"Remember folks, the star-crossed lover's reunion airs LIVE tonight! Tune in the victory ceremony to see their arms wrapped around each other - safe at last!" Caesar Flickerman's voice calls from the living room.
Our house is buzzing with people. For the past few days, it's been complete madness as we try to arrange a homecoming celebration worthy of our two victors. The Capitol will supply most of the food, but some of us have decided to provide a few dishes from home. You, know, something comforting.
"Is Henry willing to play his fiddle? We have two other guys already, but my cousin's not quite sure she'll have her instrument fixed in time. I think the more we have the better," someone says on my right.
"Better sign him up. I'll confirm when I drop by to deliver the milk tomorrow morning," another replies.
It's been so long since Twelve has had a victor that everyone's going a bit overboard for the celebration. It might also be that, for the first time in Games history, both our tributes are coming home. This is no funeral. We lost two children to the reaping, but despite the odds, have gained them back. Why shouldn't we have a celebration?
The cameras have shown us hardly any footage of Katniss and Peeta. It's been mostly announcers discussing this and that. Interviews. Discussions with the sponsors. How they think the Capitol has responded to these lovers. Bets on what they'll be wearing. If they'll get a standing ovation. Petty things that really shouldn't belong in a commentary about the Hunger Games.
We haven't even seen any replays of the action in the arena either because all that will be tonight. The required viewing for all of Panem. The recap, and in our case the reunion, of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. Our victors are being cleaned up and dressed in dazzling outfits once again. The stage is being prepared for Caesar to host. Yes, tonight, we'll see Peeta and Katniss together again for the first time in days before watching the recap of the whole event.
It's the one part of the night that the district isn't looking forward to, and I doubt our victors are all that keen to see it either. But it's just today, tomorrow, and by noon the day after, they'll be pulling into our station.
Since we're the winning district, our screens haven't blacked out in days. We'll get full coverage of the ceremony tonight and the final interview tomorrow afternoon. Not that anyone's been paying attention to the screens lately. We've all been so busy with preparations. But even I can't deny that some of us have been able to catch snatches of the conversation.
"What were you feeling when the victors lifted those berries to their lips?" Caesar says as I pass through the living room. On the screen, he's standing next to a Capitol woman and her daughter. They've been interviewing many Capitol residents about the Games, but I have yet to really see any of them. These two residents are adorned in vibrant colors, elaborate hairstyles, and large hats with long slender feathers. The girl must be about seven or eight. To me, all the makeup looks garish on her young face.
"Well," the woman fans herself. "We were at a viewing party down several blocks over, you know where the Belmonts have their mansion. They did that incredible firework show down on the lawn last year," she gushes. Caesar nods, even though I have no idea what she's talking about. "And I could feel every glass of champagne bubbling in my stomach as I looked at those berries. They reminded me of the berry tart Mrs. Wimborne made especially for the occasion, but of course, hers are edible. My husband and I have just fallen in love with those tributes from Twelve. Their whole story is so breathtakingly romantic. I was worried we'd never get to see her pretty dresses again! I almost wish the sponsors had sent her something pretty to wear. Poor thing was always dressed in those pants."
"When we go back to school," the little girl says. Caesar bends down so that she can talk into the powder blue, slim microphone that matches his hair. "I think we'll do a lesson on their story!" she says. "I hope we get to do the part when Peeta punches that big mean boy from Two and then tries to wrestle him on the ground!" she acts out a few of the moves. "Maybe we'll get to do a field trip!"
The festive curtain that's taken place of the fear that's been hanging over Twelve is ripped aside for a moment. This little girl has no concept of what she watches year after year. They teach about it, they idolize the victors. But the ones who die? They are dismissed. The big, mean boy from Two. Cato. I'm sure he has family that are mourning him. His district was so close. I flip the tables for a moment and try to imagine hearing that about Peeta after he died. It's nothing short of revolting
And the Capitol woman is, if anything, worse. She never mentioned the fact that our tributes were dying. That they were seconds away from committing suicide. No, she wished "the sponsors would have sent Katniss something pretty". Pretty compared to choosing death. To non-existance. And why should she know any different? She will never have her little girl returned to her in a box.
It's with a heavy heart that I return to the others. Maybe we should tone down the festivities a little. Perhaps we've forgotten in our small moment of triumph what these Games really mean.
Later, we gather in the square to watch the evening's affair. The night air hums with insects and electricity from the screen. Gravel crunches under our shoes as we crane our necks to get a good view. People's voices bounce around, exuberant at the prospect of seeing our victors reunite. I wish I could join in the spirited energy, but I haven't been able to shake the image of the Capitol woman and her daughter from my head.
"It's that time," purrs a voice and as the anthem drowns out the crickets, Caesar Flickerman waltzes out onto the stage.
