Journal #4: Chapters 10-12 (Jem)

Dear Journal,

For Christmas, Atticus got Scout and me air rifles. I was so excited when we opened them I couldn’t wait until I got to try them out. I was going to go out back to shoot at birds, but then Atticus scared me when he said, “It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird,” Atticus never says anything’s a sin. I just decided to shoot at cans instead, I didn’t want to take any chances- mockingbirds look exactly like crows to me, and I’d (apparently) sin just as soon as kill a crow. I tried to make it INCONSPICUOUS that I was too scared to shoot at birds, I wouldn’t want it getting to any of my CONTEMPORARIES that I was a scared-y cat. One day, Scout and I took our rifles and went out back behind the Radley house. We were just plodding along; listening for any squirrels or rabbits we might come across, when something caught my eye. I stopped, and looked up out into the distance. Scout asked me what I was doing, and I told her to be quiet. When she asked again, I told her not to CONTRADICT me. Just then, I realized what I was looking at. It was old Tim Johnson, Harry Johnson’s dog. I could barely make out the figure, and from what I could see, he didn’t look so good. Then I realized that he could’ve been a mad dog! I thought about the amount of PERIL that comes with a mad dog, so I grabbed Scout and ran for it. When we got back to the house, I told Calpurnia all about it, and she went wild. She started calling the whole neighborhood, Atticus, and everyone she could think of. Before I knew it, she had Atticus and Mr. Heck Tate in the front yard with a gun. I soon understood what was going on, and almost INAUDIBLEY told Scout that Tim was just looking for a place to die. Once I said that, I got why they had a gun: to put him out of his misery. Mr. Tate had the gun all ready, but stopped and pushed it toward Atticus. Mr. Tate was trying to get Atticus to take the shot instead. Apparently, his reasoning was that he’d miss and hit Radley Place, seeing as Tim was right in front of it. Atticus refused at first, claiming he hadn’t shot a gun in 30 years, but then he agreed and took his stance. With only a few seconds of preparation time, Atticus hit the poor dog with what looked like a perfect shot (Heck Tate later said he was a little to the left, but I say a hit’s a hit, and that was definitely a hit). I was in complete awe at Atticus’s amazing shot, and was begging for some kind of explanation. We got into the conversation that Atticus used to be the town’s best shooter. That when he was young, he could hit fourteen birds in fifteen shots! It takes me fifteen shots just to hit one bird, and sometimes that isn’t even enough. At first, it was just amazement, and then the questions came. How’d he get so good? Who taught him? When did he stop? Why did he stop? Why did he never mention this to us? Was there some story behind it? How could he not tell Scout and me? More and more questions came with each passing second. Finally, some answers: he said he was nicknamed Ol’ One-Shot, saying that it only took one shot for him to hit anything. Atticus said he stopped because it wasn’t what God wanted, and he didn’t want to be remembered as the good shooter of the town and that there were better things for him to be really good at. Of course, I didn’t understand any of his reasoning; I was still in shock from him being almost a pro-shooter.

I remember a couple days ago, when Scout asked me what Atticus was good at. I could see her head had a million thoughts going at once, and after thinking about it for a while, a million rushed into my head as well. I thought about whether or not our dad was really all that great and what his strengths were. Scout had come back to me with a couple things: he could write a good will, he could play the Jew’s Harp, and some other stuff that wasn’t really all that important. But now, well, this beats anything any of the kids at school have to say about their fathers!

 

                                                                        So proud of my dad,                                                                                                                                                                 Jeremy Atticus Finch                                                                                                            Jem

Journal #3- Chapters 8-9 (Miss Maudie Atkinson)

Dear Diary,

It’s freezing. I can’t believe how cold it is! It hasn’t been this cold since 1885! Considering I was not alive at that time, I am freezing. I’m really absolutely perplexed as to what makes it so cold, especially in Maycomb, Alabama.

The craziest things happen when it’s cold. First, it started snowing. In Maycomb, Alabama! It never snows here! Everyone was baffled at just that. Everyone had gone home, snuggled up in their warmest clothes, lit all fireplaces, and completely isolated in their houses. I had done the same; I had my heavy, thick, fuzzy coat on (the one I used to take to New York in the winter), and I had sat down in my bed with one of my favorite books. All the sudden, I smelled something strange, like burning plastic or rubber. I lazily dragged myself from my comfy bed downstairs to make sure everything was alright. As the smell got stronger and I got very acquainted with the smell (it had turned into more of a bonfire smell, rather than just the burning rubber), I started quickening my pace, just in case. I started thinking about all the different flues I had lit, and got worried. When I arrived in the kitchen, I saw a decent-sized, glorious, somewhat ingenuous fire burning my whole kitchen. I started to panic. I grabbed my arms, and stood there for a couple seconds, unaware that if I didn’t move, I’d be burned alive. Once I came to my senses, I because frantic, fanatical, and crazy. I ran around my house like a madwoman. I burst out my front door to find myself lying in the freezing snow. I’d tripped on the front steps and face-planted into the snow. I lifted myself up and ran to Mr. Avery, who had heard my screams (ones which I was unaware I had belted) and came to see what was the matter.

