18. Stronger
My guide's name is Glexie and she's nice enough. But I can't help but to be annoyed by her bright blue hair—apparently "geneti-dyed" meaning in such a way that it grows that color from her scalp—her makeup which covers her face fully in an array of colorful flowers, stars, and yes, rainbows and her super bubbly and girly attitude. She wears a short yellow dress that stops at her thighs, but beneath it are rainbow striped tights. I've probably seen this style before, but I can't recall anyone being so insistent in asking my opinion of it before "What do you think of my Skirtights? Like it? I made that name up myself!"
Even her outfit alone, seems like some cruel joke Effie has played on me, as a I trudge along beside her in my plain long-sleeved brown shirt, black pants, and a pair of brown boots that I bought from a Capitol shoe store. If it's the last thing I do…Effie. Will. Pay. I think begrudgingly as I trudge along beside Glexie listening and looking as she points out different sites. Apparently, the hospital isn't far from the hotel that we are staying in and Glexie wondered if I minded walking. Of course, I didn't at first. But if I had carefully thought through the idea of walking down Main Street with the human rainbow herself, I probably would've elected to take the train.
The Capitol is much more muted than it was the last time I was here, wreckage from the war still visible in the ripped apart signs, cracked asphalt and debris that litter the street. But there are still a lot of things here that you don't see in any of the other districts. Like shoe stores for example…And shirt stores, and pants stores. There are bars where people can go to drink liquor, and even stores where people can buy animals. The very idea of someone keeping a bird as a pet brings up my Capitol annoyance to the level of 100. All of the buildings are still brightly colored and some of the signs are still illuminated even during the day. And something strange keeps happening to me whenever I think of expressing my Capitol contempt. I glance over with a wry look and am met only with Glexie's bubbly and oblivious smiles as she continues chattering about who knows what. And I realize that it was not Glexie's mutual contempt I was seeking.
It was Peeta's.
When we finally come into view of the building that must be the hospital I stop in my tracks and stare ahead of me. It is just a large building, enshrouded in blue tarp. It looks like…like the makeshift hospital from District 3. Nothing like I would've imagined a Capitol hospital to look, and it bothers me, to the point that I can't take another step.
Now,
I am standing in front of the war hospital again and waiting helplessly for the bomb to drop. Drop. And drop it does, until there are people screaming and Gale and I are supposed to be shooting at the jets only…I don't have arrows. I am tugging at my back, because I know I brought my arrows! I just know it!
"Katniss?!" I hear the panicked squeal of my name and now I am back standing in the middle of the street surrounded by Capitol noises.
"Yes?" I say and look over at Glexie whose cheerful disposition now seems horrified. "Are you…okay?" I try to remember. Am I? And that's when I suddenly feel that my hand is twisted over my shoulder and behind my back, my fingers stretching searching for my arrows, to help Gale shoot down the planes; the planes that only exist in the past. My shirt is un-tucked as I must have been pulling at it forcefully. I carefully slide my still shaking hand back in front of me and straighten my shirt down tucking it in. At the sight of her gaping mouth, I know that I must distract her, or she won't let up wanting to know what's wrong. How could I explain that when even I am unsure?
"I'm fine." I say, but Glexie's look is still one of concern. "Just can't wait to see my mother!" I say with a cheery smile for her benefit and although at first seeming skeptical, she gradually eases back into her hyper talk, and we begin to walk closer to the building. I am thankful that she is apparently very easy to fool and tell myself over and over, They're just memories, Katniss. Just memories. Not real. Not real.
I stop short when I see her. Her cheeks are almost glowing, the full tan back where once she was sheet-white. Her hair looks like golden silk, draping down her shoulders, though a partial braid in front keeps it from her eyes. And her eyes…Her eyes are fully aware as she speaks to the 3 or 4 people before her, directing them in a clear and authoritative voice. The green scrubs are crisp beneath the white coat that hits her at her calves and is pinned by a nametag that clearly reads "Dr. Everdeen."
"Mother." I say, barely above a whisper, but still, she stops mid-sentence and looks at me.
In this moment it seems that I haven't seen her in years, because really, I haven't. She looks so like my mother, the mother of my childhood, before father died, that I want to cry. This is not a broken woman. She looks healthy and alert. And like my mother. Before I can cry however, she is closing the space between us wrapping her arms tightly around me squeezing me into her, as if she is trying to mesh herself into me. Protect me. Mother me. I smell her scent, herbs, medicine, and flowers. No, flower. A single floral scent that I recognize: Primrose. And I think of Prim, our Primrose and I melt. Here before the hospital with all the others watching, I sink into my mother's arms and cry. I think of Prim and my mother and my father. My broken, broken family and I melt into tears knowing I would dissolve but for the woman before me, who holds me up and keeps me together.
