I don't know if it's just my perception blurring my memory, but I swear the trees change color earlier this year, and they are even more vibrant and beautiful than I can remember them. I like seeing the district like this. I always enjoyed fall, but the beauty and the nice weather was coupled with the fear of the hunger that an early winter could bring. It's nice to be able to just enjoy it for its own sake now.
Peeta and I have both been pretty busy recently. Construction on the bakery is moving along quickly, and now that they're getting closer he's baking almost obsessively, frantically trying to figure out what he should sell. I offer to help but I'm no use; when he gives me two different puff pastry recipes to sample, I can't even taste the difference. I've had regular meetings with the medicine factory team, and we're not too far away from being able to start up production, which is really exciting. Right now I've been working on gathering fall plants to stockpile for when there's not much around in the winter. It's only late September, we have time, but instincts built up from years of poverty have taught me not to waste these sorts of opportunities to prepare. Even a Victor's salary and a war couldn't beat that out of me, apparently.
I'm out foraging and hunting in the woods this morning. Peeta was baking up a storm in the kitchen, in that hyper-focused mode that he only gets when baking. It's cute to me, how passionate he gets about it. Even so, I decided that I might as well come out here and see what I could find today. It's a nice day out, cold and crisp but sunny. My father's hunting jacket is all I need to keep warm.
As I pick some plants and shoot a couple squirrels, I think about my father. I hope he'd be happy with the life I'm living now. I think he would be, if he could even conceptualize it as a possibility. Though I was too young to fully understand much of it, I know from my memories of him that he wanted his daughters to live happy lives, without the threat of being reaped or starving to death. I also know he lived with a lot less fear of the Capitol's wrath than most people did. He taught me to hunt, to survive, as if the risks to his life didn't even matter to him. Even actions as simple as teaching me the Hanging Tree song were subversive. I am very confident that, had he lived to see it, he would have been all in for the Rebellion. He wanted to make the world better for us than it was for him.
He succeeded, really; I wouldn't have survived without all of the things he taught me, about how to shoot, how to hunt, how to feed my family, how to keep steady in the face of hardship. I probably would have withered away long before Prim's name was called and I found myself into the Arena. I owe my bravery to him, too, I think. I do not believe for one second that I am as brave and daring as everyone makes me out to be, but I know I have some reckless qualities, for better or for worse, because oftentimes they lead me into stupid decisions. Still, the good side of recklessness is bravery. I needed that, for a long time, and I got it from him.
I wonder what he would think about my strange little family. I think, first and foremost, he'd be sad. He'd be absolutely devastated over Prim. There is no word to describe the depths of pain that he would be feeling. Heartbroken, distraught, empty; no word is enough. I would also think he'd be at least somewhat upset at my mother for leaving, or at the very least sad that his two remaining family members were not together. I think he understood her, the way her mind works and what she does, more than I ever did. He would know what to say. After the sadness, though, I hope he'd be happy with my family of broken people. Haymitch and Effie, our closest thing to parental figures, despite their eccentricities and quirks. Delly, cheerful and kind almost to a fault. Johanna, teasing and sarcastic but fiercely loyal and loving in her own way. Peeta, who makes me happier than anyone or anything else in this world. I hope he'd like Peeta. No, I know he would. He wanted me to be happy. I am happy.
I throw the squirrels into my game bag and start heading back towards town. I enjoy the routine I've found over these past few months; hunting, trading, chatting, rebuilding. It's simultaneously very similar to what I used to do, and yet entirely different. The idea that I can trade food with Sae, not because of a sense of mutual desperation but rather because we want to look out for each other and help each other's lives improve; changes like this make similar actions feel vastly different.
