck Tate and my father were discussing the death of Bob Ewell. Upon questioning by Mr. Tate, I told him my perception of the attack. I told him that Jem and I had been walking home from the pageant, and I realized that I had forgotten my shoes. As we turned around to start walking back, the auditorium lights went out. Jem said that I would have to get them tomorrow. After about a minutes more of walking, Jem ordered me to stop and be quiet. I presumed it was just him thinking, because he usually asks for silence then too. He said that he thought he heard something. I told Mr. Tate that we thought it was Cecil Jacobs, because he had scared us earlier that night. I yelled out into the dark, “Cecil Jacobs is a big fat hen!” but there came no reply. Atticus said he heard nothing due to the radio. I told Mr. Tate that the next thing we knew, we were assaulted by an unknown force. It flung me to the ground and I heard Jem scream. Next thing I knew I heard someone staggerin’ around and coughin’ fit to die. I knew that another man had pushed Bob Ewell off Jem, so I figured he had got up. That was all I knew.
Mr. Tate asked who the man that flung Bob Ewell off us was. I interrupted with “why there he is Mr. Tate, He can tell you his name.’ and pointed off to the figure in the corner, but quickly put my hand down, lest Atticus reprimand me for pointing. Pointing was impolite. The pale white figure was leaning up against the wall. As I pointed to him, his crossed arms lowered to his sides, revealing glowing white hands that looked as if they had never seen the light of day. His hollow cheekbones sank into his face, and his grey eyes were so dull it appeared as though he was blind. His thin, white hair shrouded his face like a veil of fog. His lips parted into a smile and I said in a mix of tears, joy and sheer awe, “hey Boo.”
“Mr. Arthur, honey” said Atticus softly. Embarrassed, I walked over to Jem’s bed and attempted to pull the sheets over him when Atticus stopped me. My face red with embarrassment, I turned to face the rest of the men in the room. Doctor Reynolds walked briskly through the doorway, and ordered everybody out. In his arms, he carried a large package wrapped in newspaper. He set the parcel down on Jem’s desk, and moved to shoo everyone out of the room when he noticed Boo in the corner. “Evenin’ Mr. Arthur, didn’t see you there.” Boo cracked a smile. Atticus interrupted the silence that seemed like it lasted an eternity by inviting everyone out to the front porch to discuss further matters. At first, it seemed strange of Atticus to invite someone out to the porch, but I recalled our guest and how bright the living room lights are. As we settled on the porch, with Boo Radley sitting next to me, Mr. Tate tried to explain to Atticus that Bob Ewell had fallen on the knife, not been stabbed. Atticus refused to belive this, and Tate slammed his foot to the ground with such force, The lights of every house on the street lit up. Tate told Atticus that the interpretation of the events of last night was his to clarify, how Heck said it happened, was how it happened. After Mr. Tate left. Arthur motioned towards the front door of the house. He wanted to say goodnight to Jem so I took his hand and lead him upstairs. It was surprisingly warm, despite it’s cold, clammy look. Aunt Alexandra motioned for us to come in, and Mr. Arthur reached down timidly to touch Jem’s hair. I realized at that moment, that Boo had probably never seen a person outside his family in over twenty years. An eternity to be separated from all of mankind. As he squeezed my hand, indicating he was ready to leave, we walked out to the front porch. As I reached the steps, his uneasy steps halted, with no intention of letting me go. He whispered in a voice that was almost inaudible, “Will you take me home?” I took his arm and told him to crook it at the elbow. I put my hand on his arm, so if Miss Stephanie saw us walking down the street together, it would appear as though Arthur Radley was escorting me down the street, like a proper gentleman would.
That night, I sat in bed and recalled the events of the summer we met Dill until now. So many things had happened since then. Things that amazed me, and frightened me, found loves and forged hatred. So very many things.
