Phil confided his secret to the new chaperone. “The trick” he laughed, “is to turn out all of the overhead lights, and then use a headlamp to read aloud the first chapter of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird.’”
“And this is how you get them to sleep?”
“Works everytime. Before I even finish the chapter, every one of them will be out for good. I bet I’ll even put you under before the end.” Phil rested his hand on his extended belly before adding, “One summer, I read that chapter every single night for nine weeks in a row. I could probably recite it by heart at this point. Never failed.”
“Wait, you didn’t continue the story. You just started over every night.”
“Exactly, it’s like hypnosis after a while.”
“That’s pretty sick you know, ruining a work of literature for an entire generation just so you don’t have to put in earplugs.”
“Yeah, but if they didn’t sleep, I might murder them.”
“I’m not sure if you’re a pragmatist, a sadist, or a sage.”
“You’ll see.”
That night, after all the teeth were brushed and the sleeping bags rolled out, the boys were ordered to their beds and shouted into silence as the overhead lights were doused. The air was still full of the tension from the recent pillow fight and the silence was vulnerable to a fresh outbreak of noise. One conspicuously loud fart caused the entire room to erupt in laughter. One whispered into his pillow, “Nice one fat ass!” Another exaggerated sounds of gagging, “Oh my God, I’m going to puke it smells so bad.”
“You can’t smell shit.”
“Watch your language boys.”
“That’s exactly what I smell.”
“Yeah, I bet there were lumps in that fart as it came out.”
“Even Jesus in High Heaven can smell that one Kevin.”
“DO NOT TAKE THE LORD’s NAME in VAIN!”
“It wasn't me”
“It totally was you, you liar; I felt the bunk shake.”
“Fuck off, Brian”
“THAT’S IT! SHUT UP IMMEDIATELY. If I hear one more word out of any of you, you will be running laps around the lake!”
It was an empty threat. All of the adults were too exhausted to supervise some troublemaker running his penance lap around the lake at that hour of the night. But the threat bought time enough for Phil to waddle over to the door and sink heavily into a creaking metal folding chair. He adjusted his book upon his stomach twice and pivoted his headlamp. He then coughed once to shush the whisperers and began,
“When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.When it healed, and Jem’s fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury. His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right; when he stood or walked, the back of his hand was at right angles to his body, his thumb parallel to his thigh. He couldn’t have cared less, so long as he could pass or punt.
When enough years had gone by to enable us to look back on them, we sometimes discussed the events leading to his accident. I maintain that the Ewells started it all, but Jem, who was four years my senior, said it started long before that. He said it began the summer Dill came to us...“
Years later, those boys would hear the name ‘Atticus Finch’ and have no idea where he belonged.
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