Hopper Goravich, District 3 [fin]

Hopper Goravich, District 3 [fin] Apr 4, 2012 20:55:33 GMT -5

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Post by semper on Apr 4, 2012 20:55:33 GMT -5

The Van Smaltington Steel Factory, however small, is well known for its good quality of steel. “Small in cost, high in quality,” as their motto goes. The safety of the workers , though, is fairly questionable. The heat inside the factory is unbearable, the safety hazards are too many to count, the air is stagnant and has the smell of copper and burning metal. Not exactly a pleasant place to earn a somewhat decent wage, but the workers there persevere, determined to get their pay and are unfazed by all the dangers that surround them each day.

Among the workers filing in through the doors at an ungodly hour of the morning is Hopper Leonardo Goravich. A strapping, big-boned boy of eighteen years old. He stands at about six-foot-one, though in the mix of workers milling around, he appears to be of average height. He has black hair that always seems to be cut short – and for a good reason.

”Goravich!” No sooner do I get to my work station do I hear my boss barking out my name. Not wanting to get a pay cut for delaying, I jog over to where the short, squat man is standing in front of his office with a young looking boy with scraggly hair at his side. ”This is Skip. It’s his first day here and I’d like him to shadow you so you can show him the ropes.” I nod and offer a smile to the kid. ”Nice to meet you, Skip. I’m Hopper.” The boy hesitantly returns the smile. I bet you more than anything the poor kid is nervous, so I give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, nodding my head in the general direction of my work station. ”C’mon, I’ll show you around.” My boss shuffles into his office and I start to lead Skip to my station, already giving him my first bit of advice: ”First thing’s first, we need to cut your hair. I’ve seen sparks flying and catch someone’s hair on fire and trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”

His irises are a startling emerald green, ringed with a faint outline of black. They always have a light in them and are quite lively. His thick and dark eyebrows only accent how bright his eyes are. The cheekbones are high, but because his face still appears to have a bit of baby fat, nothing on his face is sharp or well defined. Hopper’s lips are thin and pale when compared to the dark, even tan of his skin, which he has nearly all year, only fading slightly in the winter. On the right side of his neck is a burn with hypertrophic scarring – simply meaning that the scar, which runs from his collar bone, up his neck, and partially over his jaw, is raised and has a mean, irritated red coloring. Because of this, Hopper can’t really turn his head to the right, and though he can somewhat turn it to the left, it hurts to turn too far.

”There. It’s a bit rough, but that’s better than catching yourself on fire.” I set down a pair of scissors and examine my work. Skip’s once long blonde hair is now short with jagged tufts. ”You can fix it when you get home, but right now it’s time for me to show you what we do here.” It took a good bit of convincing for him to allow me to cut his hair as a safety precaution, and judging by the look on his face, this is a very strange day for him. He runs a hand through his hair. ”Alright.” He gets up and follows me to my station, which is half pouring molten steel into molds and half pulling things off a conveyer belt to be cooled. I hand him a pair of thick, leather gloves. ”Best use these. Don’t want to get burned on your first day, eh?” I chuckle lightly to keep the air between us easy. ”Is that what happened to your neck?” I realize that he has a full view of the red scar on my neck. It’s not really something I’m afraid to talk about, but it’s the memory of the pain that makes the scar start itching and feeling like it’s choking me. ”Yeah. I can’t turn my head to the right and can’t really turn very far to the left, so let this be a warning for you to always be aware of your surroundings.” Skip’s eyes go wide and for a moment I think that I’ve terrified him, so I try to ease it all over. ”But hey, Skip, don’t worry about it. Everyone here looks out for one another. And unless you get careless and stupid like I was when this happened, you’ll be fine.” I smile at him, which I feel helps to bring him out of his shell a little because he returns it with one of his own. ”So. What are you going to teach me first?”

Hopper’s arms are thick and corded with muscle that shows whenever he is working, and the same goes for his legs, though they are proportional in terms of size and length. His arms, however, are longer than average. Much like a swimmer, Hopper has broad shoulders and arms that reach down a good half-hand – or even a full hand length – lower than many of the other factory workers. Because he gets enough exercise working in the factory and usually doesn’t work out, his chest and abdomen aren’t chiseled like the other boys his age, but that doesn’t bother him. He believes that he is in fairly good shape as he is.

I taught him most of everything I know about making steel: how to pour the molten steel into molds without splashing, how to pull rods off the conveyer belt without damaging them, and above all, how to stay safe. Skip caught onto it fairly quick, and aside from a few mistakes here and there, he’s a chip off the old block. But he can’t get too good or else I’ll be out of a job. No, I’m kidding; I’d love a partner to work with.

The whistle blows for our lunch break. Skip and I clean up our station quick and head outside to where most of the other workers were already settling down at picnic tables for lunch. I motion for Skip to come sit down with me and a few friends, but he seems skeptical. ”What’s wrong?” He glances around and I notice he’s empty handed. ”Forgot your lunch?” Skip slowly nods. I smile at him. ”Don’t worry about it. Here, I’ll share mine with you.” His face lights up, though he appears concerned rather than happy. ”Are you sure? I-I don’t want to take yours…” I pat the bench beside me. ”I’m sure. Don’t want you falling over because you haven’t eaten, now, do we?” After some hesitation, Skip joins us at the table. I split my entire lunch in half and share it with him, trying my best to engage him in conversation with my coworkers.

A kind soul. Hopper doesn’t hesitate to help those in need, mostly because he was quietly placed in a caretaking position after his father slowly started losing his grip on reality. Since then he has felt that he needs to reach out to anyone around him that is in need, sharing most of everything he has. He does his best to remain selfless for his five siblings and down-spiraling father, sometimes even giving his family all he has while leaving nothing for himself. It doesn’t bother him to have nothing – we’re always looking out for each other, right? He lives by the motto “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.” Do him a favor and he’ll return it. Hopper believes in the power of being in someone’s debt; he takes it seriously and doesn’t forget them.

