Deep in the Meadow

Books, Pins, and Secrets

        The rest of the day felt like I was walking through a misty allusion; I was still trying to comprehend everything that was revealed to me about my parents’ past. When the dismissal bell rings, I quickly find Rye and hurry home with him. We rush through the front door of our house. Well, I drag him while he complains, but does it matter? I walk into the kitchen and find my parents sitting at the table. They have a lot of explaining to do. “Rye, go upstairs,” I say, eyes glued to my parents.

            “Why,” he whines.

            “You can come back down in a minute, just go!”

            “Fine.” His little gray eyes glare at me, and he huffs, then stomps upstairs. I walk further into the kitchen and approach my parents.

            “Mom, Dad, we learned about The Hunger Games today.” They look uncomfortable, yet they act like they were expecting this. “I know why there is pain, I just don’t know… why. Do you know what I mean?” I ask.

            Mom sighs. “Willow, I am so sorry that you didn’t hear this from us. We just couldn’t find the right words to explain it. We escaped many near death experiences and witnessed our own friends die right in front of us. The president of The Capitol seamed to know what would make us break; what would hurt us the most. We lost a lot of people we love during The Hunger Games. My dad, aunt Prim, and some very close friends of ours. I even came close to loosing your father a few times,” she says. Dad kisses her head.

            “Should we show her the book, Katniss?” my dad asks. Mom nods, and my parents stand up, hand in hand. Curious, I follow them up the stairs and to the attic, where I watch them search through a bunch of musty boxes. When they find what they are looking for, we sit down on the dusty floor, and start to page through a book. I see pictures of my parents in the games, eerie paintings my father created, pressed primroses symbolizing my dead aunt, my mother and Uncle Haymitch’s writing describing random memories, and a picture of Annie’s son as a baby. I learn about people my parents cared about like Finnick, Cinna, and Rue.

They are the reasons for the nightmares, the reasons my parents can never really heal. Some of their wounds are physical, while most are invisible to the eye. I can understand the reasons for the flashbacks, nightmares, and melancholy better then I ever have. I get up with my parents, and hug them both tightly.

            “I love you guys,” I say.

            “We love you too.” When they let go, Mom slips something cold and metal into my hand and whispers three words in my ear: It symbolizes Hope. She winks, and heads back downstairs with my dad. I watch them go, then I open my palm and find a pin with a mockingjay catching an arrow on it. I stare at it for a while. Other then each other, this was probably the only hope they had, and Mom gave it to me. I pin it on my dress.

Games. Who knew that not all of them were fun?