Simple Wonders (Open)

Cyrus carefully wound his way around the city, making sure to head along the path as he’d done so many times before. The gravity of the situation became obvious for him the moment she’d uttered her fear that the peacekeepers were coming to take her. There was little doubt now that she was out of place, and that she was not from his District. He had no reaction to this, other than blinking a few times, as was his normal display of emotion after anyone had imparted any sort of important information to him. They came to a stop alongside the grey bricks of his home, and Cyrus finally turned to face Tatum. He released her hand and stared again for a moment, watching her face to see any change in her attitude.

“You don’t have to worry about me; you didn’t hurt me at all.” It was quite true. He had barely noticed when the young girl ran head first into him (though who was to say this was just an effect of Cyrus being strong or his lack of paying attention).

Some might have considered this an act of bravery, but it was hard to give so much credit to someone that acted neither in confidence nor in righteousness. Instead he was reacting to his own calculations of where things should be, and how things should have been. This girl needed help, and Cyrus knew that at the very least he could do something for her. To what extent this would be, he had no grasp, but he would figure it out. Cyrus had always been taught that the world needed to be fair, and that to do so meant following proper procedure. He needed to know her story. His impulse was not, then, to turn her into the Peacekeepers. They would not listen to her, whatever story she may have, and most likely do terrible things to her.

Above all, Cyrus sought to preserve the dignity of everyone. It was the only way he expected anyone else would treat him with kindness and respect, especially for his own shortcomings.

“Please… I have to know why you’re here… so I can help you,” Cyrus said as he looked into her eyes. She was so different—her hair fell in her face rather than being tied back, it must’ve been so annoying, and all the dirt on her nails—and Cyrus saw the fear, that fear of being unfamiliar, of being alone. He may not have been able to see much in anyone, but he could see loneliness. He hoped she didn’t think he was going to do something to her, or that anyone would disturb them. It was still so dark outside, his parents and brother would be dead asleep. He motioned to the home and back to her. “They won’t bother us; they won’t even be awake for some time.”

He figured he wasn’t making a compelling argument to someone running from the peacekeepers. How many times had she done this? Where was she going? How would he be able to get her back to them? The questions began to swirl in his head, and he tried his hardest to focus on Tatum. She had rested her hopes on him, and he would have to reassure Tatum that there was nothing to worry about, at least, not for now. They were safe from the watchful eye of the peacekeepers, and he could figure things out better when she’d gone through her story with him. And he was trust worthy enough, wasn’t he?

“I’ll be right back,” he said after already turning to make his way toward the front door of his house. He made his way inside quickly, hoping that she would remain when he returned. Afterward, he made his way to the fridge, bypassing his mother and father’s bedroom, as well as his own. There were no lights on in the house, and Cyrus kept it that way. The first, and most important thing, was to wash his hands—he always did this before handling food. He made turned to the refrigerator and opened the door. He pulled out a half full glass bottle of milk and proceeded to pour Tatum a glass before cutting a few slices of bread for her. He didn’t worry so much about the food he was taking. They nearly never went hungry in his household thanks to him and his father working, as well as his mother making odds and ends. He was certain they wouldn’t miss a glass of milk and some old pieces of bread.

He gathered up everything onto an eating tray and made his way out to the alleyway yet again, this time holding his offering of food for Tatum. Off he went in the darkness, stooping to open the door to get outside. He hoped that she hadn’t tried to run off on her own. After all, he hadn’t told her where to avoid—and someone would eventually run into her again. He furrowed his brow as he rounded the corner yet again, holding the small metal tray out to show that he meant peace.

As Cyrus returned, he was glad to see that Tatum had not run off. He had figured there was nowhere else to go, and it would be a shame if she ran off before he had gotten a chance to help. He was taken aback by the way she asked if the bread and milk were for her. He nodded as he watched her take the food, as he handed her the tray. This simple meal was something that he was used to for breakfast, and he didn’t think it much of a delicacy. He supposed that she might not have eaten for some time, and maybe she needed more than bread and milk to satiate her hunger.

He noticed too, that Tatum had let her hair down. He liked the way that she looked now, it was less conspicuously messy when she let if fall naturally around her shoulders. He supposed with a good washing, it might look even better. Cyrus realized he was staring at her for too long without saying anything and glanced back down at the ground. Why was he so awkward when it came to anything involving people? He had a habit of making people uncomfortable by staring, and the last thing he wanted to do was make Tatum think he was watching her like an animal. He also had the sinking suspicion that she was still holding back, despite his peace offering.

