Jesus says, turn the other cheek. Atticus just wipes it away. You should do as they do. But if you don't spit back, she might spit again. So maybe you should do as she did. But instead, you pick up your pen. You put on the second person. You listen to your voice as though it belonged to a wise man. You try to shake it off. Try to let it go. You wish you were Atticus. Or more like Jesus. You wish you didn't ache. You wish that she was kind, that you understood your world, and that no neighbor will spit on you ever again. Mostly, you wish you hadn't deserved it.