The afterthought (*After Mjay! spoilers!*)

The first time I met Uncle Gale, I was three years old, and he came to our door unexpectedly. My Father was working at the bakery, so it was me and just Mother at home. And while my Mother sometimes wrote letters to Gale, she was shocked. She was pregnant with my Brother, Bracken. At the little age I was, I stood behind my Mother, peeking my face from behind her legs. A car was pulled up in our driveway, one the color of dirt. A woman with thick blonde hair walked up behind him, holding a little boy my age and two older girls followed, wearing matching pink and white dresses. “Ah this must be Calla Lily Mellark.” He said, referring to me, the girl with dark hair and startling blue eyes, a skin tone inbetween my parents.

My Mother, who was shocked, nodded. “Well, come in, come in. You must introduce me to your… wife.” She said, leading them into the front parlor, a tidy room with walls the color of sunflowers and cream colored couches. The boy, who was now stumbling on the carpet, looked at me in a distinctive way. He was closer to his Fathers coloring than his Mothers.

“May I introduce my wife Belle, and my daughters Sephora and Saphhira, oh and my son Willias.” My Mother sat there, her hair tangled, and eyes tired. Of course, I had left a half finished finger painting in the other room, and she wasn’t presentable. She was wearing her usual type of outfit, a simple shirt and pants, her face free of makeup.

I sat on my Mothers lap, unaware of the tension that was in the room. “Well, we came bearing gifts.” Uncle Gale opened a bag he was carrying, and I thought he was a very important person. Turns out, he was the youngest mayor that district two had ever seen. First, he removed a box with a pair of lavender dancing slippers, and handed them to my Mother.

“Katniss, I hope these fit Calla. Didn’t you say she was taking dance lessons?” He asked. My Mother put the silken things on my feet, and I looked at them, clapping.

“What do you say Calla?”
“Thank you!” I had called, then I settled back into my Mothers lap. More treasures were unloaded: A chalkboard engraved with ‘mellarks updates’, an assortment of smelly candles, a ceramic rolling pin the color of candy, two packages of chocolate and a sewing kit.

The woman who was presumably Gales wife spoke up. “I thought you might like that. I adore sewing.” She had a funny accent, one that my Mother recognized, I was sure. She had shown me enough videos of the different districts that I recalled the way of talking. The quick pace, the heavy s’s, the need for the tounge to move more than usual. District two. Gale had a slight hint of it, but it still was the district twelve way of speaking.

So Mother offered the other house they had won by winning the games (The one my Mother had deemed the summer/fall house, and since it was spring, we were still in the house my Father had inherited from the capitol) and they accepted, immediately grabbing their suitcases and unloading in the other house.

The Moment my father got home, my Mother took him into the parlor, explaining calmly and level headedly to him about why they were in other house. “Peeta, listen to me. Gale was my best friend. He has a family now. Its all water under the bridge.” She said, and I heard my Father sigh, then finally agree, if somewhat cautiously. Then he got up, walked out and picked me up, his blue eyes looking into my equally vibrant ones.

“Guess what I brought you?” He asked, walking into the kitchen with me in tow.

“What?” I asked, excited by the offering of treats. It could be a cookie, a doughnut, a cupcake. Or even a sesame covered roll that was my favorites. He opened the bag of what he had brought with him, usually it was two loaves of bread for the day and the next morning and afternoon. Sometimes he would bring me a treat. He reached in and pulled out my favorite roll. I squealed with delight and gave my Father a hug. He set me down and told me to eat at the table.

So I wandered to the table in the living room, nibbling on the roll. He had an easel set up in there, so he started painting, a scene it seemed. It looked like my Mother, just younger and sleeping. I had heard that she had a constant scowl when younger, and it was the butt of Uncle Haymitches jokes. He wasn’t a people person in general, but he seemed to adore me, probably because he had mentored both of my parents, and finding out the weaknesses and strengths. I guess he liked the combo of the two I had: My Fathers gentleness, my Mothers knack with plants, my fathers determained eyes, my mothers determained will to survive. I also had my unique aspects: I was a dancer, and could be a pity party thrower at times.

That night, my Mother set the dining room table, and Father made roasted chicken and lemon. We all ate the food, followed by rice and rolls, finally having a small portion of candy sweets. I had a strawberry flavored disk and a peppermint stick, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

The rest of the week followed in a similar routine. Belle taught Mother how to sew, even though it wasn’t something she did well. My Mother taught Belle the secrets of making the perfect stew (My favorite then had been a brown rice and turkey stew with steamed carrots and onions) They seemed to get along well enough. Me and the younger boy, who I had deemed ‘Furry’ and I would play with the wooden blocks that had been my Mothers as a child. We would stack them up, knock them down and giggle in laughter as the tower went flying to the ground. The older girls read from their perfectly pastel colored books. My Father would return home from work, with flour on his hands. I would have my snack while he painted. The Hawthornes would go home until dinner, then play cards on the back porch until it was too dark to play anymore.

My Mother would bathe me, put me into my nightgown and go to bed, only to awaken the next day with another idea for adventure and play. One morning we played pirate ship, another, a castle esque theme.

Finally, after a week, Uncle Gale and his family packed up their bags and left, only to return the next year, to the day. My old slippers were too small, and I received a pair of orange ones so vibrant, I immediately put them on. My Father tacked the purple slippers to the wall in my bedroom, the one that was by the secret door.

My bedroom was a small one, yes, but It had supposedly been my Aunt Prim’s. She was dead, I knew that at the time, but at the tender age of four, I hadn’t discovered the reason. One wall was compleley glass, and looked out on the forest. It was a slanted room, with the ceiling taller by my bed, and shorter towards the wall with the ballet shoes and door.

The door was a small compartment with a touch and release lock, that swung open and had a small step of stairs, and lead to a tower that was apparently locked from the outside. It was decorated ornately, I remember. My parents had tried to find the key to the room, but finally just gave up on the tower. We had enough rooms, really. It was a five bedroom, one study, four and a half bath, full size kitchen plus house, why would we need more space? The key was still in the lock to the room from the inside, so I unlocked the door, slipped the key in my pocket and closed the door behind me. I was in the top level of the house, the one that included my Mothers game room, where she stored the pelts from when she went hunting. My Fathers art room, my small hardwood dance studio. One room was left blank for my brothers ‘talents’.

The visits continued in the same fashion, coming on July 7, going back on July 14. My Mother once took us to the woods to pick out plants that were good enough for jam, or to make a meal out of. My Mother sometimes did this. She would shoot a wild turkey, gather katniss roots, and get wild strawberries from the forrest. Father would bring the heartiest bread from the bakery, and we made a meal out of it. She said this was how she ate when she was a child, not eating the chicken and pork I was used to. Well, she would give the rabbit meat to the butcher, but keep any squirrels for Father, who said it reminded him of when he was a kid. When I asked why, at age four, he just said “I’ll tell you when your older”

So, the visits with Uncle Gale always brought a new pair of ballet slippers, a small argument between my parents at some time, and the opportunity for me to meet someone my Mother had known for a long while