“It’s eating my house! The fire! Please stop it!” I involuntarily pleaded to him. He ran inside after he called some of the other men in the neighborhood to come help. After that, I just sat there, I was in a sort of trance and I was stuck there for quite a while. Once I regained complete consciousness, I strolled to the sidewalk and just stood there. A million thoughts went through my head at that moment. I didn’t really know what to think: should I be mourning, crying, screaming, happy, crazy, I had no idea. After a few minutes of men going in and out of my house, carrying different belongings of mine: a stack of books, my recipe books, blankets, and a couple men towed out my bedroom dresser. I saw Atticus Finch bring out my old oak rocking chair, that’s when I realized this was not all that bad. I figured I’d loose some of my belongings, my house (which I loathed), and some money to pay for the losses, but I’d get along fine. I’d be able to rebuild myself a nice new house with everything just the way I’d like it.

I turned to see Jem with his arms around Scout, trying to keep her warm, over in front of Radley Place. I watched her push his arms away and franticly rubbed her arms to warm them up. Arthur Radley quietly walked up behind her and placed a thick blanket on her shoulders. She didn’t seem to notice, she didn’t turn around, but the color did seem to come back to her face as she warmed up.

When the fire was almost out, I walked over to Jem and Scout, who were still standing there at almost 2 o’clock. Scout was wondering why I didn’t look sad, and I told her simply because I was happy I would get a new house. She seemed confused, as I suspected she would be. Then she asked how it started. I hadn’t thought about that. I told her I guessed it was the open flue, but I wasn’t sure.

Well, the whole affair was crazy and mind boggling and insane and sad, but I think everything will be alright.

It’s been a crazy day,
Miss Maudie Atkinson

Journal #2- Chapters 4-7 (Jem)

Dear Journal,

I love when Dill comes to us. There’s nothing better than hanging out with Dill and playing games and scheming plans with him. Sometimes Scout wants to come and join us, but we always shoo her away. I haven’t felt that bad about it, not since she started sitting with the chameleon, benevolent, Miss Maudie Atkinson. Scout’s been spending so much time with her, but I can’t blame her. We were unanimous, she’s the nicest lady we know. We even have a little agreement with her. We’re allowed to roam in her yard, eat her scuppernongs (if we didn’t jump on the arbor), and play on her lawn. We were very grateful for these terms, we didn’t talk with her much so we wouldn’t ruin the delicate relationship.

One afternoon, Dill came up with a great idea. He said we should give that malignant Boo Radley a note, and leave it on his window. We agreed that the note should say something about how we wanted him to come out sometimes, and that we wanted him to tell us what he actually does in his house all the time. Also, that we wouldn’t hurt him and that we’d buy him an ice cream if he’d let us. We had just finished writing the note and I was making the long pole that would place the note on the window when Scout came up. She begged us to tell her what we were doing, but we told her she had to do what we said in order for us to tell her. She regrettably agreed and we told her. She said it was a bad idea, but she went along with it. I was so afraid, but being the oldest, I had to act strong. We ended up getting caught by Atticus, and he was pretty mad. He told us not to torment Boo Radley anymore, but who am I to listen to him?

The next night, Dill, Scout, and I all went to Radley Place and we snuck around to their vast back lot. Evadingly, we lifted Dill up to the window to see through, but he could only see curtain. So, I leapt up onto the porch and then, out of nowhere, we saw a shadow of a man with a hat. The silhouette walked past me, then turned and came back. By then, we were out of there. As we were going throw the collards, Scout tripped, and we heard a roaring boom, the fire of a shotgun. We sprinted back to the fence, but when I tried to get under it, my pants ripped and got caught. I wiggled myself out of them and ran as fast as my legs would allow. When we got back to our house, I glanced back at Radley Place, now flooded with the whole neighborhood. I thought that if we didn’t show up and sound curious, people would get suspicious. I grabbed Scout and Dill, unaware I was in my shorts, and we casually walked back down to Radley Place. I was scared out of my mind. I was completely convinced someone would realize it was us, but when we got down there, it was totally fine. Then Atticus asked where my pants were. Thankfully, Dill was there. He is the best fibber I know, and he thought of a perfect story to explain my lack of pants on the spot. He claimed that he had them because he’d won them when we were playing strip-poker (whatever that was). Miss Rachel was appalled at our little game and told Dill to give me my pants back. It was all quite an exciting night.

But it got better. As I lay in my bed, I realized that I couldn’t let my pants be found, then we’d get caught. So I got up, and Scout stopped me. She tried to talk sense into going into a place I’d get my head shot off, but I went anyway. But the strangest thing happened. My pants were hanging on the fence, neatly folded, and the tear was crookedly sewed. I was in awe when I walked back to the house and showed Scout. She was surprised as well. That was one of the most exciting nights of my life.

Written faithfully,
Jeremy Atticus Finch
a.k.a. Jem Finch