Adair Wren-Izar 🍋 D11

My favorite thing to wake up to was the smell of French toast in the morning. I don’t know what or who exactly were the French, but they must have known they were onto something with these baddies. Momma never was the best at baking bread, and with the recent tesserae grain we’ve been getting they taste like shit. But with the crack of some clearance eggs and some spices she always saves up for all season to buy, boy do they taste great. I’m sure momma can make anything taste better; she always had a habit of brightening up anyone’s day. Whenever momma walks me out to the peach fields, everybody always remarks that I got her smile and her cheekbones. At least, that’s what the grey-haired ladies always say while they try pinching at ‘em.

I hate being short and hope one day I can grow tall enough for people to respect my space. You know how annoying it is for everybody sticking their fingers in your face all the time? It’s like as momma says, don’t dip your finger in the pie, it’s just rude no matter how hard it is to resist.

I should know better, I did it once with our peach pies momma used to make, but to be fair they had holes in the center? Why the hell would anyone put a little window if you don’t want someone to open it? After hollering at me for a bit, ever since that day when I ruined the crust, she peeled it off and turned it into a crumble. We always now eat crumble, but we only can on the rare days you see. Because it ain’t so easy to get these peaches. You would think it would be easier. Hell, that’s what I spend my days climbing up ladders for, but the peacekeepers are a special kind of rude. When I first started working here two years back, momma would lightly swat at my lips and whisper, “if you don’t watch that mouth of yours. It’s gonna get you in trouble someday.”

And so I can’t talk back to my elders, I learned, and at least the grannies that pinch my cheeks are nicer to deal with. You just smile politely, like you’re one of those victors who never stepped back onto the fields since they’ve won. Momma doesn’t like them too much, she reminds me of cousin Delroy. But she doesn’t talk about him much anymore, we’ve only met him a few times but ever since he went in with Neysa. We have this really old radio that supposedly belonged to my momma’s mom, and in the mornings of tesserae French toast it is always playing. But since Delroy, she sneakily shuts it off as if I can’t hear. All the adults clam up around here about it. I didn’t get him anyway, I liked Neysa more from what I’d hear. But I’d get to understand them more after the incident.

So these peacekeepers, right? They’re kinda like fat cats, and just sit back and swat at one of us or shout whenever they feel like. Sometimes it’s over nothing, but we usually know which ones to stay away from while their shifts are up. On this day, in my row we had Tommy Boy, we call him boy at the end cause he gets more fussy than boys my age, and Ella. Now I’ve never seen Ella’s face, but her voice was always calm, reminding me of the clothes we hung out back on the string to dry as the sun sets over Eleven. She was calm, like how the branches sway in the breeze atop the trees while picking, but her partner was different. Tommy Boy was like biting into a lemon, just no redeemable qualities unless you’re a bastard who enjoys that shit. I heard all the keepers from Two are like Tommy Boy, so it’s hard to imagine Ella came from there. Since they were on shift together that day, I thought I would be safe; they balanced each other out. But I left that day with no peaches for the cobbler to pick up momma’s smile. I came back without a hand and to find out my dream girl was dead.

Our day had started the same as any day, with cheap eggs that were slightly off enough to steer away the Capitol and grainy French toast too sweet for me to care about the texture. I always had a sweet tooth, but could you blame me when you grow up surrounded by rows of berries and fruits so sweet that the Capitol deems isn’t for people like me. The closest most get is smelling the blossoms in spring, and that helps for a little while. Graveled voices of the games were playing, and I always hung back in the bathroom while brushing my teeth to hear what happened. She always kept the channel on Two and Eleven’s narration. Apparently the cute tall one with pretty curls died early on, leaving Eleven and that guy with the weird name. The radio clicked off, with momma’s small of her back pressing against the counter cautiously. “You know I can see it, right?” I’d ask while pulling out a chair, it squeaking against the floorboards. Sitting down, I ate while watching her. The sun rose through the cracked window slowly, breaking against the black and retreating the night. Her eyes looked puffy, and I couldn’t tell if she was just tired from the long days picking melons before or from the radio. I knew better to stick my nose in grown folks’ business, but she smiled and held a mug up to her lips, drinking cold water from it. “I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout.”

