Josephine Fraser // d9 // fin

Josephine Fraser // d9 // fin May 6, 2015 23:30:02 GMT -5

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Post by cosetty on May 6, 2015 23:30:02 GMT -5

Josephine Fraser // 11 // d9

Her name is Jo, and yet, her mother and teacher still insist on calling her Josephine. Rude.

//

“Josephine, do stop playing with your food.”

The girl in question was lost in thought, stirring the peas on her plate. It felt wrong, somehow, to eat them. What if they were cousins of her friends in the attic? Weren’t all plants cousins of each other? A dim horror settled in her stomach. They were! All this time she had been eating… practically family! There was no way she could tell her mother that, though. ‘Ma, I can’t eat these peas because they are cousins of the plants I’m hiding in the attic. It would be morally wrong!’ No, no. That would just get her grounded, and her friends taken away.

She sighed, meaningfully, and looked across the table at her father. He only grinned and set down his fork.

“Listen to your mother.”

She frowned.

She ate her peas.

She didn’t think about her friends in the attic.

//

Jo was a particular child.

She didn’t go through the day with the intention of getting dirty, it just happened. She often sported skinned knees and grass stains. How she managed to find enough grass to stain her clothes with was an eternal mystery. Her mother would tut with the neighbors that she was “just like the boys”, which frankly, was just insulting. Boys were stupid. So what if her favorite color was blue? Blue is a girl color, too.

At eleven, she had grown four and a half feet tall. She was keeping track on the doorjamb of her bedroom. Jo had an oval face, with big sky blue eyes. Her hair was sandy blonde, but in the summer it turned lighter from extended hours in the sun. Her skin didn’t freckle, but luckily, it didn’t burn either. Sometimes a neighbor would compliment her on how tan she was getting, but Jo didn’t really notice it. She was “all-together too pretty to be running around like that now”. Ma was always complaining that she was too wild, too adventurous. If she just parted her hair down the middle and wore that nice headband, she’d look pretty as a peach. Well…. Jo wasn’t aiming to be pretty, anyway. To say she’s never batted her eyelashes over those big baby blues to get what she wants—that’s something else entirely.

Jo was a picky eater in the sense that she ate things in a certain way. She ate all the crust off her sandwiches first. She ate her vegetables slowly, begrudgingly, unless it was steamed broccoli with butter. She only ate apples if they were sliced. She liked strawberry jam on only half of her toast (and cream cheese on the second half). Her lunchbox had to be ordered in a certain way for school. It only took a few years before her mother realized it was much easier if Jo packed her lunch herself. It was only after she discovered Jo had packed only sweets for lunch for three days in a row that she supervised the packing.

Jo was resourceful, if nothing else. She has a small collection of plants hiding in the storage attic of their house. Ma never liked plants, much less the dirt and grime that comes with them. Jo loves them. Loves their small leaves and tiny petals. She loves their resilience and beauty and patience. Plants listen, better than anybody. She sneaks water up to them everyday after school. Gardening isn’t a big past-time in District 9. With very little green space at all, food and flowers are imported. As pretty as the cut blooms are in their bouquets in front of the grocery, it’s not the same. There’s no life. So, she saves what plants she finds, and keeps them in the attic, just below the skylight. She doesn’t have any pots, so she plants them in old jars or bowls. Whatever she can find, really. Jo’s good at finding things. She prides herself on it, in fact. Pa might suspect something, but he hasn’t breathed a word to Ma yet, so Jo thinks she’s in the clear.

She also prides herself on the fact that she isn’t scared of much. Not spiders or snakes like some of the other kids in her class. But cats. Cats were different. Sure, they’re cute, but underneath they are wriggling furry demon beasts. She even had a scar down her arm when a cat attacked her. For absolutely no reason, she might add, just for its own hellish satisfaction. Can’t trust any of them. Not one.

Jo was also spiteful. Resourceful and spiteful can be an awful combination. Although generally good, Jo has acted out when upset. She’s not beyond petty actions out of spite or revenge to a perceived slight.

//

Jo was born to two doting parents, both factory workers. Her father was a blacksmith. He specialized in bits and pieces for horse saddles, which were then exported out of the District. Honestly, a horse in District Nine? Insane. Jo’s mother was an administrative secretary for a string of gel soap factories. They made enough money between them that they could afford a small apartment on a nicer side of town. They even had a small attic. Jo could even go to one of the small private schools. They made her wear a skirt and stockings every day, but Jo didn’t make so much of a fuss because her parents worked so hard for it.

She was Daddy’s Girl, through and through. She loved her father, more than she perhaps loved anything else. Jo loved her mother too, she knew, somewhere deep down. Her mother did a lot for her—like wash her clothes and cook her dinner. She bandaged up her skinned knees and kissed away her tears. It wasn’t her fault that Ma was fiercely against dirt and dirt just seemed to attach itself to her. She didn’t do it on purpose! But alas, Jo was punished more often than not for torn stocking and grass stains. And then it was only justice that she seek her revenge, usually through little things, like banging the cabinets when putting the dishes away, or not picking up her room.

Life in the Fraser house was usually peaceful. Jo would come downstairs for breakfast—toast, always the way she likes it. Then, parents and daughter would leave together for the day’s work. School got out earlier than the factory and forge did, though, so Jo had a few hours to play before she had to be home at dinner. That’s when she’d usually visit her plants, before her parents got home. Jo would then struggle over her vegetables at dinner, and tell them about her day. Afterwards, sitting in the living room together, Ma would knit, Pa would read the paper, and Jo would pretend to not be bored out of her mind with homework. It was predictable, and comforting, if a little boring.

Jo has a few school friends, but she’s generally a loner. A loner, but not lonely. She has the ability to make fast friends minutes within meeting them. Friends cycle into and out of her life. If they happen to be in the direction of where ever her adventures take her, they are welcome to join with open arms. If the next day they aren’t… well… she does have a schedule to maintain, after all. Roads to roam. Plants to feed. Etc. She’s never felt the need to deliberately return to a friend—to seek someone out for help or comfort. Maybe it’s a little self-centered. Maybe it’s a little self-preservation.

The truth is: she’s scared. She’s turning 12 in November. Then she’s eligible for The Games. If she went to The Games… Jo couldn’t even think straight about it. There was so much she had left to do. She had never before felt so anxious. She never really considered death before, but now, it was always in the back of her mind. It was the night of her eleventh birthday. She had woken up, perhaps from the ability that all children have, to know when their parents are talking about them. She sneaked downstairs, only far enough to peek into the kitchen. Ma was crying at the kitchen table. Pa wrapped her in his arms, swaying them back and forth like he did for her after the cat incident. “Only one more year, Nathaniel! I don’t know what I’d do if.. if…” Another choked sob. At this angle, she couldn’t see Pa’s face, but his shoulders were tense. “Oh, Nate, I’d just die!” It suddenly struck Jo that she had never before seen her mother cry. She went back up to her room and lay down. It wasn’t until light filtered through the window shades with dawn that Jo realized she was crying.

Of course, there was the hope that she won’t get selected. Plenty of people never get picked. But there's a chance. There was a chance this could be her last summer… well, Jo wasn’t going to let it slip through her fingers.

//

Notes: so many words and yet, does any of it make sense? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Also, Odair.
FC: Anna Chlumsky (My Girl era)