I start heading back to Victor's Village, enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze on my face as I walk. It is beautiful in 12. I never really appreciated that before. I find myself now fully taking in the colors on the trees and the beauty of our plant life in a way I just couldn't in the past. I'm taken out of my reverie, though, as I reach the Village and hear a strange clunking sound coming from Haymitch's house. I don't know what's causing it, but whatever it is has gotten his geese upset, because they're honking up a storm. I head to his house but hesitate at the door. Normally I'd just enter without knocking, but I don't know what's happening right now. It's been a while since he last did it, but there have been times where he gets into sort of drunken fits of rage and ends up breaking things. It's not that I'm scared of him when he's like that; frankly, I couldn't care less, and I'm confident I could take him. I'm much quicker and more agile. It's just that I know he doesn't want us to see him like that. It's one of the few aspects of his drinking that actually embarrasses him.
"Haymitch?" I call loudly, knocking my fist on the door. I decide that I'll wait a couple minutes, and if he doesn't come out I'll leave and come back in a few hours to check in on him. To my surprise, however, the noise stops within a matter of second, and I hear his footsteps making their way towards the door.
"What?" he says, pulling the door open, but only enough for me to see him. He blocks any view I might have of his house with his body.
"What are you doing?" I ask. "It's really loud. I just wanted to make sure you're ok."
"None of your business, sweetheart," he says. "But I'm fine. I told the boy that I was fine when he came by earlier, I assumed he would have told you and kept you off my porch."
"Oh, I just got back from hunting, I haven't been home yet..." I start, but I trail off as I realize something shocking. It's not only that he isn't in a drunken fit...I don't think he's drunk at all. He looks pretty clean, he doesn't smell of liquor, and his grey eyes are clear and lucid. This is not normal. Even on a good day for Haymitch, he still usually drinks to a certain degree.
"Is that it?" he asks, snapping me back to the conversation. I can tell by the expression on his face that he knows I was studying him, and wants to get out of here before I can figure anything out. We're too good at reading each other.
"Oh! Yeah, I guess it is," I say, not really able to come up with a good excuse to get any more information out of him.
"Good," he says. "Then I'll see you later." He shuts the door and leaves me standing on his porch, deeply confused. The noise starts up again a minute or so later, and I head home. When I walk inside I find Peeta at the counter frosting some cookies.
"Hi," I say, setting my bag down before walking over and planting a kiss on his cheek.
"Hi, love," he says, pausing his icing work to give me a kiss in return. "How's your day been so far?"
"Good, good," I say, distractedly. "Do you have any idea what's going on with Haymitch?"
"No, but I'm so confused about it!" Peeta exclaims, clearly glad we're feeling the same way about this deeply odd situation. "That banging noise has been going on for about an hour, and I went over there when it first started to ask what was happening but he wouldn't let me in."
"Me too," I say, nodding. "I was just there, and he was being really cagey. It's like he didn't even want me to see into his house." Peeta nods.
"I have no idea what he's up to," he says. "But the noise has been giving me a headache." He chuckles at the situation, and I nod empathetically. I think if I had been stuck listening to this ruckus for an hour, I would have snuck past Haymitch's door and shot something at him, no matter how hard he tried to stop me. It's painfully loud.
"Do you want to get out of here?" I ask him.
"Sure," Peeta responds. "Where too?" I pause for a moment. I have an idea, somewhere we haven't been yet, somewhere that we've been avoiding. I'm apprehensive, because it will be painful for me, but I know it will be so much worse for him.
"Would you...would you want to visit the meadow?" I ask tentatively. He knows what this means. The meadow is no longer just a lush field, it's the mass grave where nearly everyone we grew up with is buried. It's where his parents and his brothers rest, somewhere below the earth. I don't exactly know why I've been struck by this today. I've been thinking about loss a lot, I suppose, and it feels like something we should do to pay our respects. But the loss that is represented in the meadow is so much more personal for Peeta, and I don't want to hurt him.
"We don't have to if you don't want to," I say. "I know that's not going to be an easy trip for you. It's just...I don't know. I was thinking it would be good to just...to honor everyone." Peeta looks nervous, but he nods.
