Constellations [Vasco/Estelle]

v a s c o

I wonder how fate decided that my generation would be the one to survive. Each of my brothers grew up healthy, happy, and married with children. Perhaps out roots were too healthy for the capitol’s liking. They planted weeds to strangle our children and bring sorrow to the farms that dotted the edge of the district. The Izar land, a patchwork of blighted land that we turned over again and again to raise the greatness from the earth. And even as tired as we were, there had never been a moment when we’d wanted to turn our backs on one another.

Because it would’ve been so easy – to turn up our noses or curse the sky for what the world had brought us – we could’ve hardened our hearts and let the cool grip of grief course through our veins.

And perhaps some of us already had. Generations had passed since that great and prosperous little barrio had been razed and left to rot under a baking sun. Elias had spoiled. A man content to spread his seed far and wide without giving a second thought to the fact he’d have to pluck the weeds from his garden if he’d wanted any of them to grow up strong. Of course, he’d have needed to have been there to tend the garden in the first place at all, but then – not every man can have the courage to raise a family. Some are just cowards convinced living for themselves was the bravest thing they could do.

I stand in the hall of the justice building counting the black and white tiles on the floor, waiting for the door to Estelle’s holding room to open. Nekane had gotten here first. Curious as to what she’d talk to Estelle about, but then, I didn’t know much as to what she kept herself busy with. Or rather, I hadn’t asked around about her.

The days have gotten longer in my second term. Unanswered calls from other mayors and quiet conversations with those who seem quietly resigned to Eleven being under the boot of the peacekeepers that flood the district.

I pause on a photo of me, and Katelyn hung up in a bronze frame. I’ve a few less gray hairs and she’s still young. I wonder, now, where she’s gone, not showing up to meet me after the last games.

I think a lot of people think of befores and afters, of times when things were until they weren’t.

How this frightened young woman must be thinking of what her life was, until it wasn’t.

And maybe I’ve just seen enough, or I grew up knowing a different world, but I can’t think that way.

Like the world before Raquel was killed, and then all the after.

And here I am still, working hard to make a better world, to convince others that we can, together, while another Izar steps forward into the games. It’s not a before, though, or quite an after.

I frame it as a then, a moment in time, and the now, when we still have time.

The door opens, and I step forward into the space. A flood of light hits my eyes and I blink a few times before catching sight of Estelle. Of the young woman who decided it was her moment, no matter what that meant.

“Estelle,” I say her name as though it’s holy, quiet on my lips, “I hope you don’t mind me seeing you off. Even if I haven’t seen much of you before.” I tried not to meddle in other people’s families, or with those who might not have wanted much to do with me. Though it didn’t stop me from offering what I could. “I don’t know if you have anything you want me to let everyone else know – as an Izar or as your mayor – but I will do what I can for you.”