Taking Action
The next few days were tedious as I waited for my results. Portia stopped by to discuss the answers after the exam, but I hardly listened. I refused to speak about the essay when asked. After our confrontation, agitation filled me to the core, so I fancied a walk to the City Circle. On my way, I decided to stop by my parent's house.
The house seemed distant, yet permeated a familiar air. I stood awkwardly on the doorstep, hesitant to ring the bell. A neighbor came out of the house on the left and shot me a curious glance. I waved slowly, wondering if I knew them. Finally, I rang the doorbell and stood back from the edifice.
"Hello, dear!" mother whistled as she opened the door.
She wore a simple monogrammed bathrobe. Comfortable looking slippers decorated her feet. She smiled and bade me come inside. I entered and immediately felt those familiar waves of nausea roll over.
"How are things?" she asked curiously, leading the way toward the parlor.
"Normal as usual. I took my placement exam for Games school," I responded, examining the walls.
On a bureau between a mirror and grandfather clock lay two pictures. I recognized a younger version of myself in the right picture. I sported a powdered wig and a cheesy grin that had long since faded. In the left picture, a handsome boy smiled back. He looked similar in looks, but small in size.
Mother walked out of the parlor, annoyed at my absence. I took my eyes away from the pictures and followed her back into the parlor, more confused than ever. She sat eloquently on a couch that faced an expensive television.
"Where's father?" I asked her.
"Oh, I am sure that he's around somewhere. You know how he likes to keep to himself," she answered, "You know, we are both very proud of you, dear. Especially your father. You know how he loves the Games. It is simply delightful that you are to become a part of that franchise."
I smiled, grateful to be reassured of my actions. Mother caught me up with all the local drama involving the neighbors and a particularly nasty plant that grew in their garden. I only listened halfheartedly, other thoughts pervading my mind.
"Mother," I interrupted her criticism of the garden.
"Manners, dear," she condemned me.
"I am sorry," I spoke quietly.
"Well, what is it?" she prodded further.
"Nothing, really. I am curious as to who the fellow in that picture is," I pointed toward the matching frames.
Mother bit her lip and pulled herself off the couch. She began to pace the room frantically, muttering under her breath. I became alarmed at her sudden discourse and tried to remedy the situation.
"Look, I did not mean to upset you," I spoke standing up.
"Effie, do you remember when you were six? We took you to the park before the second Quarter Quell?" she suddenly asked.
"What?" I snapped.
"We took a picnic basket and ate in front of the Training Center. You, me, your father, and…."
"And?" I repeated eagerly.
"That boy was with us. He used to live here, I don't know if you remember that," she informed me.
"Who is he?" I almost shouted.
"He…he's your brother, dear."
For the next minute, no one spoke. Mother glanced nervously toward the steps that led to the second floor. It was then that I noticed father. He looked timid and uneasy with what he had just walked into.
"Hello, father," I moved forward to greet him.
He remained catatonic as I hugged him gently, and then looked at mother with anguish.
"Our son," he whispered barely loud enough for me to hear.
I felt that icy dullness set in again. A missing child, the remaining part of our hijacked family. My brother, whom no one can seem to remember, yet never truly forgot.
I chose to sit back down on the couch. Mother ushered her way over, dragging her feet across the carpet. She placed one hand on the small on my back with reassurance.
"What is the matter, dear?" she cooed quietly, sitting next to me.
"I just cannot seem to remember facts about my life. I cannot recall having a brother. I do not remember anything before that stupid encounter with the President. It has been brought to my attention that I am almost in my late twenties. What happened to my childhood? My teenage years? Why can't I remember?" I spat with hysteria.
Mother let go of my back quickly. I chanced a glance at father and saw him standing in the parlor doorway with a look of anger on his face. At that moment, I knew he understood how I felt. He knew about the constant state of confusion, the frustration, the inner turmoil. Mother looked from my determined, overwhelmed face to that of my father's. She patted my hand gently and decided that it would be proper to leave us alone.
After she left, he spoke, "So you feel it too?"
"Yes," I answered determinedly, "What can we do?"
"We have to fight it, Effie. We will get through this together. I have neglected my parental duties and marital commitment for too long. We are Trinkets. We are going to kick this thing in the face and become better people because of it. Are you with me?" he looked me directly into the eyes.
I felt a surge of pride at his words, and gave him the first sincere smile that I could muster, "Of course."
We embraced passionately and I felt genuine feelings returning. An indescribable ecstasy trip to the moon. Mother returned with an exquisite glass in her hand, her face beaming when she noticed the course of action. She came over and placed a kiss on my cheek.
"We are going to get our memories back. Then, we are going to get your brother back," she whispered.
Finally, I let the long held tears flow. The moment was absolutely perfect for everyone involved. I decided to leave and get a move on, wishing them both the best. On my way out, I made a silent vow to the picture of my brother-simply saying the words in my heart ignited a spark in my heart-and left.