“There’s some more to eat inside. It’s probably better if we go in… there’s less of a chance of either of us being seen. And my parents and brother… all sleep like logs. They won’t bother us.” Cyrus moved to open the door and motioned for Tatum to join him inside. He figured it must have been a foreboding choice. Either she stay outside, on a street she didn’t know in the dead of night and risk running into a peacekeeper, or enter a home of a boy she didn’t know and risk getting caught. He did his best to reassure her. “And if anyone were to wake up, there’s always a cupboard to hide in…” That sounded good, right?

Stepping inside, he moved to light a candle to give the two of them light. With the flick of a match, Cyrus illuminated the small living room for the two of them. There was a small couch, rocking chair, and table, as well as curtains on the only window, and a drawing hanging on the wall. Much like the exterior, the colors were drab and uninspiring. He held the candle holder and moved to take a seat on the couch, again trying to be as inviting as possible. For someone who knew next to nothing about human interactions, he was using everything in his power to convey a sense of homeyness.

To him, it was exhausting, and he hoped that once Tatum was inside, he would get a better understanding as to what her problems were. He was much better at figuring out problems than trying to play host. “Will you sit with me… maybe we can… talk?” He looked up at her, and then down at the floor again, not wanting to make eye contact.

Cyrus could feel his cheeks burn as the girl questioned why he kept looking at her the way he had. He stared down at the floor again, wishing he could sink into the chair he was sitting in and take back what he’d done. He had great difficulty in figuring out what it was that people expected of him, especially with girls. He wished people were as simple as having to measure, cut, and arrange like the metal he worked with. Or better yet if they were equations that had answers, at least he would have a hope of how to explain his problems instead of multiplying them. Even now in trying to help this girl he’d made her feel ashamed, something he was sure was not the least bit pleasant, and made him wish he could stare at the thirty-seven wood panels that made up his living room floor.

“I like our house,” He said in response to her question about being outside. In truth, Cyrus could find joy in being here in his home. He’d learned how to amuse himself when his mother had gotten sick after Naif, his brother, had been born. One of the few things they would do together was to sit and look at old tomes that contained pictures of animals and plants. His mother would teach him the names of things, and dream about a time and place when she would be able to walk to see them. He looked up for a moment to the doorway of his parent’s room, and then back to Tatum. She wouldn’t know, he was sure, the simple joy of a home if her family wondered from place to place. Such an idea frightened Cyrus. He was not the type that could be thrown into a strange situation—despite his logic skills he was not accustomed to running off the beaten path.

The candle crackled and he looked up at Tatum again. She was not unpretty… quite the contrary, for all the rough-and-tumble she must experience as a wanderer, she was pleasant to Cyrus. Sure, her clothes spoke of a different district, and her hair a mess, but there was more to her than so many of the plain clothed Districters that Cyrus regularly saw. He stood again, taking her food tray after brushing off his pants and made his way back into the kitchen. He washed his hands yet again and opened the refrigerator to get out a salted ham. He cut two thin slices, and placed them on another tray with a plate, and next to this he placed a sprinkling of peas. He took out a bit of baker’s chocolate and scraped a few shavings onto a small plate on the tray. He placed everything into the fridge yet again methodically before taking the tray back to Tatum.

He reasoned it would look like a feast to her, but again, it was the least he could do after taking her into his home and making her feel so unwelcome. In his attempt at putting himself in her shoes, he thought offering food could make up for the embarrassment he’d caused her. Cyrus supposed again that he should have felt bad about taking some of his family’s rations, but he knew that his mother was not eating much lately, and that his father rarely ever ate with them anymore. He moved back to the couch and placed his hands in front of the candle nervously, as though he were trying to warm his hands in the pale yellow light.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you…” Cyrus said as he continued to stare forward. He was all screwed up inside, as usual, not able to figure out what he was supposed to say or how to act. All he had wanted to do was to help. He closed his eyes and tried to think of what to say, and slowly moved forward with what he had to say. “I saw you… and you seemed lost… and you were. So, I thought I would help you. You couldn’t stay out there. They would have gotten you. And they would have gotten rid of you, somehow. People are always disappearing. And I guess I decided I didn’t want you to disappear just for being here, because I had bumped into you. So I took you back here. And now…”

He opened his eyes to look at Tatum. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

“If you need to go back to your family… I can help figure out the way. In fact… I think I could even get you back without someone noticing, if you wait until morning. But I understand if you don’t want to be here much longer.” He blinked a few times, staring at her once again. “Does that make sense? Do you want to tell me what it is you are doing here?”

