The Photograph
Katniss continues to visit Peeta. Memories are revisited.
P.S. Suzanne Collins owns The Hunger Games Trilogy.
3 July
Dear Peeta,
I hope you will wake up soon. The beeps of the heartbeat monitor fill my ears, and the sound is both deafening and comforting in this empty room. It tells me you're still alive, that your heart remains strong despite your mind being a million miles away from here.
I brought you extra blankets to keep you warm. They're the ones that you like rubbing your feet on when you sleep. The flowers are from the meadows. Julian asked me to get them for you when I saw him yesterday morning. He said there are so many bright flowers in the meadows that look like smiling suns. He promises that they will make you smile when you wake up. You should really see them, Peeta. They are lovely.
Why aren't you back yet? You should have woken up by now.
If only wishing on stars worked in real life. That seven-year-old boy reminds me so much of your positivity and kindness. How he loved looking up at the sky at night and wishing on stars. He made me promise to use my wish for you. I guess he does not understand the intricacies of being an adult in a complicated situation. To him, things are just black and white. It was like I'm supposed to forget everything and bid you well for your immediate recovery as if we did not have a convoluted past.
Do you remember our nights on the rooftop of this hospital building?
Funny how many good and bad memories I have in this place. I remember us sharing meals at the cafeteria while you taught me about different kinds of bread from the local bakery. You would tear apart each piece and make me smell and taste them as they were. Pointing out the difference between the crumb and crust was a science to you. I just ate bread for sustenance, but for you, it was so much more than something to fill your stomach. You said it was like a baker's signature. Their creativity and passion, or lack thereof, were presented in a loaf of bread.
Then, there was visiting the extensive rooftop garden during sunsets. The wind chimes tinkling with the breeze could be so loud they were enough to drown out two people trying not to be heard. It was a perfect space to just be and hide from the world.
Like naughty rascals, we also rode the wide elevators back and forth from the basement to the top floor. Some of the doctors and nurses gave us knowing looks, remember? Their expressions were something akin to scolding school children or rowdy teenagers.
And then there was you holding my hand and giving me a lollipop after they gave me a shot. I really hated getting shots.
I met you at this exact wing, in the room down the hall where I demanded that it was Finnick - the doctor - that looks at me and not you, a nurse practitioner. The moment you came into the room, I scowled at you. But you were unfazed. So determined to do your job, and alleviate the acute pain in my swollen ankle. It was your adept hands and careful attention that helped me. I still remember how warm your palms felt on my foot.
You know, you have always looked so peaceful when you sleep. Your eyelashes - they're a light golden color under the afternoon sun. They're also so long that I don't see how they keep from getting all tangled up when you blink. There's a drawing here from Julian with your eyelashes sticking out. Honestly, you look hideous and comical with your eyelashes reaching past your curly mop of blonde hair. This kid keeps prodding for stories about you. He's so insistent and demanding. With the amount of energy he has, I don't think he's even injured at all. Every afternoon, he climbs up on your bed and touches your button nose, even inserting his pinky into your nostrils. Then when the nurse is not looking, he opens your eyes and makes you blink many times. I don't know how he gets out of his room and into yours without anyone noticing. Yesterday, I found him asleep at the foot of your bed. What's wrong with this kid? He's very cute, though. Wavy brunette hair, vibrant hazel eyes, pinkish chubby cheeks, honey-hue skin, and a small snub nose.
Speaking of sleeping, remember the pictures I took of you when you were sleeping on the wide porch swing by my house? It was a Sunday, and you labored through a double shift because you just recovered from the flu. You only sat there to decompress for a few minutes and then ended up dozing off. The stew in the kitchen and the movie we chose remained untouched that night. In the morning, we both woke up with massive cricks on our necks from trying to fit in the old porch swing. I still don't know why we did it. We could have gone inside, but we didn't. I just got a quilt, and you wrapped us both with it. You said you wanted to hold me, and I really wanted you to. No one else's arms have made me feel that safe.
Julian said you have to come back now, Peeta. He's scared that you will not wake up. I think that is why he comes here every day to watch you. Honestly, the same thought frightens me too.
Katniss
I hope you like this small glimpse of their past life together. They did have a deep love for one another before Katniss found Peeta's photograph in her mother's house. In my head, it is easier to remember old memories when the person concerned is absent or, in the case of Peeta, unconscious. It's safer and less daunting, easing Katniss into this moment of remembering the good times she shared with Peeta.
More letters to come next time. I've been stumped on one letter, so do send me good thoughts and inspiration. Thank you for reading!