13
This is the present of Peeta's story. I think I have figured out I good way to tell mockingjay, which will be told more as a reflection. Stay tuned!
It is a quiet Monday morning. Frost bites the windows as I decorate the last plate of cookies for the display case. This bakery is so much different from my family's original store. I painted these walls with Katniss by my side, my favorite shade of orange covering the kitchen while a grey, one that resembles her eyes in direct sunlight, coats the lobby. The memories I had growing up around the scent of pastries are not the most pleasant, but it is possible to turn it around with the new generation. Children who will never have to fear their mother or despise their family, kids who will only know love. The bell chimes to the door and I walked out of my office, hearing the lock click as the person steps all the way into the building. Her hair is in loose curls around her shoulders, her coat strapped right at the bump on her waist. She walks over with paper curled in her finger tips, grey seam eyes glittering.
With no words, she beckons me to my office. It's quiet and the shade of Katniss's favorite green. She picked the chair and the desk, a small portrait I made of her propped up in the corner next to my wedding band. I slip the ring back onto its normal resting place and wait for her to reveal why she is so eager.
"Okay, why do you look like you are about to pop out of that chair Katniss?" I ask, smoothing my blonde hair that is refusing to lie down properly.
"I was talking to Haymitch…" Katniss starts. If it begins with Haymitch it normally ends in a bad idea. I wait before cutting her off. Not only because her hormones have already made her yell at me twice this week then cry, but because she actually looks excited for once.
"And we think it would be a good idea for you and him to go into the woods and chop down a Christmas tree." She proposes. It has been almost ten months since we started trying for our baby and six months ago when I found out she was pregnant, I practically ran through the district in celebration, but pregnant Katniss was quite the marvel. She had become very compassionate and could be seen actually making crafts to put up in the house. Christmas had also struck her a bit harder this year then in the past. She made me order lights to string along the mantle of our fireplace along with other garlands that she had been fixing to almost every surface. It was like meeting a new person.
To say that she was fine, was not entirely accurate, however. I would find her in the woods, crying into her bow and cupping her stomach. She could sometimes have two to three nightmares a night, mostly on the deaths of her sister and Rue. Sometimes I felt like I lost her, weeks where she'd be just a shell, but then like the crack of a whip, her mood would shift. I hoped and prayed for days like these when the intensity of her stare was more comforting than the hallowed out look she'd give when her mind told her that this life could never yield everything she deserved to have.
"So you want a Handicap and a drunk to get you a tree?" I joke.
"You have a bionic leg, so you are really not all that handicap, and Haymitch is currently waiting for the next liquor drop off." She defends.
"It's hard to believe Haymitch came up with this…So my bet is he doesn't know he is coming with me to cut down a tree." I venture.
"Peeta Mellark, go get the damn tree that your pregnant wife wants." She pouts.
"I will, I am just giving you a hard time. Let's go now, I hear David and Kae in the shop." I respond, grabbing my jacket from the hanger. She slips her fingers between mine as we head out into the blustery December.
There are a lot of things in my life that have changed in the last six months besides awaiting the arrival of my child. I had this sense of being entirely certain about the father I wanted to be. I knew the love I had for their mother and I knew it was possible to translate that power onto our little ones, but I also had a list of things I hated from my childhood. I didn't like the tension at the kitchen table or the way my father always looked disoriented. I hated the politics surrounding business. There were things I remembered valuing. My dad would bring me a plate of warm cookies with milk when I was younger, always at night when everyone else was fast asleep. He could look at me and know with in a moment that I wasn't myself and instead of ignoring what could be troubling a nine year old, he listened. My father wasn't a bad man, the things I hated the most about him surrounded his indifference to our family problems and his inability to stand up for himself. It made me more ashamed then anything else.
As much as I ponder the logistics of parenting, I still keep most of my focus on Katniss. Our stories are painted with things that neither of us can explain. There are events that we will never be able to correct, moments we cannot capture in our hands and mold into new memories. We have to live with everything we have been forced to exist through and we have to like what we rebuilt from it. Having a child is almost like unlocking the last piece in the puzzle. We have figured out how everything else is supposed to fit together but creating something from our ashes is like joining all our ideas about life. Through this experience I have to look over and appreciate who has decided to take this ride with me…and I do.
