“
I turned to go home. Street lights winked down the street all the way to town. I
had never seen our neighborhood from this angle. There were Miss Maudie’s,
Miss Stephanie’s—there was our house, I could see the porch swing—Miss
Rachel’s house was beyond us, plainly visible. I could even see Mrs. Dubose’s.
I looked behind me. To the left of the brown door was a long shuttered window. I
walked to it, stood in front of it, and turned around. In daylight, I thought, you
could see to the postoffice corner.
Daylight… in my mind, the night faded. It was daytime and the neighborhood
was busy. Miss Stephanie Crawford crossed the street to tell the latest to Miss
Rachel. Miss Maudie bent over her azaleas. It was summertime, and two children
scampered down the sidewalk toward a man approaching in the distance. The man
waved, and the children raced each other to him.
It was still summertime, and the children came closer. A boy trudged down the
sidewalk dragging a fishingpole behind him. A man stood waiting with his hands
on his hips. Summertime, and his children played in the front yard with their
friend, enacting a strange little drama of their own invention.
It was fall, and his children fought on the sidewalk in front of Mrs. Dubose’s. The
boy helped his sister to her feet, and they made their way home. Fall, and his
children trotted to and fro around the corner, the day’s woes and triumphs on their
faces. They stopped at an oak tree, delighted, puzzled, apprehensive.
Winter, and his children shivered at the front gate, silhouetted against a blazing
house. Winter, and a man walked into the street, dropped his glasses, and shot a
dog.
Summer, and he watched his children’s heart break. Autumn again, and Boo’s
children needed him.
Atticus was right. One time he said you never really know a man until you stand
in his shoes and walk around in them. Just standing on the Radley porch was
enough.
”
”