One one side, a huge screen - larger even than the one set up here in Twelve - has been prepared for the viewing of the recap. On the other, a fancy, red plush couch is waiting for the victors.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome!" Caesar cries lavishly. He waits for the cheers and hysterical screams of the Capitol audience to run their course, then holds up his hands for silence. "Now, you've watched them prepare to die for each other. You've ridden that ladder into the hovercraft. Watched as they were torn away for restoration. And now, the most exciting part is yet to come. Are you ready to watch your victors reconvene at last?" His voice has been growing steadily louder, along with the buzz of the crowd. Now, the place erupts again - like an uncontainable volcano. Caesar indulgently lets the noise go on for a bit before hushing them. "You will get the experience the magic firsthand, but before we bring them out, let's meet their entourage!"
He introduces a bunch of people who're their prep teams. Large eyelashes, putridly green skin, wild hair. Many of their attributes have clearly been altered, as is customary for stylists and prep. They bow flamboyantly, smiling and waving to great applause. It's hard for me to appreciate their work, though. They've made the Games into a beauty pageant.
Effie Trinket is presented. With her face comes the memory of the sultry day of the reaping when my son was taken away. I shudder a little. After that, their stylists make an appearance. Then Haymitch. His introduction instigates some scattered applause and whistles here in the square. He did keep our tributes alive and we owe him.
Then, at last, the crowds voices swell until they have melded into a ubiquitous howl. White lights slice the air and smoke mimics the motions of a water at a rolling boil. Through the haze of effects, two figures can be seen rising from under the stage. My heart gives a little leap as the lights fade and we finally see our victors. How healthy they look, standing clean and polished under the bright lights. No more are the starving, sickly kids from the arena. The two tributes, blinking away the spots in their eyes, are radiant as the moon that hangs over Twelve itself.
Katniss finally lets her eyes roam over Peeta. Her expression turns hungry as she throws herself into his arms. For a moment, I think they're going down, but Peeta rights himself - still clinging to the girl he almost lost forever. Now I notice a cane-like mechanism in his hand. It brings me back to reality - reminds me that he's still not completely healed.
And then, he goes in for the kiss. Under the hot glare of the giant bulbs beaming down on them, they seem to be aware only of each other. Peeta holds Katniss close, pressing his body against hers. Not only are they fused together at the lips, but they have become inseparable. One body. One life source.
Caesar makes several attempts at talking, but they're unsuccessful to say the least. At one point, he goes so far as to tap Peeta on the shoulder, but my son just brushes him aside - earning him wild cheers from the audience.
Here in Twelve, my wife makes a revolted sound at this display of affection. When I tear my eyes away from the screen to glance at her face, her expression is contorted. I guess it is a little uncomfortable to watch our son publicly make out while being broadcasted live to everyone in the country. Even his brothers seem a little disconcerted.
It's Haymitch who finally breaks the two of them apart. And quite literally, because he has to shove them towards the couch. The crowd laughs jovially as they fall onto the cushions. Peeta settles himself, readjusting his cane so that he can put his arm around Katniss. But that doesn't seem to be good enough for her. For whatever reason, she seems to be borderline delirious to see him again. As she lets her sandals fall to the floor and curls up beside him, I begin to detect something else. I'm not sure exactly what it is - maybe desperation? It's only been a few days, but I guess it must have been torturous to be kept apart from him for that long.
What a pair they are, Peeta with his arm around her and Katniss letting her head rest on his shoulder.
"Well, I think we're all properly warmed up," Caesar jokes. "Now, that might just win the most passionate moment of the night, but we have a few more things in store that might keep you in your seat. I think it's clear though, that these two lovers couldn't wait to get back in each other's arms." Then he winks and adds. "And on each other's lips, am I right?" The audience hoots appreciatively, and the comment even gets a few chuckles here in the square.
Too soon though, the show begins.
Parade. Training. Bloodbath. Tracker jackers.
We're forced to relive each nerve-jerking day of the Games. Now granted, quite a bit of time is spent on our star-crossed lovers, but there's still plenty of gore. When they show the reaction of the victors in the corner of the screen, I see Katniss and Peeta have both gone very pale. They have the same grave look of determination as they watch the replays of everything they must be trying to forget. If this is difficult for us spectators to watch, then it has to be a hundred times harder for them.
As the show wears on, my feet begin to hurt from standing. People are getting restless as we enter the third hour. Babies cry and are immediately hushed by mothers. But all of us grit our teeth and suffer through it the same way we do every year. When the anthem plays to end the showing, we all shake out our stiff limbs and wiggle our joints. That part is over, thank goodness.
President Snow himself splits the winner's crown and presents it to our victors. His paper white hair looks ghostly in the stark light of the stage.
"A final thank you to President Snow and congratulations to our victors from District Twelve - Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen!" Caesar says, wrapping the program up. "Goodnight, Panem! Remember, you haven't seen the last of these two lovebirds yet! Tune in tomorrow to see their final interview here in the Capitol! Broadcast begins at two. Goodnight!"
The seal appears on the screen and the square begins to empty. People shuffle forward, blinking their heavy eyes, as we all draw back into our own quiet homes.
Without the people and the hoopla to distract me, I replay some of the night's most disturbing images in my brain as we trudge along the road towards home. The leaves whisper, the bugs crooning their evening songs once more. In the darkness, I'm very glad that these four silhouettes I call my family will once again be five.
Just one more day. After tomorrow, my son will be home