Raising my hand, my palm gestured exasperatedly, voice straining in annoyance. She knew this game annoyed me, but we always played it, anyway. “But it’s right there. You aren’t fooling anybody. If you had your old big hair you could, but you keep shaving it.” My knife cut through the grainy bread, sticking the cinnamon sweet into my mouth before swallowing rushed. Momma always said I need to slow down, but I didn’t want to be late; no one ever wanted to be late. Continuing after I swallowed, my throat rasped momentarily while I spoke. “I don’t know why you keep doing that, you just look like Ashy Ashton without all his head ash. And we all know how much he misses his hair, so why cut off yours?”

Chin dipping, one of her eyebrows lifted, giving me a look that made me know I spoke too much. Shoveling down my food, I cheekily hopped off my chair to grab my bag for work. She called my name behind me, but I didn’t stop, only until she grabbed my hand and swiveled me around to face her. Kneeling down, her dark chocolate eyes bore into me, and for a second I was nervous she was going to chew me out. But that sadness returned, and instead she pulled me into her chest, her palm cupping the back of my head. “Don’t be rude to Ashton, he has a kind heart but a nasty skin condition.” Pulling me back, her lecture continued looking for confirmation I had heard. “Adair, watch your mouth. We don’t make fun of people for what they can’t control, the keepers already do enough of that for us. Just behave, okay?”

“Yes, momma.”

“Good boy.”

After kissing my forehead and me groaning in protest, she would pat my back and we were off after she grabbed her bag. Dawn was rising over the horizon healthily, everyone walking in a somber yet polite way as we all filed into the same direction. I left momma for the peach trees, since they liked how nimble I was and good at climbing. She got placed in melons and gourds again, since she’s strong and can lift well. Ashy Ashton patted my shoulder to bid good morning as we walked to our starting trees. And then we were off.

We worked in pairs; him helping with the ladder and walking the baskets I’d fill back to load off onto the large Capitol trucks. I was too small and couldn’t carry em all, and he was too lean for the heavy lifting jobs but was long and could walk fast. Ella and Tommy Boy watched us from the left side, at least I think but can’t tell from their black shielded faceless faces. I never started early and knew too well not too. I had to wait till they tired before I started my scheme. I only did it on rare occasions, since you can’t do it too often. They give us these aprons where we store the spoiled fruit to dump out later. They won’t let us take it, since they don’t want us to get sick; it wouldn’t look good for the keepers to have that happen.

But because those in the Capitol or the wealthy here are so picky, the fruit is always perfect, leaving the margin wide open for some good to slip through the crate cracks. So I only toss the worst and hoard decent ones to the side of my apron. You can’t take too much, since they’ll notice. So I typically only try for four. Two for me, two for momma, or all for me in peach cobbler. Momma doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so I typically eat more unless it’s more spiced. By the afternoon I was close to four, but after dumping my apron to let it fill, I think Ol’ Tommy Boy was catching on.

I heard him calling my name, but I ignored it. He always wanted to just cause trouble, typical of those wannabe careers who weren’t lucky to die in the games, so instead they picked on others to relive the glory days. Ella tried diverting his attention while Ashton wearily watched as I climbed up. We followed our routine, and soon he had to lurk back to return another crate. I didn’t notice him leave, but I still felt eyes boring into my shoulder blades while picking. Slipping another, I finally hit four. I should have probably dropped it into the crate, but it looked too good. It would be perfect for her. And mom deserved the world, regardless of how worn out the keepers make her feel. She carries the weight of the district on her shoulders, but will smile despite it all. Sometimes I’ll catch her crying like I did early this morning, but I know she feels alone. I never asked about dad, but I knew I hated him before even knowing his name for making her cry this way. No one should cry in the mornings or have to do it alone. But kids can’t meddle in grown folks' business, so I try to bite my tongue just for her this time.

Tommy Boy didn’t though, since by the time I heard him speaking I felt my ladder swaying. “Ashton, I told you to hold the ladder!” I snapped, but looking over my shoulder while grasping the trees, he was walking away to the truck. Tommy shouted from below, ordering me to step down. “Get down here now, Adair, or I’ll shake you down!” Judging by the height of the sun, I cursed to myself with the shake of my head and bit my lip. If I climbed down too close to break, he would get upset at me for taking a longer break. Even if it was a few minutes spent talking to him, he always rode hard on me. Because younger boys supposedly should have more energy, and if they could be at career academies at my age, I should be fine with just plucking fruit from trees. Just give me five minutes, Tom, Ella will understand. “My break is near, let me finish this section!”

