The Girl in the Arena

D-Day

It’s hot today… that’s my first thought as I roll over on my bedroll. My mother is still asleep. I’ve tossed and turned a lot in my sleep. My threadbare, thin sheets are twisted around me like a shroud.  I must’ve had some bad dream last night, but I don’t remember. I’m not surprised though. It’s the reaping day, after all. I’ve been in the reaping for two years now, and I haven’t been picked yet. But I have more than ever this year. I remind myself that the eighteens have even more, making my chances less. But it’s still a chance. I stand up carefully, knowing my mother will be up in a little. I tuck my sheets and mat under her bed before tiptoeing into the kitchen.

Our half-finished loaf of tesserae bread is sitting wrapped in butcher paper on the old wooden table. I carefully open it, knowing that the paper is a necessity for keeping our food safe from insects. I slice off two inch-thick pieces, putting each on a small wooden plate. I sit on my stool and begin to pick at the slice. I try my best to save it. My mom comes into the room as I’m half through my bread.

“Morning, Callista,” she whispers, her voice thick with sleep as she peels the thick crust off her bread, chewing on it. “How’d you sleep, lovely?” she looks at me carefully.

“Fine.” I say. I love my mother, but I know that I have to take care of her, too. “Did you get yesterday’s load done?” I ask.

 My mother works from home. She stopped working in the fields after my father’s accident. Now, she runs a seamstress-and-laundry business from our little house here in the Tear. I am her delivery girl. One of my many odds-and-ends jobs.

“Yes. It’s hanging on the line.” She says, continuing to pick at her bread.

“I’d better get going, then. I expect everyone will be wanting their reaping clothes. And I oughta head over to the Fay in case anyone’s got anything for me today.” I finish off my bread and swipe the crumbs off my plate. I’ll need to get more food- that bread will last through lunch if we’re lucky.

“Okay, Callista. I better clean up our reaping clothes. Want to look nice, don’t we?”

“Yes, mama.” I tell her, putting my plate in the washbasin. “I’m gonna get dressed before I head on down.” I go back to our room before she has the chance to say anything else.

I haven’t got many clothes, but I’ve got enough. I pull on my frayed brown shorts and my blue shirt. It’s almost always hot here in nine. I’m lucky that we live here in the Tear. Hundreds of years ago, the pioneers that used to live here dug houses out of the dirt foothills. We’ve all had to reinforce them with rough wooden boards from the richer side of town. But our houses stay cool.

I grab the old and splintering wooden basket from the foot of my mother’s bed and run back outside. My leather boots are sitting on the warped wooden porch. I stop for a moment to slide them on over my holey socks. I lace the worn boots up quickly and jump off the side of the porch towards the short tree that holds up one end of our laundry line. My mother must have stayed up late last night because the fraying rope is covered in clothes. Everyone wanted their clothes cleaned for the reaping, I suppose. I go across the line pulling things off as quick as I can and drop them into the basket before running through the long grass to the other houses in the Tear.

Widow Mia Tekeram is first- I see her thin, blue cotton robe in the basket. I hesitate before knocking on her door. Ever since her husband died from a stroke, she has been quite slow to get up. But I know she has to take care of her few farm animals- the chicken, the goat. I tap lightly on the wobbly door. I hear shuffling footsteps approaching before the door creaks open. She’s standing in a long cotton skirt and sweater, barefoot on the wooden floor. Her corona of gray hair is fluffed out around her head like a helmet. I hold up the basket.