Family Ties: The 35th Games

A soft breeze ripples through my hair as I sit, watching the midday sun warm the prairies, field after field being manned by workhands; the wind shifting the dry, dead grass around my legs, tickling my shins. The farmhouse I live in with my family is on a bit of a hill-- terrain that sticks out in this area of Panem, but what a view it presents me with; miles and miles over the horizon, amber expanses dotted with tiny houses and barns. I love coming out here when I've finished my share of the work and chores for the day. It's a momentary reprieve from what feels like an endless grind. Not that I'd know a ton about that, though-- as my sister Louisia loves to remind me, I'm far to young to have any real cares or worries, in her opinion.

I sigh, taking a deep breath in, and looking back out over the familiar landscape. If I squint my eyes, I can almost see the village market far out in the distance. If I squint even harder, I can almost convince myself that I can see my father and brothers on our chunk of land. Louisia, the eldest of the six children in my family, likely would have been out there too in past harvest seasons, but ever since little Katie was born eight months ago, she had stepped up to help Mom with a lot of the homemaking tasks around the farm house. That usually meant it was up to me to care for my brother Alex; he was six, which I felt was plenty old enough to start caring for himself, but he was weak and frail, and couldn't do a lot on his own. And I understood that-- mostly. I loved him, and I was happy to help him. But I was twelve, and I had plenty to deal with on my own; having to raise my kid brother on top of it all, as happy as I was to do it, took it's toll. But, again, as Louisia loved to remind me, I hardly had as much on her plate as the older siblings did, so maybe I ought to count myself lucky. 

The wind picked up slightly again, blowing some dust around before letting it settle again. I looked down, picking at the grass beneath me, pulling it apart idly as I delayed the inevitable. It was mid-afternoon, which meant Alex was napping. It was one of the few times of day I had to myself, really, and it made me wish I could sit here forever, just taking in the home that I loved, thinking about the people I adored attached to it. But I knew I couldn't. Tomorrow was the Reaping Day, and no one could miss the Reaping.

I lived in District 9-- the farthest district from the Capitol, in the area that, once upon a time, was known just as the Prairies. Flat landscapes, fertile soil, temperate weather; a perfect place for farming. District 11 is also a district for agriculture, but they grow more produce, while here in 9, we grow grains. People talk about how boring it is here often, about how flat and dull it is, but they couldn't be more wrong. It was beautiful. It was home. 

District 9 is one of the larger districts in Panem, though our population doesn't reflect that. Most of the inhabitable land is farmland, not population centers. In the very middle of the district is a large village, where all the merchants and elites live. Those with the means to live there. The village is home to the market, dotted with shops selling everything from clothes to food. The Justice Building and the Mayor's home have their own coveted place in the heart of the village, and the school is right on the outskirts. Among all the houses for the more privileged members of our society is the Community Home, for all the children without families. But aside from that, our district is just farms-- divided by narrow and spindly roads, with a small home every few acres. Life on the farms isn't as cushy as the life of those in town, but most of us still get by. We are not the richest district, but we are hardly the poorest, and though there is still a touch of a class divide, District 9 is a community. People take care of each other. There is always somewhere to go and someone to turn to.

Even so, though, there is a divide between the richer farmers and the poorer ones. Those with more money have fancy machinery like combines and hydroponics setups. They can afford to hire people to supplement their work force. But less money means less resources, so those with less have to rely on man-powered plows, and other manual machinery. The only help they get is from their family.

My family is somewhere in the middle; we have enough money to get by, but we have to rely on a lot of the man-powered tools. We have a decent chunk of land, so it takes a lot of work, but Dad says he likes it better that way. He is of the mindset that hard work builds character, and that we will all be better for it in the future.

I'm not allowed to help in the fields-- Dad says I'm too young, and that I have to wait until I'm fifteen, though I think he's just making up reasons to keep me inside with Mom and the littles. My brother David is fifteen, but he's already been working the land with Dad and Nathan (and until recently, Louisia) for two years. I am itching to go out and help them; I love being outside, and helping Mom do homemaking chores feels suffocating. I try to remind myself that I am lucky, and that things could be so much worse, but It's like shoving a square peg into a rectangular hole. Maybe it fits, sort of, but there are weird parts that aren't quite right, and you have to squint your eyes and suspend your disbelief to claim that it goes there.

Mostly, though, I just want the opportunity to spend more time with Nathan and David. With the long hours they pull and school on top of it, I hardly see them except in meal times. And of course, it could be worse, but when we were younger kids we were inseparable. And now it feels like they're just leaving me behind. It doesn't take a genius to see both of them have so much going for them-- Nathan has always been strong and athletic, but especially since he's turned eighteen and finished school, and been able to work more, he's really transformed. Other farmers often ask him for help when they have a bit too much on their hands, and it's almost like it's nothing to him. And while David isn't nearly as physically gifted, he's one of the smartest people I've ever met. I think he's even smarter than a lot of the adults in our district; he has the mind of an engineer, and ever since he's started helping dad, he's improved our old machinery, making the workload easier on the whole family.