My mother doesn't make me go into the hospital, instead we sit on the benches in front, and we talk. We really talk for the first time in what feels like years and she makes me go first. Says "Katniss, tell me how you are; more than fine." The same way she used to when she was asking about school back before any Hunger Games and so I do.
I start by telling her about hunting. Then about Camellia and her children and the arrow she gave me and how she now works for and lives with Haymitch. I tell her about the wheelbarrow and getting the meat and the bear—of course she admonishes me about the bear. Then I tell her about the recipe club and the rebuilding of the District and my new acquaintances. And finally, I tell her about Plutarch and the big boxes of food and the street celebration. It isn't until now that I am speaking to someone about it that I see how much more I have found to do. How much more I am becoming aside from the Mockingjay, and the "girl on fire" and the Capitol's former and only co-victor. And it makes me smile.
But, of course, I don't mention about the counting game, the nightmares, or the zoning out periods. Those seem like things that I should keep to myself, because my mother has truly suffered enough. So, I guess, even though I am more than those other things, maybe I am still not very much more.
Maybe it is because of my anticipation of what she will ask, that I notice that my mother doesn't ask me about Gale or Peeta. I don't know if it's something she's doing on purpose or if she's just not thinking about it. Really, she must know all about Gale by now; that he's Captain of the Guards, for District 2, overseer of the rebuild of District 12, but I do wonder sometimes if she's ever known about the bombing. I already know that I will never tell her. It's something I wish even I never knew.
But to not ask about Peeta? My mother not asking me about Peeta after our intensely life-altering relationship? After seeing my depression at the loss of him in District 13? This exclusion feels more deliberate. Like she's decided not to invade my head about him or she's giving me space. Whatever her reason I appreciate it. I am not really certain why, but I only know that at the moment talking about Peeta is something that I don't know that I can do.
My mother's stories about her time in District 4 and her move to the Capitol are much more interesting than mine, I think. She talks about all the differences between District 4 and the Capitol and home. She talks about the people she's met and the food she's tasted and the new house she lives in. It is small but it's beautiful as she whips out a picture of the small grey building with the white picket fence. It looks like one of the nicer houses from the Seam and I know of course that this was her intent. It is on the outskirts of the Capitol and though she still mainly resides in District 4, for the time being and in her later years she will likely stay here as it is closer to District 12, which gives her a sense of comfort. She tells me all about her many meetings with the president, Paylie, as she calls her, who is now her good friend, and the hospital workers and the council. And finally, she tells me about the hospital. How because of the success of the one in 4, she has been given full control over the direction and design of this one. She informs me that the tarp I see hides the fully built yet not fully equipped hospital that is to be unveiled the morning after the ball. After the mention she snaps her fingers getting someone's attention and tells them "Bring me the model."
A thin wiry man with jet black hair and a boy's face rushes over with a flat board containing a model of the hospital. It is a tall white building with many windows but only a few doors. Outside it there are a few trees that I look around us and guess have yet to be planted and there are also more benches to be nailed into the ground. I imagine that they will have to dig up some of the road that still lies ragged in front of the building to complete those two tasks, but it will be well worth it. The model of the hospital is astonishingly well-made in a way that I couldn't have imagined my mother being able to make it.
And as I sit here looking at this model from my mother's mind, it occurs to me that I do not really know my mother as well as I may have thought. Not really. Not as a woman who has buried a husband and a child and sent off a daughter to two Hunger Games and a war. The kind of strength that it has taken for her to even continue being alive through all of that. Even if a good part of that "alive" was spent in a sleep-like depression, still she did stay alive, I think, as I remember my suicide pacts with Gale and the others. I also think of how I tried to commit suicide with the Nightlock pills so as not to have to face my mother after having lost Prim and killed President Coin. And in this moment, I know that though I had never realized it, my mother is stronger than me. Much stronger. And the little bit of strength that I've used to survive, the strength I'd always imagined I pulled solely on my father and what he'd taught me, I realize that at least some of it has instead come from my mother.
I smile up at my mother, grip her hand and say "It's beautiful, mother. I am so, so proud of you." I squeeze her hand tightly in mine, feeling and meaning more by this gesture than she can possibly now.
Now my mother glances down at the model, questioningly, "So it's okay with you…? I mean, I wanted to make sure."
I am confused and say, "Of course. Why would I have any problem with your building's design? It's amazing." And I feel a little ashamed of myself. Have I really been so difficult that she would imagine my disapproving of her amazing building?
My mother seems to recognize my confusion and so she says softly, her pink lips almost swallowing the words "Not the building design, Katniss. The name."
I hadn't even noticed the name, so I look down and search for it, find it on a small grey plaque and read out loud,
"The Primrose Memorial Hospital."