A sensitive soul. The boy, though he’s hesitant to admit it, can be very sensitive. Hopper does his best to understand other people and see things from their point of view. He’s heard quite a few stories of hardships from some of the older factory workers and while he sees his job as just something he does, others see it as a very vital life source. This realization has led him to try to see things from other peoples’ point of views. He knows that people come from all walks of life and different economical states, which is why he tries to remain open-minded.

A temperamental soul. While at work or with people who are just learning, Hopper is known for his patience. But when it comes to people to continuously do wrong or are ignorant, he will not hesitate to try to talk some sense into him or her. To put them in their place. He isn’t the most eloquent with words, because to get through to a simple mind, you need to use simple words. While Hopper does believe that living a simple life is good, he thinks that being too simple will make you dumb. You have to sometimes challenge yourself in order to gain some ground in life. He doesn’t look down on those who are ignorant – or tries not to, at least – but it’s difficult when all the stupid things they do grate his nerves.

After lunch, it’s back to an afternoon full of filling molds and yanking rods of the conveyer belt. I start to think that Skip is getting bored with it all. I understand that; I’ve been doing the same thing for years. Clock in, mold, yank, break for lunch, yank, mold, clock out. You’d think I’d be burned out by now, but I’m not. I guess this is what happens when you’re the caretaker of your family. You need the money to support your family, so you suck it up and do your work. My siblings are old enough to work, but who wants to work? Besides, my job pays enough for us to all have some extra spending money. Unless we all want to work our butts off in the smoggy factories of this District, I can take care of us. I can, really.

Mrs. Goravich passed away shortly after the quintuplets were born. It’s nothing short of a miracle that all of Hopper’s siblings survived in the womb. Even in District 3, one that is pretty well off, quintuplets are extremely rare. No one ever believed Hopper when he told them that his five siblings were all born together.

During his early years in school, Hopper took a particular liking to art. He would become so in the zone during art class and beg to stay afterschool so he could finish his drawings and/or paintings, and usually he could crank out three completed artworks a week. Coming from a little kid, his drawings weren’t the greatest, but it was his persistence and determination that awed the teachers. They simply let him stay afterschool and paint to his heart’s content.

His passion for art stayed with him all throughout high school, progressively getting better and better. He particularly enjoyed drawing scenes from nature: sunsets and sunrises, forests, waterfalls, plains, wildlife – anything that didn’t have smokestacks or pollution on the horizon. He didn’t want to say it to anyone, but he wanted to leave the District so he could go to a place where he could breathe fresh air. Wide open spaces, wildlife running all about, no nature that was tainted by human hands.

The dream of leaving the District quickly faded as his siblings grew older. Many of them were made fun of because of their ‘strange quirks,’ and being the older brother, Hopper was quick to go after the said bully and first use his words to try to get through to them to leave his brother or sister alone, but when that didn’t work, he always resorted to physical force. Nothing more than a shove up against a wall and a few snarls in their face.

When Mr. Goravich slowly began losing his touch with reality, Hopper was there to take over. He tried to help his father by telling him to take things easy, and that he could take care of things until he felt better, but that time never seemed to come. Hopper started picking up odd jobs when he was just thirteen – started out cleaning a few shops afterschool, then gradually the jobs became harder and required more hours, so at the age of sixteen, he dropped out of school to work fulltime at the steel factory.

It didn’t take long before he began to feel the choking strains that had befell his father. When the first paydays came, he could hardly scrape up enough money for more than a meal a day per sibling. Hopper began asking for overtime to rack in a few more dollars, just as determined and persistent as he had been in his art class. His pay began to gradually get larger and the stress gradually lessened.

At the end of the day, after saying goodbye, Hopper left Skip on the note that he would see him tomorrow. Skip turned to leave when he accidentally ran into one of the older workers who was hobbling along with his cane. ”Sorry,” the boy began, but the elderly man stabbed Skip’s foot with the end of his cane. ”Don’eh be sorreh, boy.” The man grumbled. ”Who waseh lookin’ after yah tahdee?” Skip hesitated before answering. ”Tha’ Hopper boy? Ohh, if I haddeh coin fer every timeh the lad been a-helpin’ some feller I’d be a Capitolite.” He chuckled – more like a wheezing cough – and hobbling a bit further away, but still continuing to speak as he did so, forcing Skip to tag along with him. ”But… isn’t that a good thing?” He asked, but the weathered-looking man whirled on him. ”Don’eh be fooled by ‘em, Skip,” he whispered in a gravelly voice, ”Don’eh be fooled by ‘em. Tha’ ol’ boy be hidin’ somethin’, I knows it.” Skip stopped walking. Going over the events of the day, he couldn’t find any sort of fault with the boy who had helped teach him the ways of the factory. ”What is it? What’s he hiding?” He was sure to keep his voice down so that no one else would hear. The elderly man leaned in close. ”Yah ever seen tha way a starin’ doggeh looks at another starvin’ doggeh when he’s got a steak?” Skip’s face contorted with confusion and he shook his head. ”Tha be thah way Hopper be lookin’ at everyoneh. Dem guys, mostly. Like they got somethin’ he wants real bad n’ he gonneh fight ‘em fer it.” He jabbed the end of his cane at Skip’s foot again before turning and starting to hobble off, leaving the boy hopping on one foot and caressing the other in his hands. ”I’d be careful if I were yah. Anyone with tha look in their eyes ain’t up tah nothin’ good.”

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