When I was nearly 21, I got my cat Scout at a town 6 miles away.
His name wasn’t Scout at the time, it was Shadow, but dammit I was an English major and I knew wearing a beret all the time wouldn’t give me cred so instead I wanted to name my pet after one of my favorite literary characters since that was for sure original and cool and made me look legit.
So I named him Scout.
But here’s the thing: I’d only read To Kill a Mockingbird once in my life. Freshman year of high school.
Unlike other books I’ve read, loved, and continued to reread over and over, I don’t recall having that feverish need to read and reread To Kill a Mockingbird. I kept meaning to read it again. I swear, I meant to.
Two weeks ago I pulled it from my bookshelves and started reading. I’d just reread In Cold Blood (for probably my sixth time since first reading it a few years ago) and wanted to meet Dill again. His character was inspired by little kid Truman Capote.
I’d also been feeling a need for some nostalgia and some comfort. I recently started a new job and even though I am excited about the new adventure and am grateful, I’m having a hard time catching my breath and I worry it will affect my still-growing relationship with my boyfriend.
And I’m far from my close friends. And my family. And both my grandmothers were recently moved into assisted living facilities. And I haven’t seen them since they moved. And one of them is losing more and more of herself to Alzheimer’s and it’s completely out of everyone’s control, most of all hers, and before she was transferred to her new home she once found out it was Sunday and proceeded to walk two confused miles to church since her drivers license had been taken away months ago. Read more »