Author Games: The Last Cannon

TASK EIGHT: Mia Circuit

Dear Chip,

I met you at school on a Monday. We sat across from each other in a class we only had once a week, and we made googly eyes and silly faces the whole time. My school attire always consisted of a plain suit with my Dad's old tie but you changed your outfit every week; my favourite was the long black coat with the grey patch on the sleeve. Our teachers hated us, I'm pretty sure. Or they just didn't like the idea of us fucking behind the school after the class was over.

I've been talking to your father, and he says it's a good idea that I gather all of my thoughts before your funeral. It's all a part of finding closure and peace with myself and your absence. The odds aren't great for you right now, Chip, but you know that and so does everyone else. Do you remember the day you found out you were pregnant? You told that one girl, Harper Reynolds, and she blabbed and told the whole school. I remember those awful stares, Chip. Whispers were never more than a few words and to every male student I was a legend but you... it seemed that you were crowned slut of the District. But, we cleaned up our reputation by finding jobs in one of the factories and dropping out of school to begin our lives of constantly shoveling ourselves out of debt. We moved from our childhood homes and over to the darker side of the District just across the highway so we could afford to live in danger and denial.

I don't regret our decisions.

Ever since you were reaped I've gotten nothing but sympathy looks and casserole dishes. I try to eat all of them, but sometimes my stomach drops into a pit of despair and disappears for a while. Lucy doesn't care for them much. According to her they all taste the same and she wants Aunt Chloe to come back and cook for her, but I argue that nothing has tasted the same since you have been gone. In fact, nothing has been the same; I just want you to come home.

If someone had asked me if I loved you when I knocked you up, I would have said no. What we had was special, but it never felt like a fit. It was as if we were put on this earth to be best friends to each other, not husband and wife. It wasn't until this afternoon that I realized that feeling at the bottom of my heart that gets excited every time I think of you... that's love. I was in the washroom looking at all of the expiry dates on our pill bottles when I found an opened pregnancy test with the stick still inside. On the package was a sticky note that read in your awful handwriting:

Look at after the reaping.

I almost threw up. I carefully took out the stick, cautious not to touch it on one end. To my relief the test was negative, and I sat back and rested my head against the wall. The one thing you and I were never good at was protection. Whether it be in bed, at work, or even in our shady business we were constantly, and accidently, hurting each other. I want to apologize to the nights where we stayed up all night, fighting, only to go to work the next day and do our jobs miserably. I know that's how you got your arm burned in that freak explosion, and I'm sorry.

I know you're never going to read this, Chip, but I want you to know that I haven't been forgetting to miss you. I still expect to see you outside the window in that black coat with the patch, standing there, waiting for me to let you in. And trust me, Chip, I would let you in, scoop you into my arms, tell you how much I missed you and then I would stare deep into your eyes and tell you how much I love you.

It feels as if I've never said it to you before, but now it's no longer a mandatory term you say when you go to work or make love... I truly mean it. And if you weren't in the Games and if that pregnancy test had come back positive I would have been happy. I could have picked up extra shifts at the factory and stayed late doing paperwork.

Just come home and we can have that. We can have it all. But I know we can't, because you're gone and you're never coming back. That was the first time I had written those words down on paper, and seeing them makes this all too real.

I've been trying to do what you said and not steal anymore; but it's hard. Just two days ago Lucy had a fever, and I had to go into the store to get medication but our bank account was empty. I couldn't wait for pay day, Chip, I had to do something. So I hacked into the computers at that fancy restaurant you've always wanted to go to but never will be able to. I took fifty dollars, that's it, and I know I shouldn't have done it but I did.

It's the high of the fun that gets me off on a joy ride. But the joy isn't as fun without you. I need to speak to you one last time before you go, even if it is all in my head. Just stay with me, I promise I'll be worth your time. I married my best friend, I realize that, and the thought of not having you in my life aches my heart and freezes my brain to the core. The only chance I'll have of seeing you again is when you come home in a box, the wounds from the Games will be forever etched into your bones and you'll be colder than ice.

But you'll have a smile on your face, because you'll only remember loving me and Lucy, and knowing you that will satisfy your heart when you walk into the light. I don't allow myself to think too much about you winning the Games, because I know that will never happen, but if you do, I promise you I will be a better husband, companion, and friend. Your father gave me some advice the other day as he downed yet another glass of scotch. He said:

"Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end."

I see where you get your optimism from, and I'm sorry for all of my pessimistic attitude that you've had to put up with. At the bar many people have placed bets, but hardly any of them are on you. You're the last Tribute that's not a Career, Chip; you don't stand a chance. Many of them do still remember you; you were quite the beer pong champion back in the day.

I don't want to end this letter, but I know somewhere it's going to have to. When I finish this, it will also be another step closer to the end of our relationship; the last stage will be when I bury this letter with you. Please stay... Mia, don't leave me. If you can't stay for me then stay for Lucy, she deserves a mother who has known her from the day she was born.

Come home.

I can't say it enough. Don't give your father a reason to lose hope, don't let your mother slip off into a depression, don't leave Lucy without you and please, don't give me a reason to find love in another woman. I want to see you in your long black coat again, waiting for me after work. It doesn't have to end this way, Mia; our relationship doesn't have to end so bittersweet and flavourless.

Come home.

But you can't, and you know that. We'll never move back over to the better side of the highway or have that other child we had talked about. And I'm just going to have to accept that, but my mind has never been so easily convinced. So, I guess this is it...

Farewell, Mia Circuit; you'll forever be my best friend.

This isn't the end.

-Packard