Chapter Text
The year is 1951 and my first day in Chicago. I already feel the absence of Maycomb's warmth–not just the sunshine but the comfort of family and familiarity. Snow was a thrill to dream of again, but in unfamiliar Chicago, it was hard not to miss the red dirt–a persistent reminder of bittersweet memories. The windy evening in Clybourne Park was apparent as it bit at my vulnerable skin, barely protected by my sorry excuse of a coat. But now wasn’t the time for second-guessing. It is the time–not to forget Maycomb–but to grow beyond its borders, to leave its ghosts and bring its lessons. This is an opportunity to stand on my own, not just as Atticus' daughter, but as Scout Finch, ready to make a difference.
It has been sixteen years since Atticus fought for Tom Robinson, sixteen years since Maycomb began to cast doubt on its questionable traditions. Slowly, progress has been made, and maybe that’s why I finally feel ready to leave it. And a job opportunity is good enough motivation as any. I suppose Dill felt the same, aside from his more obvious motivation of wanting to stay with me. We've been together for some two years. This was because once he turned 15 his parents let him stay with Mrs. Stephanie permanently. They figured it was easier than convincing him not to run off back to Maycomb every chance he got, and Mrs. Stephanie needed something to keep her busy as the drama died down. I finally understood what his parents had to deal with when I shared my plan to move to Chicago. Even if I said I wanted to go alone he would’ve found a way to follow me, and honestly, I didn’t mind some company.
I barely made it to the sidewalk, carrying a box that was too fragile for the truck, when a short, stubby man, on the older side, walks out of my house..wait, my house?! He has with him a stack of papers and shuts the door on his way out. His demeanor is brisk but his steps slow as his eyes meet mine–not slightly surprised. I tried to prepare to say something but before I knew it, his chirpy voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Ah, Miss Finch is it?” he asks, but he doesn't wait for an answer. “Welcome to Clybourne Park. You’re a day early, but no harm done.” He says, extending a hand, politely but guarded.
I glanced at his hand, hesitating a moment before taking it in mine and shaking it. “That's me, Scout works just fine,” I reply, trying to match his unbelievable warmth despite the chill of the night.
“Well…Scout sorry for the short notice but I was just in the neighborhood and I saw a box left on the porch and I figured you wouldn’t want it left out to the elements.” he says amiably, “So..a name like Finch carries some weight, doesn't it?” he adds rhetorically, his polite facade stained with guarded curiosity. “Your father has quite the reputation, even up here in Chicago. I suppose you're here to make your own?” he asks, his disposition increasingly on edge.
“That's the plan,” I say, matching his steady gaze.
He smiles thinly. “Well, we're a close-knit community here,” his tone grows more deliberate, “we look after one another..Scout, and I just want you to know, it’s important to be mindful. I wouldn’t want you to say..embarrass yourself by misunderstanding the expectations! It’s just best to tread carefully when it comes to..certain families in the neighborhood.” he says, clearing his throat with an increasingly obvious forced smile.
“Well I appreciate your concern Mr..” is all I could fabricate while staying civil, hoping he would finish my sentence as Dill joins me from behind, carrying a box or two.
“Mr. Linder, from the Clybourne Park Improvement Association,” he proudly explains.
I nod quickly, “Right, well we’ll see you around Mr. Linder.” Dill, following my example, gives him a brief nod.
“You take care, Scout, you too young man,” he adds, adjusting his coat and flashing a friendly smile before departing from the porch.
As Mr.Linder walks away, his measured steps grow fainter, meanwhile, I recognize Dill's presence as he maneuvers around me and pushes open the door with his body. “What’d he want?” he inquires as I walk into our new home.
I sighed, assessing all the familiar furniture, contrasting with the unfamiliar layout. “To remind me of society,” I say simply while placing the box on a nearby chair.
Dill raises an eyebrow, considering my statement, but already knowing where I stand; choosing not to inquire further. I feel warmth slowly start to fill me again as the door shuts and I plop down on the living room couch. Somehow the warmth doesn't leave despite the familiarity of isolation creeping into my life again, but I know if I stayed virtuous when I was six, a weirdly happy little old man was nothing I can’t handle.