Journal #3 Chapters 8-9 from the perspective of Jem

Things have been taken a turn for the worse in these parts. It started off at the beginning of winter, the day after Mrs. Radley passed on (Scout inquired about it to Atticus but all he would say was that she died of natural cause). Winter! We ain't never had a winter in lil' old Maycomb in years! It was even snowing. Boy, the entire family ain't seen it before. Scout was totally fanatical about it. She was screamin' her head off, "The world's endin', Atticus! Please do something!" I had to admit I was a little out of tune with the snow, I ain't never seen nothin' like it, but I had to turn around so I could stop laughing. Afterwards I asked Atticus if it would keep going. The guy hardly knew any more than I did. After some talkin' with Scout and Atticus, I was debating on what course of action would make today the funnest. Then Miss Maudie gave me a call. I took Scout and myself and we went over to Miss Maudie's. Despite her adjacent location we were both a little cold by the time we sauntered over. I then came up with a brilliant plan to make this day memorable, and not waste this rare blanket the heavens decided to bestow upon us. Not revealing anything of my plan to Scout, Miss Maudie was kind enough to entrust us with her snow upon my request. Well, more like give. She was no fan of the snow, complainin' about this and that, her azaleas and whatnot. She was happy for us to wheel it away, she even let us use her peach basket to take it. Once we brought the stuff over back to our yard, I told a slightly perplexed Scout what we were going to do. We were going to build a snowman. Never, would I have expected to be building a snowman in Maycomb, let alone there being snow in the first place! I could hardly contain my excitement as we dumped the snow out onto our yard. The rest of the afternoon was spent makin' our snowman, which, it turns out, started to look more and more like Mr. Avery. It had his rotund stomach, his stern expression, the whole package! I tell ya, that snowman looked like he was ready to have a conversation with you! Scout even said, "Looks almost like he'd talk to you." It really was a wonderful day. But sadly, this was merely the calm before the storm. Around four or so hours after I went to bed, I was woken up at one O' clock in the morning. I sit up bleary eyed and trying to digest what dad was saying. "-but her house is on fire and we need to get out of ours just in case. And don't try to talk to Maudie either, she won't be in the mood for any sort of comfort. " Once these words clicked in I worked faster. Still groggy, I grabbed my overcoat and followed Atticus into Scout's room where he was calmly attempting to get Scout out quickly. After handing her her bathrobe and coat and explaining the situation a little, he pulled me aside and instructed me, "Wait out in the yard, there should be a crowd forming soon, just stick with them" he told us. I did as he said and Scout and I hastily left the house. Once we were outside though. . . it was horrible. I saw the flames lickin' at her house. That missus didn't deserve this. I watched helplessly as the branches of heat tore away, scarring, wounding and tearing the poor old house apart. I couldn't believe this. I desperately hoped Mrs. Maudie was ok. It felt like my insides were also on fire. I searched the streets. Where in the world where those fire trucks? I found myself muttering under my breath, "Why don't they hurry, why don't hurry. . . ". I can't bring myself to describe what unfolded before our eyes. Only that the fire roared like a horrible beast that would send a pack of lions scampering; their tails between their legs. There's one more event that unfolded. More mysterious than malicious though. Jem was standing out there for a while, and when we met back up with Atticus, we realized the blanket on her shoulders wasn't ours. We reckon it was that Boo Radley. God. So close to seeing the mysterious and (if the rumors are true) malignant Arthur Boo Radley. He was feet behind Scout and she never noticed. Why, I oughta given her a slap up-top the head for that! But as if that wasn't enough, that case Pa took up with Tom Robinson have become a part of the daily gossip. Why, Scout was ready to wring that one boy's neck, Cecil Jacobs I think he's called, when he started to shout out that Atticus defended niggers. But at least she stopped herself there. Once Christmas came though, she got into another fight. Lord, I hate that we have to go through this, but when Atticus says this is a special case, the kind he can't pass with in honor in-tact, I believe him. So I suck it up. But Scout just never got the memo. Poor girl. I sympathize with her sometimes. But there's really not much I can do. Anyways, we went over to Finch Landing as usual. It wasn't the same though. I could hear my relatives and kin speaking in hushed tones, pointing at me when they thought I wasn't lookin'. I could have sworn I heard Uncle Jimmy tellin' Uncle Jack, "-that nigger lover's disgracin' us." I was on my way around the place and I didn't feel it was my right to eavesdrop despite the fact they were talking about Pa. Aunt Alexandra was really irritating me. My god, she was more stuck-up than a flag pole! Baggin' on Scout, how the hell can she say crud about how messed up Scouts feminine side was; she doesn't even have a single daughter! And that prat of hers, Francis, he ain't much better. I know he was askin' for it when she beat him up. But Scout still shouldn't have done it. The least she could've done is punch him quietly instead of yelling out, "whore-lady". A nice touch, eh? Seriously, that was just the icing on the cake. It took all of three seconds for Uncle Jack to get her off Francis, and I can't say he looked too happy. Scout ran off crying. I didn't follow. I just couldn't take it anymore. I decided to go lie down in my room for a little bit. The quiet time did me some good. Things have been so chaotic lately, I mean it's even following us to good ol' FL (Finch Landing). The case that is. I can't help but feel, in these quiet moments where it's just me and my mind, that this case was unnecessary. That doing this condemned us to an isolated childhood where idiots loved to exploit our "nigger-lovin' ". But I know dad did the right thing. I just know it. But I can't help but get that creeping feeling every now and then. "Sigh" I flopped my back onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. "Jem Finch, get your head together. This ain't a time for you to be having an identity crisis. You'll be the man of the family soon enough."

*Authors Note: I should have made this clear in my writing but the last sentence is spoken my Jem to himself, in case any confusion was occuring to the reader.