hurry, I don’t rush him. He takes it in one last time before we turn to go.
The walk back feels much faster than when we first set out. Perhaps it’s because I’m aware of where we’re headed, or because I am almost treading on Jasper’s Achilles in my haste.
His shoulders have fallen forward slightly. He doesn’t walk with that straight-backed poise or intensity he had earlier. He shakes his pack of cigarettes. Empty. So he shoves his hands into his pockets. We walk silently and quickly. Overhead, magpies stir and warble their morning song. The sun is coming, like a harbinger of doom. Strangely, the easier it is to see and navigate, the more afraid and apprehensive I am. But at the least the night is over. There’s some relief in that. I don’t have to bury anybody else. I can sleep soon. Maybe. For a couple of hours at least.
We track back onto the narrow path. And when we walk along it, I feel a weird sense of kinship, like we’re old friends. It’s not without its share of comfort. I know where we are. There is nothing but familiarity in front of me. It’s the same when we push through the bush and onto the road. It’s as though I’ve been away a long time and I’ve finally arrived home. With a horrible secret that I’ve got to cauterize and keep down.
The light is gray and grim, but strengthening quickly. We might make it before the world wakes. We just might.
Now I walk side by side with Jasper Jones. I ponder whether or not we should split up, whether it’s dangerous to be seen together. Or, more to the point, I understand that if I’m seen with Jasper Jones, it might arouse suspicion. I breathe in quick, about to broach it, but I check myself. I suddenly don’t wish to. And it’s not a question of bravery.I don’t know. It seems that because we’ve ridden through something serious and substantial, I feel a real sense of loyalty. I feel as though if we were to separate here, it would sully some kind of tacit pact. We’re comrades in some private war. Suddenly it feels important to stay together, side by side.
And so, as we reach the sepia center of Corrigan—the Miners’ Hall, the Sovereign Hotel, the newly refurbished post office; then the crouching loom of the police station—I realize I am in this. Right in it. To whatever end. Of course, I’m afraid. But walking in his shadow, I’m also buffeted by a sort of anticipation. Me and Jasper Jones, sleuths and partners. Thick as thieves. In spite of everything, it excites me a little to know I’ll certainly be seeing him again. That he needs my help. I don’t feel so ridiculous walking next to him anymore. I don’t feel like an incongruous sidekick. While the rest of this town looks at Jasper Jones like he’s no good, it thrills me that he treats me like I’m equal.
As we turn, finally, into my street and we stride quickly before broad front yards, skirting the side of my house, I’m afforded some slim relief. It seems my parents are yet to stir. I haven’t been caught by anybody. Yet. I don’t imagine I’ll hold this sense of fortune for long. Tonight’s events still lurk in me, cold and uneasy. Anchored in and stuck, like that poor girl we tethered to a stone. When I’m less stunned and tired, it’s going to hurt. It’s going to bubble up and burst in me, I know it.
It is dawn. It is light. But it still feels like the night.
I turn to Jasper. He looks exhausted. And it occurs to me that there is no break in this for him: there’s no comfort, nowhere he can go and lie down and be looked after. Not anymore. If he had anywhere in this world, it’s the place we’ve just come from, the place that has just broken his heart and put him at risk. He’s right: shit has been taken from him his whole life.
He looks done in and drunk, but he arches his back with a jolt, projecting that toughness again.
I wonder where he’s going to go now. If he’s going to go sit someplacequiet and wait for the riot or if he’s going to go
The walk back feels much faster than when we first set out. Perhaps it’s because I’m aware of where we’re headed, or because I am almost treading on Jasper’s Achilles in my haste.
His shoulders have fallen forward slightly. He doesn’t walk with that straight-backed poise or intensity he had earlier. He shakes his pack of cigarettes. Empty. So he shoves his hands into his pockets. We walk silently and quickly. Overhead, magpies stir and warble their morning song. The sun is coming, like a harbinger of doom. Strangely, the easier it is to see and navigate, the more afraid and apprehensive I am. But at the least the night is over. There’s some relief in that. I don’t have to bury anybody else. I can sleep soon. Maybe. For a couple of hours at least.
We track back onto the narrow path. And when we walk along it, I feel a weird sense of kinship, like we’re old friends. It’s not without its share of comfort. I know where we are. There is nothing but familiarity in front of me. It’s the same when we push through the bush and onto the road. It’s as though I’ve been away a long time and I’ve finally arrived home. With a horrible secret that I’ve got to cauterize and keep down.
The light is gray and grim, but strengthening quickly. We might make it before the world wakes. We just might.
Now I walk side by side with Jasper Jones. I ponder whether or not we should split up, whether it’s dangerous to be seen together. Or, more to the point, I understand that if I’m seen with Jasper Jones, it might arouse suspicion. I breathe in quick, about to broach it, but I check myself. I suddenly don’t wish to. And it’s not a question of bravery.I don’t know. It seems that because we’ve ridden through something serious and substantial, I feel a real sense of loyalty. I feel as though if we were to separate here, it would sully some kind of tacit pact. We’re comrades in some private war. Suddenly it feels important to stay together, side by side.
And so, as we reach the sepia center of Corrigan—the Miners’ Hall, the Sovereign Hotel, the newly refurbished post office; then the crouching loom of the police station—I realize I am in this. Right in it. To whatever end. Of course, I’m afraid. But walking in his shadow, I’m also buffeted by a sort of anticipation. Me and Jasper Jones, sleuths and partners. Thick as thieves. In spite of everything, it excites me a little to know I’ll certainly be seeing him again. That he needs my help. I don’t feel so ridiculous walking next to him anymore. I don’t feel like an incongruous sidekick. While the rest of this town looks at Jasper Jones like he’s no good, it thrills me that he treats me like I’m equal.
As we turn, finally, into my street and we stride quickly before broad front yards, skirting the side of my house, I’m afforded some slim relief. It seems my parents are yet to stir. I haven’t been caught by anybody. Yet. I don’t imagine I’ll hold this sense of fortune for long. Tonight’s events still lurk in me, cold and uneasy. Anchored in and stuck, like that poor girl we tethered to a stone. When I’m less stunned and tired, it’s going to hurt. It’s going to bubble up and burst in me, I know it.
It is dawn. It is light. But it still feels like the night.
I turn to Jasper. He looks exhausted. And it occurs to me that there is no break in this for him: there’s no comfort, nowhere he can go and lie down and be looked after. Not anymore. If he had anywhere in this world, it’s the place we’ve just come from, the place that has just broken his heart and put him at risk. He’s right: shit has been taken from him his whole life.
He looks done in and drunk, but he arches his back with a jolt, projecting that toughness again.
I wonder where he’s going to go now. If he’s going to go sit someplacequiet and wait for the riot or if he’s going to go
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