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“We should start huntin’ now. A few of ‘em won’t hurt so why don’t you try?” I point to rabbits hopping around the field.
The arena’s starting to go dark and I don’t want to settle for the night without food. Our last tin of fish has already been gone and I could use a fat rabbit before I drift off.
Haymitch doesn’t say anything and I’m forced to turn back to him. “You heard me?” I ask. He shakes his head and trips back on the rocks on his feet.
“What’s wrong?”
”I can’t kill them.”
”Why not?”
”Reminds me of Lenore Dove. I won’t do her like that.”
I roll my eyes and grumble.
Lenore Dove. One more roll of her name from his mouth, he’s in for a long beating. Ever since I saved his life, he had nothing to talk about other than his girlfriend. Back when we passed by a bed of wild flowers, he compared it to the ones that Lenore Dove would lay on back at home — their meadows. Or how Lenore Dove could climb trees higher than the ones we got here. Or the plants that she could easily recognize. It was all too annoying and too much. But then again, it’s his way of coping and who am I to tell him to stop.
Besides, I like hearing about her anyways in his stories. Tells me what I’m missing out on.
“Let’s just walk more and use one of our potatoes.” He leads the way and I follow silently.
It doesn’t take long till we find somewhere secure to start a fire and lay down our tarp. Haymitch goes straight to peeling a potato and do what he can with it. I’m perched on the ground, in front of the hearth, then I relieve myself of my small backpack.
“You alright?” he asks.
”Never better,” I mumble back.
I observe his work, shaving off the potato skin with a small knife. Then I remember I pulled it out from a Career’s guts earlier — no soap or water to clean it — and suddenly all my hunger flies off.
He then chops it in thin pieces and individually hangs it over the fire using the knife as a stick. “This all I got. Learned it from Lenore Dove when we used to play pretend back when we were kids.”
There she is again.
“Haymitch.” His paler blue eyes meet mine and beckons me to continue. “Can you not . . . talk about Lenore Dove? She’s all you bring up and it’s not helping.” I take back what I said, I don’t want to hear about her anymore and what I’m missing out on.
”Sorry. It brings me peace to talk about her.” Great. Paint me the bad guy why don’t you?
”I know! Feels like you’re rubbing it on my face that you have someone to talk about while I don’t.” What I said brings a smile to his face — playful and menacing.
”I’m not!” He’s coy and I’m not liking it. “But alright! Let’s talk about you instead.”
I groan at his request, peering out into the night. The two of us, in the middle of the woods, it’s a funny thing to see and I’m wondering if Lenore Dove’s seeing all of this. Or if she’ll be jealous I’m hanging out with her boyfriend.
“I don’t want to.” I have no effect on Haymitch as he ignores me and keeps on.
”Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks. I’m full of disgust and I throw a small pebble to him. It hits him and he’s rubbing his shoulder. “Just asking!”
My shoulder shrug and I take on that he’s sincerely waiting for an answer. “I don’t!” I come out somewhat defensive and I can feel myself wanting to wallow up on the soil in embarrassment.
Haymitch chuckles and hands me one of the potato thins, now darken and a failed attempt to be a crisp. Nonetheless, I take it and it disappears in my mouth immediately. Undercooked and unfilling, but his efforts puts mine to shame and I’m not quite sure how to show him how grateful I am to have him as an ally — and a brother.
”No? Not a sweetheart? Even a crush?” A smirk plasters his cracking lips. Then I’m seconds away from chucking my boot in his face.
“You’re a pain you know that?” I remark. “But, yeah, maybe . . . a crush.”
My crush for me is the person that brought pink on my cheeks. The first time we met, I handed over a bag of gumdrops to taste and instantly, it became her favorite. Week by week, I’d see those red-tinted curls and muddy feet tracking in my shop — but then it doesn’t concern her as she reaches for another bag.
Lenore Dove Baird.
We were both ten when we met. She’d run around wild and free like those geese of hers, planting her laughter in the air and it rings my ears. Like my own set of ear-worm that replays every night.
I’d say, as Haymitch asks me that question, I’m thinking of Lenore Dove — but it would mean that she left my mind momentarily, which is something that never happened ever since we spoke.
Then that feeling developed and I no longer wanted to see her as a customer or a classmate. I’d want to get with her and feel her skin up close, get lost in those eyes that would only stare at mine, and hold her golden hand. But then again, I was just confused about what I’m feeling.
Because I am a girl — and so is Lenore Dove.
Never have I seen two girls get in with each other, or boys. Only men and women, girl and boy. It didn’t seem possible that we could be together and it would feel normal. And if we ever could, I’d be drowning in doubt and hatred at myself for being abnormal.
I love Lenore Dove. I always have and I always will wonder.
Was I waiting for the right time? Or perhaps ask her what she thinks of dating a girl? Does she know what soft lips feel like on hers? Soft hands on her hips? Long hair tickling her nose when she leans in for a kiss? Or is she only imagining love that comes from a boy.
Then I’m right because Haymitch Abernathy had come and stolen what I’ve wanted for long.
The first time I saw them together was an eyesore. Sitting together close and reading from her book. Then as we got older — they’re known to wander to the meadow and kiss like crazy. I’ve only seen them kiss one time and it was enough to not want to see it again.
