This turned out to be one of the biggest events to ever occur in Maycomb. So many people came that there was hardly enough room left anywhere in the town. Every street felt as though it were about to burst, and people packed themselves onto the lawn of the courthouse square. Though, sadly, I was not among them, I was to be defending a defenseless client. One that was so blatantly innocent, it was depressing that he stood no chance. I was called to defend Tom Robinson, and I was going to go through with it, all to the surprise of the people of Maycomb. They were shocked I was doing my job.

I had told myself, and Tom, that we were not going to win this one , but we would file for an appeal, and then we would have a better chance at winning. I didn’t let it stop me from attempting my very best in this hearing though, and I had practiced what I was going to say over and over to myself. For the first time in years I was genuinely anxious about trial, despite the fact that I already knew the outcome. The stress had accumulated inside me as I waited in the courthouse for the trial to start.

When it finally did begin, the first testimony came from Heck Tate, the sheriff of Maycomb County, who seemed to be more invested in staring at his knees than keeping eye contact with the audience in front of him. He spoke of that night in his own words, of what he saw, and did. I kept quiet, even though there may have been moments where it would have been appropriate for me to speak up. In my head I struggled between paying close attention to the testimony, and repeating key questions to myself in my head.

“Any questions, Atticus?” For a man who had been repeating his planned words to himself for a solid few minutes, I got unreasonably flustered in that moment. My mind had drawn a blank, it took me a moment and a half to reconstruct myself again.

“Did you call a doctor, sheriff? Did anybody call a doctor?” I added with more proud emphasis, confidence was going to be key in this. To my surprise, it seemed that no doctor had been called, which to me would be the obvious first step in a situation like this. I asked the man why no doctor was called, his answer, ‘it wasn’t necessary’.

“But you didn’t call a doctor? While you were there did anyone send for one, fetch one, carry her to one.” The repetition of my question three times was an attempt at strategy, though its effectiveness wasn’t astonishing. I got the same answer and the judge seemed to be getting annoyed with me, and said:

“He’s answered the question three times, Atticus. He didn’t call a doctor.”

“I’m just making sure.” I retorted, getting a small grin from him.

The rest of the testimonies went by in what seemed like just minutes, everything felt as though time had been simultaneously sped up and slowed down. There were some blows against the accusers, most notably when I pointed out that a man with an injured left arm would have no way of beating the right side of a woman’s face, and that Mr. Ewell also happened to be left handed.

I was going to make one last attempt to appease to the jury, there wasn’t a part of me that was willing to give up without a fight. A glimmer of hope couldn’t help but spark in me, but I didn’t let it take hold of me, for I knew my prospects were still bleak. I began to loosen my clothing, awkwardly though, as it wasn’t I did often unless preparing to bed. I had unbuttoned my vest and tie, loosening my tie, and removing my jacket. I hoped a casual mood would help my case, despite how uncomfortable and awkward I felt, and probably looked. I was going to use my remaining time in front of the jury to my advantage.

“Gentlemen.” I began, diving straight into my argument. How obvious the answer to this case was, about how weak the evidence produced by the state was. When there was a pause, I removed my glasses and wiped them clean with a handkerchief. I found myself being completely different that day, I usually never sweated enough to warrant doing this. When I had finally run out of time to speak, I lowered my voice and turned to face the jury.

“In the name of God, believe him.” I muttered painfully.

Just then, Calpurnia came rushing in and any remaining conversations came to a halt. She walked sheepishly up the middle aisle to me. She asked permission to give me a letter, swearing that it contained no information regarding the trial. I took it from her, with permission from the judge, and carefully tore up the flap. It was from my sister, it’s short length allowed for me to read quickly, but it only left me with a deep feeling of dread.

“Judge… I… This is a note from my sister, my children are missing, haven’t turned up since noon. I… Could you…” If I were to have to be completely honest, I was panicking. Though I know I truly have mischievous children, they had never been away from our home for this long.

But before I could worry myself for too long, Mr.Underwood informed me my children were in fact here in the courtroom. They had been on the colored balcony the whole time. I turned my head upwards, to spot them up where they were said to be.

“Jem, get down here.” I cried, a mix of anger and relief filling my voice. I’d need to speak to them in a more private setting and told the judge that I’d only be a moment. When we were alone, I told them to go home, and stay there. They argued, and I finally told them that they were to go home, eat dinner, and only return after they have done so. I assumed that the session would be over by then, and told them not to rush, as they weren’t going to miss anything important.  

After my children left there was more talking and then the jury saw themselves out to talk. Thirty minutes had passed I began to pace around the room with my hands in my pockets. It had come to a point where I couldn’t keep myself still in one spot. There would be more hours that would pass before we would finally get out. When they did it was finally time to hear their opinion.

My heart sank lower with every ‘guilty’.

It was just as I had expected.