Someday, when they're old enough, they'll go on to do incredible things and meet incredible people. And I'll be inside, with Mom and Louisia, doing chores and taking care of Katie and Alex. And when I'm old enough to not need to anymore, what then? What will I have to move forward with? Nothing if I don't get the opportunity to go out and learn.

"Zania!" My mother calls me, and I groan-- my small reprieve had been shattered. "Come in, and wash up. We need to start making dinner."

"Coming Mom!" It's an automatic reply, but I drag my feet, trying to delay things as long as I possibly can. I'm not a disobedient child, though, and my mother wouldn't call me if she didn't need me, so the guilt of that understanding dissolves the last of what was tethering me to the hill, and I finally go inside.

When I eventually enter the kitchen, the regret hits me in waves. Louisia and Mom seem to be handling things, but I can see in my mother's eyes that she is all over the place, spinning too many plates at once and just hoping today won't be the day that they all fall down. Both her head and Louisia's snap to look over at me as our porch door closes with a snap, Mom looking promptly back down at the food preparation she was in the middle of, but Louisia's eyes narrowing at me, staying planted as she fed Katie pureed something. I looked down from her pointed gaze, only to find Alex, awake and causing trouble, throwing around toys and hitting pots and pans together in a bid for chaos and attention. I'm surprised my mother hasn't tripped on any of them in her scramble to get dinner together, which hits me with another pang of guilt. Mama and Louisia don't have to say what all three of us understand. Had I come in when I was called, that wouldn't be a concern in the first place.

"Finally. I was going to get you to feed Katie." Mama says sternly when she sees me come in. I love my mother-- as much as I look up to my brothers, I look up to her more. She is hard on us, but I know it's because she loves us, and knows the potential we all have, and when the hard work is done, she is the kindest person in the world. Sometimes she's snappy and irritable, but she has six kids and a home to keep-- I'm often amazed that she keeps it together as much as she does. Even moreso in the aftermath of Katie's birth; though I haven't been privy to much (nor is it my place to be), David and I both noticed how things changed. How different she's been in the months since the baby. How the strong woman we know and love now has a frail edge behind her eyes if you look close enough to see it. David's said something about post-partum depression when we've talked about it, and though I don't really know what that entails, I know it doesn't sound good. And I know that whatever is wrong is why Louisia has had to step up in a big way to fill the void that Mama's been working her way out of.

Naturally, it's worse right now. Three of her children would have names in the Reaping tomorrow. I could tell it was taking everything she had in her to keep herself together-- for our sake as well as her own.

Mama looks far too young to have six kids, and really, she is. She and Dad had Louisia when they were both still in school (a miraculous accident, Mama always says). She was only sixteen when Louisia was born, and she was only thirty-nine now, though she hardly looked a day over thirty-five until recently. Katie's birth had aged her; not physically, but spiritually, and it hardened the aura the surrounded her. It made her feel older to me. And it reminded me of how much was going on.

I scrambled and got moving, mumbling a regretful, "Sorry, Mama," as I went to set the table, cleaning up some of the forgotten pots Alex had left strewn across the floor as I went. Not long after I had finished with that, Dad came in with David and Nathan in tow, looking exhausted but happy. Dad has a bright energy that he carries into every room he comes into, and just being around him lightened your spirit. He had optimism people only dreamed of, and that was on full display as he kissed my mother on the cheek before going to wash up, picking Alex up off the floor when he was done, and doing what he could to help get everyone settled for dinner while Mama plated it. At a loss of what to do to help more, I sat down too.

No family is perfect. Every family has troubles and speedbumps, and we had our fair share. But even in moments like this, with tension thick in the air between me and the women in my family, with whatever was going on with Mama, with Alex's problems to..... I knew I was lucky. I knew we would move past it, and I knew I was safe. I knew I loved these people more than I could even fathom.

I watched mom bring the food over, tendrils of long brown hair falling loose out of the knot at the nape of her neck, large brown eyes darting around the room, making sure everything was ready. I watch Louisia, a carbon copy of her, clean little Katie up, her frustration with me subsiding (though only slightly). I looked like both of them; whatever genetics Mom gave us were strong. Alex even kinda looked like Mama too, though his eyes were paler, and he was far more pallid. Nathan and David were just like Dad, though, with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. They all shared a tanner complexion, though whether that was genetics or sun exposure from working the fields was up for debate. I looked back over to Katie, wondering who she would end up looking most like. She had some defining features but mostly, to me, she just looked like a baby.

If Dad could feel the vibes of the room when he came in, he didn't let it show, and once everyone was seated at the table, his usual healing optimism washed over all of us in waves. "Crops are doing great-- we're going to have a good harvest this year," he informed us all. Mama gave him the best smile she could muster, and nodded at the rest of us, letting us know we could start filling our plates. Slowly, but surely, tensions eased as we fell into routine. Dinner wasn't spectacular-- mostly a hodge podge of leftovers and things that were about to go bad. I knew very well we probably had better food nestled away in the pantries, but I also knew well and good too that Mama was saving it tomorrow.

For when the Reaping was over, and for when all of us were safe another year.