And now here he is, shamelessly asking me who I love as if he didn’t selflessly took away all my chances.
”Who is it?” he asks.
My eyebrow raises. “As if I’ll tell.”
”I’m curious of who got Maysilee Donner grounded. That behind that mean self of yours — you’re all soft for this person.”
He’s right. We’re about to die anyways and maybe this will get it off my chest. I’m doing this out of spite. I want him to feel uncomfortable of what this talk will lead us with. For him to regret asking me and perhaps beg for mercy like how I want him to.
”Mhm.” I wipe my fingers on my pants. “I’ve liked this person for a long time now. Back when I was ten? Pretty young back then.”
Haymitch whistles and downs another potato thin. “That’s is a long time. Surprised you held on for that long . . . six years ain’t no joke.”
He’s right and it’s his fault.
”Yeah, well, I fell in love at first sight. Their curly hair, and overalls, and the grass on their boots, and . . . the way they make me feel.” I can’t help but smile sadly. I’m seeing her in front of me as I speak — but even in my imaginations, Lenore Dove’s still sitting next to Haymitch.
”How do they make you feel?”
”Whole. And wrong. But whole.” I say and duck my head down, playing with the ground and toying my fingers on the small rocks. “But it didn’t matter if it made me feel wrong. I know that once I can be with them — that would be the only right thing in my life.”
The noise of the night sounds out, artificial and fake. Somewhere in the distance, crickets sing together and accompany me with my feelings.
“Even if it seemed out of reach, they’re the only one person I wanted to love me, or care for me, but then — I’m happy we’re not together because we won’t stand a chance either way.”
“Why not?”
I look at him for a moment. He’s sincerely hearing me out and I’m about to drop a bomb on him.
“Because you had come along.”
Haymitch is silent, eyebrows furrowed and innocently confused. He’s looking at me as if all logic flew out the moment I said what I said. His mouth opens lightly and close again, then open again. “What?”
I grin. “You sly dog. I always wondered how you managed to snag up Lenore Dove for yourself. That she’d fall in love with itchy itchy Haymitchy.”
He cringes at his nickname. Surely it’s the first he’s heard that for a very long time. I gotta remind him who’s the mean one here. But then, I know he has no interest with my teasing — only with what I meant.
”Lenore Dove? What? I don’t understand,” Haymitch manages to trail out in pure confusion. Makes me want to punch him in the face for acting all mighty and too good to not know what I’m saying.
”You tell me. You’re the one that got her wrapped around that fingers of yours. Kissing in public . . . holding hands . . . buying my gumdrops to give her? Are you insane?” I bitterly chuckle.
I’m not sure where I wanna go with this but one thing’s for certain; he’ll know.
Haymitch shifts in his seat and drops the knife, so does the remaining potato slices. “Maysilee . . .” he whispers. “I don’t understand.”
”Lenore Dove . . . I had a crush on her.”—scratch that—“I still have a crush on her. I still love her. I always did and I always will. I want her to look at me, kiss me, hug me, hold my hand, or introduce me to her geese.” I’m rambling and I’m not quite sure when to stop. My gut is spilling out and what happens next is inevitable. “But the moment you had come around, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting you.”
Silence.
“But Lenore Dove’s a girl . . .” he confusingly chuckles.
My eyes look at him earnestly. “Haymitch,” I manage to whisper.
I want him to figure it out by himself, I want him to piece it together, for him to use his brain and realize that I’m in love with Lenore Dove.
His mouth slithers soon enough. “Oh.”
I raise my eyebrows and hide my face on my palms. Then my composure comes back and we’re eye to eye again. “I guess you could say that’s why I wanted to see your token.” I point to the flint striker close to his heart. “I’m dying to know what it feels like to get something from her.”
Haymitch reaches for the flint striker, gripping it into his fist. Realizing what he implies, I say goodnight and I’m gone.
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I stumble back as Haymitch rushes over to behead the bird that’s dug deep in my neck. My body drops to the floor and I’m clutching on my necklaces — feeling my own blood pool down and drench me.
I’m choking. In my head, I’m calling for Haymitch’s name. To see him, apologize, and say goodbye. He staggers to reach me and holds his hand out. Mine finds his immediately — squeezing tight to relieve me of my own pain. Gurgling out more blood as the pain rushes in and fades again, then startles in, and fades again like a pulse. My pulse. My pulse that’s about to go away.
Haymitch’s crying now as I’m staring at him. I want to speak and thank him for being with me — that he’s not letting me die alone and not make this sad.
My death will not be sad. It will be unforgettable and unfortunate — that will be my final poster.
I look down at his chest and shakily, I unclasp my hold on him and reach out for the flint striker. He follows my hand and catches my sign. Haymitch takes it off and places it on my hand — pressing it close to my palms.
My vision’s blurry but I’m determined to see the bright colors, the engraving, her idea. Then the scripture I saw beforehand the first time he let me see it, I read what I can take it.
”I love you like all-fire — L.D”
She says to me. That she loves me like all-fire. Me and only me — on my final moment.
And with that, I die happy.
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