Cyrus listened intently to Tatum’s story. He imaged a group of people much like her outside the fence, needing food, clothing and shelter. He wondered what her family must have thought having to separate from her. There was so much risk by departing, what if they never saw each other again because of the peacekeepers? Why would they send a girl in to collect things? He figured that her father, or if she had brothers would be much better and less likely a target. While Cyrus had never felt unsafe in his district, he was keenly aware that bad things happened to people around him all the time. It was half the reason Cyrus kept his head down and his mouth shut. The other half was that he never knew what to say when he opened it anyway.

“Thank you.” Cyrus said as he let the girl finish telling him why they had run into one another. He was happy that she trusted him enough with this information. It wasn’t often that people opened up to Cyrus. He was seen as too cold or distant for most folks to depart such information. In truth, he wished that he could understand it better—how to engage others—rather than stare at them or fumble over his words. He couldn’t help but marvel at the freedom that this girl displayed, how she was so easily to convey what she needed to him and not hold things back. She was even brave enough now to ask him for what she needed, despite barely knowing him. And she even offered back some of what she had been offered to him. He took a chocolate shaving and placed it on his tongue.

Her story was not an unfamiliar one, at least, not in what he had been told in school and from his father. There were families that chose not to contribute to Panem. They would roam the wilderness, traveling between districts, and were forced to beg for food. They were a scourge on society because they contributed nothing but wanted everything. They created crime, spread disease, and hurt the economy with the way they lived their lives. This was the way that it had been explained to Cyrus, the gentle rule-follower. The problem was that Cyrus, in his development of rules and order, had but one rule that superseded all others: respect for humanity above all things.

Cyrus had not spoken in the first few years of his life, and was an observant child above all things. He’d been picked on for his awkwardness, and he’d been pressured in so many ways by his father to change. He had been strong enough to take in all the harsh words, and live through the bad times—his mother’s sickness and lack of food—and had come out of it with a newly found appreciation for those who cared for him without judgment. It was so easy to take things in the moment, and to strike. It was much harder to look at things carefully, to understand what all the components were, and make a rational decision. Cyrus liked to think he was pretty good at this, if not much else.

“I’m not hungry. This is for you.” Cyrus said in response to her question. He knew that she must have been hungry. More importantly, he knew that it was important to give to her what he could. There was no reason that she had to be so afraid, rather, Cyrus thought that he could be a gracious host for her. Perhaps he might even make a friend out of this.

Cyrus had heard all the stories about wanderers, and being the logical young boy he was, developed a very different response. If there were people who went without, then they needed to be helped. If they all worked so hard toward the same goal, a better Panem, then it made sense to him that the wanderers shouldn’t be punished for running. They just needed to find what they were meant to do or the right district for themselves. If instead of being cornered or starved, like animals, they could be productive, and happy, like his family. Then she too could have a nice little home like his. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about where she got her next shower, or if she was ever going to have salted ham ever again. All of Panem would be happy, and they could live in peace. It was as simple as that.

Cyrus didn’t bristle at the suggestion that she take a shower. It did bother him that she was so unclean. He was bothered very much by the dirt on her skin and underneath her fingernails. He was certain she could look much prettier if she had a chance to do so. He nodded his head and looked to their bathroom. It was sparse, with a square of tiles and a showerhead, soaps along the wall, and a toilet and mirror. A chain hung down from the lightbulb that illuminated the room. Cyrus stood and went to the closet next to the bathroom to retrieve a fresh towel for Tatum.

“You don’t have to worry. You can get clean. I was going to suggest it. If you clean up a bit, and maybe… if I got one of my mother’s old dresses for you… it might not be a problem for you in the morning.” Cyrus knew that this plan might have sounded silly, but he believed it could work. He continued to stare at her as he thought for another moment. “And then maybe you can tell me more about yourself. If you want.”