Catching Courage // [Gang Wars]

( J E R I C H O Q U E S T I O N M Y K O N O S - M O R E N O )

I watched you breathe in
And I wished you'd stop
Only for long enough
Long enough
It's hard to say

I have never met Ella Dahl, but she keeps me up at night. The thought of her name is enough to make me restless. Ella Dahl-Moreno, the girl who had the brazen courage to say no in the face of a family that had never heard the word before. In the days since her Reaping, she has haunted my mind until I have become almost pathetic beneath her spell. There is a secret sort of terror within me that she may even cause me to defy myself, my otherwise speechless lungs murmuring her name as I sleep, telling me that I have found something with her and begging me to be the better path in my life. Be Ella Dahl, since I can't be myself.

As it is, I refuse to speak her name the same way I refuse to speak anything else, despite the itch within me to scream it like a war cry when I think of my own failure of courage when it comes to the Morenos. She ran forward in her life, but I ran away like a coward. A terrified, uselessly damaged coward. There was a part of me that loved the Morenos, wanting to find a home with them despite the intolerable violence of everyday life, but I could never find a way to be both Jericho Mykonos and Jericho Mykonos-Moreno. Back then I didn't know how to stand up for what I didn't want, not like Ella. I should have just said something, before the day came when it was all too late and I could no longer say anything. Instead she made refusal seem so simple that I have to wonder if maybe defiance is in her bones.

Separate or combine
I ask you
One last time
Did I hold you too tight?
Did I not let enough light in?

Perhaps my jealous awe of her is what brought me to the Moreno household at half past three in the morning, a place I haven't been since I ran away. Shivering more from proximity to my greatest fear in life than from the pre-dawn chill that permeates the air, I have to squeeze my eyes shut tight and breathe for a minute just to prevent myself from turning heel and sprinting off in the opposite direction. For the most part, I would rather be anywhere but here. Only, I'm beginning to realize how that's a Question thought, an idea that belongs to someone who doesn't want to be anywhere or be anyone. Just a Nameless Nothing. But right now the twin ghosts of Jericho Mykonos and Jericho Mykonos-Moreno have dared me to remember who they are, just for a moment, and they're telling me it's not too late to be a little like Ella Dahl.

It's not that I want to come back to the Morenos — I could never give up the home I've found with Ender. There is peace and the sense of something permanent enough to make me feel settled for the first time I can remember in years. The Morenos simply have this piece of me and sometimes I miss it, even now. It's just that they must have the same piece of every kid who has ever lived within this house, a silent collection of soul fragments that they won't give up even after someone has gone. Ella must have left something of herself here too. I can't take anything back, not for me or anyone else, and so I at least want them to acknowledge that they had us — each and every one of us, if only for a little while.

Working as a street artist for spare change, a person can overhear quite a lot of things, so the District-wide gossip about Ella Dahl hasn't escaped my notice. How could it when I lay awake at night obsessing over everything she is that I'm not, but should have been. My ears must be acutely tuned to the sound of her name, every detail of its syllables, and their echo. The Morenos want to disassociate themselves from her, pretending she never existed in their lives, and I have to wonder if they think of me the same way. Maybe when a thought of me crosses their minds they say to themselves: Jericho Mykonos was never here. I don't even know who that is. He is no Moreno I have ever known. But that's a lie. I was there once and I lived with them — my blood stains their floorboards and Ella's must too. Maybe I deny my own existence, but it's not right for them to do the same to us. Ella and I, we still belong to the Morenos. Just a little bit.

If a feeling appears, if your mind should sway
It's not a secret you should keep
I won't let you slip away
We used to be closer than this
Is it something you missed?

The trembling in my hands hasn't fully subsided, but I know my time here is ticking away and that I shouldn't waste the fragile courage I've found. My fear will only grow the longer I stand here, cowering at memories of violence I was never cut out for — although I tried like a fool. Reaching into the rucksack slung across my back, I pull out a can of Bright Red Recognition, generically labeled as spray paint. Every nerve in my body screams out with paranoia as I shake it in preparation, the dull sound of colliding metal ringing out in the early morning hush of the neighborhood. I move with keen self-assurance when I begin spraying the paint — writing larger than life graffiti that stretches across the entire length of the front of the house, with letters at least four foot high in their path over siding, windows, and the front door. When I lived here, drawing was the only time I ever felt like I remembered who I was. I wonder if any of them remember that about me.

It only takes a moment to finish the work, adrenaline pumping through my veins fast enough to make me feel as if I've gone crazy. I haven't. I just want them to remember, even if they don't want to, because they know: ELLA DAHL WAS HERE. The simple phrase is undeniable in front of me and for the first time since I ran away, I'm proud of myself, an accomplished smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Tonight I've done something, instead of just hiding away being nothing. Tucking the paint can away and pulling out a graphite pencil, I crouch down and write something significantly smaller beneath my work, in shy handwriting that only claims an inch or two of space for itself. An inch or two is a lot for me, after all, and while the proclamation that ELLA DAHL WAS HERE is for the Morenos, this silvery statement is more for myself than for anyone else: AND SO WAS I.

Winged or chained
I ask you
Would you have stayed
Did I hold you too tight?
Did I not let enough light in?