“I said down- now.”

Ella’s slight frame moved in between Tomas and the ladder, trying to hold it still. I didn’t weigh much, and when you’re thirty feet in the air just a breeze used to scare me. I never was afraid of heights, but the fear of falling has always unnerved me from the stories you’ll hear. Ella pleaded for him to leave me alone, that I’m just a kid. But spatting her to move away, I heard scuffling and the pained sound of Ella hitting the ground. And then my nightmare happened- the ladder started to lose balance.

I scrambled as much as I could, my breathing exploded like the one time I had an asthma attack, hands clawing desperately to latch onto the tree branches. My legs wrapped around the ladder, and as I looked to the sides and begged for help, it's as if the world stopped. As if for once, it was truly quiet, and no work was done. I just felt pained eyes on me, knowing if they stepped in someone could die. And then I fell.

Nature whipped vined lashes into my forearms while I screamed, wind whipping around my head. My upper body had hung over the top of the ladder, and I tried shimmying down to brace myself so it would absorb the impact. But my right hand slipped from the side, palm pressing down impulsively. All I heard was a snap, with a blinding blighted light so powerful that white noise absorbed me.

What happened after that was like the flickering tabbed static as mom would change the radio station. My chest wheezed, making it hard to breathe, with clammy sweat slicking my skin. Soiled peach juice seeped through my apron, reducing to pulped mush while I tried to roll over. But I screamed at the shrieked pain, only noticing my arm contorted unnaturally, with bone sticking out from my wrist. I became the broken dolls we’d hear of through the radios, the ones mom didn’t let me watch on TV. Some said it was unhealthy that she sheltered me, but she would always snap back that I’m just a boy, and that I deserve to be just that at my age. Swollen tears ran down my cheeks as some helped flip me off the ladder, dragging my body off. Ashton had returned over finally, but in his hand he held something that made my feeble legs try pushing against the grown men who held my tiny body down. “Get that away from me, it can heal on its own fine please don’t-”

Then it came, the white light once more.

By the time I next awoke, my body laid on the kitchen table underneath some blankets we stored for the winter. The ceiling fan spun above, moved only by the wind. Mom’s voice hung outside the window while the radio spoke, the sun setting from behind. “God fucking damn it Elias, why couldn’t you just be here for this.” The radio interrupted, announcing the second half of the beautiful duo was dead. Both the peach curly-headed girl who could have been from here and the beauty from the Apricot orchards both were crumbled in snow somewhere far off. Mom was crying outside in whined sobbed shouts to what I would assume being our neighbors consoling her. The smell of a burnt out cigarette hung from the countertop, and my cheek rested staring out aimlessly through the open kitchen window, passing mom’s shouts to the sun. Through the numbed hum that strummed through my veins, a boiling surged through my swollen chest. I could feel what was gone, hot angry tears rolling down my cheeks again, knowing my reality.

Now I could be moved to a lower position at work, I can’t help mom out as much, and now maybe I'll just hold her back. It isn’t a surprise to anyone that Tommy Boy lost his temper. The keepers have been more and more since Delroy had been musing over a romantic rebellion on open air. Doesn’t he see that all that's being hurt from it were the ones he wanted to protect? But maybe that's my new reality now, to push through the splintered pain so I can come out stronger on the other side. It may not be much of a rebellion, but for her I’ll be brave. For myself, I’ll survive.

Maybe Delroy asked for peace since in a place like Eleven, people like us weren’t allowed it. Mom and I were left behind by a man named Elias, who got to live in ignorant bliss elsewhere, far away from the pain of here. I didn’t know much of him or what he would hope for from a son, but I won’t run away like he did. Although I never understood my cousin much, maybe that's what he meant; that we can’t run from our pain, so we need to drive our heels into the ground and fight, in hopes that maybe one day we won’t have to feel it anymore. And for the woman whose shaved head deserved the sun, even if from the side she looked like the moon, I won’t let this stump make me fall behind.