"The saw is in the shed and Haymitch should be lurking around his house desperately trying to find some missing bottle of gin that he doesn't have. Thank you." She says, getting up on her toes to kiss me. I laugh as she does a sort of waddle up the stairs to our home and fix my attention on my new adventure.
Haymitch grumbles as I pull him from his recliner and into the ice ridden grass. We stumble across the meadow and into the woods, mentor and Victor. It is odd that even now, that is how I name our duo. It doesn't occur to me that we are now just two men, the term is too broad to fit. We are both Victors but he has had the unsavory task of training every child before me to be slaughtered. So our titles have a weight that I am unable to let go of.
We find our victim, the thickest tree that looks like it will hold ornaments well, and begin our work. It is quiet, at first, but Haymitch doesn't take long to pounce on an issue I have seen him work over multiple times in his mind.
"You should be happy. What's going on now?" Haymitch demands, watching me saw away at the bark.
"I am. Katniss's moods have been a little hard to handle lately. The sickly sweet is so easy to get accustomed to, then when the worry sets in…she does a 360 and I am left so confused." I explain.
"Yeah and that's not it either. I've seen you, three in the morning walking along the village path in the dead middle of winter. Either I better classify you as insane or you better start talking." He goes on.
It is easy to talk to this man, I have to admit. At first glance most would shy away, but where I have gotten in the games and in life have been from being brutally honest with him. He has been in my life as this blessing, a force that has understood my wants before I could calculate them on my own. Now I am lost and I'm not sure how to give him a direction to lead me back.
"I've been holding this grudge against the Capitol or whomever is to blame for my absence…of mind. For the longest time I suppressed it because the only thing I was worried about was regaining my self in order to be better for Katniss. When it happened, and I remembered everything about my personality, the faults and cracks, the triumphs and glories, I just could only think of coming back here and rebuilding my life, hopefully to get my happy ending. Now that it is here, I just feel like I haven't let go of what ever is looming over my head about being tortured. It makes me anxious." I say, putting down my tool to look at my companion. His lips form a hard line but he processes the words for what they are worth. Empty but full, searching for some kind of meaning.
"You don't blame us, do you? Is that what is bothering, that you think you may blame us?" He asks bluntly.
"No I don't blame you or her. Dr. Aurelis covered that before I could ever come back and be in your presence. I think it's maybe…life has been so good to me lately that stupid things…like maybe I have a few bad dreams…or I feel some mutt vision coming on a little stronger…seem to really set me off. I am so worried that a switch will flip and everything I've worked on could just fade. It's like I have to see it through my eyes again to know that I can never go back there. That I am this person who exists right now." I finally manage to say.
"Then write a book. Katniss did it because she needed to remember all the painful and great memories to move on. It could be the case with you." Haymitch offers.
"That's actually, not a bad idea."
"Have I ever steered you wrong?"
"As much as I would like to say yes, I know the real answer is not that."
"Well then, let's get this tree for the queen of your house so I can go back to my nap." He states.
The tree sits propped in the corner of my living room. The soft glow of white lights reflect on our coffee table and onto the walls like a ghost of cheer. Katniss is lying on the floor, her legs and head propped up with pillows. She is dozing, glitter marking her hands as they rest upon the hill of her stomach. I can see her hot chocolate still half full next to her, everything winding down into the final hours of the night. I take this time to find the journal I have stowed away and bring it to my chair.
I don't remember buying it, but it was here for me like something in this universe knew I would have to utilize its blank pages for comfort. I take out my favorite pen and sit back, pondering how I could even start this type of memoir. I thought dragging up the memories would be a lot harder, but with in two seconds of finding where I have hidden them in my brain, they flood my entire system. I let them calm down and let the words find their birth on the paper.
"I couldn't open my left eye because it was swollen shut from being kicked but with the one good eye I had at my disposal, I reached into my boot to grab a folded up paper. It was wet, faded, and the paint had cracked across the page like lighting ran across the sky. It was still her though, still the woman I was certain I was going to find my death for, my girl who was on fire."
These are the words I let seep into in to the parchment. It is the first memory I had waking up from leaving the arena of the quarter quell and it is the best place I could think to start my recount of a life that I lost and won back.