"You're right," he says, swallowing before continuing on. "I agree. Ok, we should go." I take his hand in mine and hold it tight as we make our way through town. We are both fairly quiet on the walk to the meadow. I've really been avoiding this area up until now, worried about the potential pain of seeing a physical reminder of how many people we lost. I've been worried that maybe it would look abandoned, sad, desolate.
I'm surprised to see, however, that when we reach the meadow it's strangely...beautiful. The grass is green and tall, clearly it responded well to the warmth of summer. The trees that line the meadow are draped with orange, red, and golden leaves, some of which have started to litter the ground as they begin to fall. It's not at all the grim, dark place I was fearing it might be. I feel a strange sense of peace here. I look to Peeta, trying to read the expression on his face. He looks sad, but not broken.
"Are you ok?" I ask him, squeezing his hand in my own.
"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "I...I was worried about what it might be like to be here, to be this close to where they're all buried. But...I'm glad that it's nice here. I was sad about the idea of my whole family being put to rest in some dark, depersonalized reminder of the war. It makes me feel a little bit better to see that it's beautiful here."
I stand on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and the two of us walk a circle around the perimeter of the meadow. There are no headstones or marked graves; it wasn't really possible to fully determine whose body was whose in the burned state the district was left in. Some were found in their homes, so it could be assumed, but a lot of people had tried to flee and were found in the middle of town or near the woods. There's a small bronze plaque, though, mounted on a pedestal on the far edge of the meadow. We approach it so we can see what it says. It reads: "This meadow serves as a memorial and resting place for all those who were lost in the firebombing of District 12. In an effort to combat the dehumanizing end that met so many in our district, it is our hope to create for them a peaceful site, in which the memory of their lives can enrich the district in death as they did in life. They shall not be forgotten."
I feel tears forming in my eyes. I don't know who wrote this, but it's perfect. The idea of creating something out of tragedy that can both serve to remember those we've lost and improve the circumstances of our district for future generations, that is exactly what we fought for.
"It's beautiful," I mutter, sniffling. Peeta nods, a tear sliding down his face too.
"It is," he says. The two of us sit down on the grass, quietly taking in everything around us. I nestle myself between his legs and lean my back against his chest. He wraps his arms around me.
"It's odd," he says slowly. "But it feels better to be here, and to honor them, than to just avoid it all. It's hard, but it's healing." I smile a bit.
"I'm glad," I say softly, kissing his arm.
"What made you think to come here today?" he asks. "I'm glad we did it, I just wouldn't have thought about it." I take a deep breath.
"I don't fully know," I say. "I guess...I was thinking about my dad a lot today, as I was out in the woods. I was wishing he could see how we were living now, wondering what he would think of it all. I guess it sort of made me want to visit the people we'd lost in whatever way we can."
"He would be so proud of you," Peeta says quietly. "I know that I didn't know him particularly well but I feel like I know him because I know you, and I know that anyone similar to you would be incredibly proud, not only of your determination and bravery and perseverance, but also of your ability to get through so much and try to find peace while helping others. He must have shared your strength and your capacity to defend your loved ones with everything in you. He would be incredibly proud of all you've accomplished." I turn around and kiss Peeta deeply on the lips.
"Thank you," I murmur into him. "Just...thank you." He smiles a little bit.
"I love you, Katniss," he says when we pull apart.
"I love you too," I say, and settle back into his embrace. We spend an hour, maybe two, sitting in the fall breeze and feeling both the pain and peace that this meadow brings. The feelings and thoughts that run through me as we sit here are hard at some points, but I'm deeply glad to be here. I'm grateful that I'm alive to keep carrying the memories of those we lost. For a long time, I don't think that I really wanted to be alive, after having lost so much. Now, things are still painful and still hard, but I'm understanding how meaningful and important it is to keep them with me and make sure they aren't forgotten.
I stare into the trees, watching the warm colored leaves as they rustle in the breeze. They serve as a reminder that while the trees may be dying in the cold, they aren't doing it for nothing. They are creating something beautiful for those of us that live on. That's exactly what was done by everyone who was lost in the war. I'm grateful for them. All of them.