Reaping day started on a bad note. As sullen as the main event of the day is, I've always liked reaping day in spite of myself. My mother gets the day off work, I get a day off school, and we both get some time to just relax. It seems like there's never any time for that during the rest of the year. Our family motto has always been, "keep your head down and work hard," and it's gotten us this far. It might not have saved my father from his sickness, but it did keep us going when he died. Any sadness, and anger, and loneliness can always be put into work. We learned that the hard way when just a few years after my father's death my older sister was whisked away from us to work in the capitol. Since then it's just been me and my mother. As long as I focus on my school work and my mother focuses on her job, things stay stable, and one day a year we get to let go and relax. All we have to worry about today is me being reaped, and with my name being only 5 out of hundreds of thousands, I can't say it's my biggest concern. Maybe I should worry more, but I've always believed that as long as I act as I should then I'll get what I deserve in return.
But reaping day this year was different, because as soon as I woke up my mother called me to look at the leaves.
She's been reading tea leaves for as long as I can remember. Supposedly it's been passed down from my mother's family for generations, but there's no way of really know what our family was like before the rebellion. Either way, my mother's been reading our tea leaves every morning, deciphering from their patterns what our futures hold. I used to be quite skeptical of the whole thing, but I have to say, the leaves are almost never wrong. Our neighbors have even started coming to my mother sometimes to see what the leaves say about them. We get a lot of people coming around this time of year, concerned parents hoping to see if their children will survive this year's reaping. So far, it's been good news for everyone that's come to see us this year.
That's why it's even more concerning when my mother calls me down early that morning to see her leaves. I sit down next to her at the table and take a look over at her cup. I can't say I'm an expert at reading them like her, but I certainly know the difference between what's good and bad. A large cross shapes lines the middle of the cup, a sign of great trouble ahead. My mother points a dark, shaking finger to some leaves in tear drop shapes lying toward the side of the cup. "This," she explains, "is a symbol meaning great sadness." Of course seeing this on reaping day is concerning, but my mother tells me not to worry, that perhaps the sadness and hardship refer to a different point in the future, that maybe the reaping has nothing to do with it at all.
We eat a quiet breakfast together while my mother works on her weaving. Then we both put on our best clothing, myself in a white collared shirt and black pants, and my mother in a long blue dress and dark braid. She ties a woven bracelet of blue and orange thread, meant to bring good luck, around my wrist. This lets me know that despite what she said about the leaves, she's still nervous for today. I am too, but I know that I have to accept whatever future lays in front of me.
I separate from my mother when we arrive at the reaping, and spot with my friend Taro in the roped off section for sixteen year olds. I sneak my way to him through the crowd as the mayor begins his yearly speech. I usually try and listen, but this year I'm just too distracted by what we saw in the leaves that I whisper to Taro instead and tell him what happened. His eyes widen in concern. He and his parents came for a reading just a few days ago, and they take the leaves just as seriously as my mother does. "That's bad news, but hey, we're all here for you. Don't stress too much," he says to me.
"How can I not? I mean, I'm trying my best to stay calm, but it's reaping day. This could possibly be the worst day of the year to have such a dismal reading."
"But it was your mom's reading, right? So she's going to have a hard time, but not necessarily you will too."
"I don't want my mother to suffer either, but … we'll see. You might be right."
This year we have a new escort. She introduces herself as Marcelle Hyde, and expresses how excited she is to be an escort here in district five. I actually quite liked our old escort. There was something nice in the way that he could always bring some joy, or at least a good laugh to a day that has so many in distress. He's retired in the capitol now, so I hope that I like our new escort as much.
"Now! Who shall we choose first? Well, I suppose since this is my first year, and I'm a woman, and well, I suppose that makes me a bit biased toward the girls, we'll let the ladies go first!" Marcelle hops over to the glass ball containing the girls names and pulls one out. "Nicola Zant!" A moment of silence passes, and no one walks up. "Nicola Zant?" Marcelle tries again. "Is there a Nicola Zant out there?" A small girl from the twelve year old area takes a small step out onto the path that leads to the stage. "Well come Nicola, no need to be shy!" A peacekeepers grabs her arm and gives her a shove toward the stage. She hobbles up sadly and Marcelle gives her a little pat on the back. "Alright then, boys turn!" She says, less confident this time. It always seems to bring an air of sadness when a twelve year old is reaped.
I take a deep breath in. I hope the leaves were wrong.
But they weren't. Because Marcelle calls, "Atlas Kersey," and now I'm the one walking up the stage.
My mother is the first that comes to visit. For a long time all she does is hold me in her arms and whisper that I'm her baby boy, that she can't lose her baby boy. Then she gets serious. She reminds of all the herbs I've gone to collect for her, all the ones I know are safe to eat. She says some of her blessings and chants over me - things in a different language I don't understand, but I know are meant to keep me safe. She tells me that she loves me more than anything in life, and then she leaves.
Many of my classmates and even one of my teachers come in, leaving me with small gifts and wishes of good luck. Lastly Taro and his parents come to see me. With tears on their faces they wish me good luck and each give me long hugs.
"Take care of my mother," I tell Taro, "make sure she keeps going when I'm gone." The thought of my mother alone in the house tears my heart in two. How much loss can one woman handle? She's done everything for me, and I always thought I'd be there to provide for her in her old age. But seeing me die in the games will age her twice over, and she may need help sooner than I think.
"You have to have tea with her every morning, and make sure she sleeps at night. Don't let her overwork herself."
"Of course," he says, "of course we'll take care of her."
And then it's time for me to be whisked on the train to the capitol. I don't dare shed a tear. The cameras will still be on us as we board, and if I'm going to be strong for the games, I have to start now.