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Bubby Caro | District 4 | FIN
Apr 26, 2018 22:03:06 GMT -5
Post by d4 Panda Scope [Gayton] on Apr 26, 2018 22:03:06 GMT -5
B U B B Y
District Four |
The sun fell pale as it dripped off my silky thin locks of gold. After a long winter, District Four was beginning to warm, so my shaggy hair stopped working as a blanket and became a sweat factory. My eyebrows were thin so sweat slipped through them and got caught in the blue sea of my eyes. It burned, but I continued to trudge forward.
I lived several miles from the docks. My mother was a school teacher. my father managed a warehouse team that made sure enough fish shipped out to the capitol on time, every week. The people brought the fish to him, we never had to bother catching our own. My father's work paid plenty enough so that once he combined with our mother's income we had enough to stay clean and fed.
We weren't necessarily wealthy, but we were well enough to not have to worry. Mother, however, grew up poor and always reminded my sister and I to be grateful for everything we have. It can always be taken away from us. I've never forgotten that. That is why I was trekking across all of District Four to the docks. My father had a regular supplier who had become a close friend of his, and so when I showed interest in work, my father set me up a meeting.
The air was salty and weighted with heat. The sky was blue with noon. The smell of sand filled my flared nostrils as I approached the docks. Approaching the group of fisherman, I began to become embarrassed. My sweat had painted my hair many shades darker and stained the pits of my white button up shirt. I had untucked the shirt from my blue jeans to allow air flow. Luckily though, the men didn't seem to notice.
I didn't recognize most of them, but my father's friend, James, had pointed me out before I even made my way up the dock.
"Bubby! It's good to see you. Come here, boy!" Every face turned to look at me. I collapsed into myself and looked down at my black shoes. James was a loud, extroverted man. Thankfully, he was more funny than obnoxious.
I looked forward enough to see in front of me, but not high enough to make eye contact. As I got closer to the group of men, James stepped out and met me halfway. he turned me around and we began walking back towards the beach together. "Tell me, Bub, how old are you now?"
"I'm fifteen, sir," I said, as confidently as I could.
"Whoa there. I'm not no sir. You've never called me that in your life, who are you trying to impress?" he laughed. I didn't answer the question, I figured the answer was obvious. Not realizing his question was rhetorical, he continued, "You can call me James. You can call me JJ, for fuck sake's you can call me dumb bastard. But I ain't no sir, and I ain't no mister." James was vulgar. Mother didn't like that language, so dad never used it in the house, though I'm sure he used it at work, and I never really saw the point in the expletives.
"Sorry," I said without looking over at him.
"Bubby, your father has been good to me. He's always come to me for business first. He's helped my wife and I out a lot. The least I could do is teach his son to fish. But I do have a question for you?" He put his arm around me. I tensed up.
With my shoulders raised I told him, "Anything."
He stopped our walking. He slid his arm off my shoulder, offsetting the collar. I immediately adjusted it. He turned to face me before he spoke. "You're old enough to start learning your father's work. It pays better, it's mostly indoors. It's closer to your home. Your father'd make sure you took over the whole damn operation once he left. So why the fuck are you out here tryin' to fish?"
I paused. I hadn't really thought of it like that. My father did have a much nicer job. A comfortable one. I didn't like the smell out here. I didn't like how dirty it was, but I knew I wanted to be there.
I opened my mouth, entirely unsure of what was about to erupt, "I, uh, I. There's something about it that seems right, I guess."
James smirked. "It's calling to you. Y'know, I never took you for someone to follow their gut. Not without a push anyways. What happened?" What did happen? I suddenly felt uncomfortable. Not just for being out of place, but not knowing why I put myself there. I thought back, searching for an answer to my own daring.
It was just a week before. My mother and I sat across from each other at our table. The room, was white and perfectly square. It made you feel closed in.
I looked a lot more like my mother than I did my father. We were both ghostly pale, and lightly freckled. Are faces were long, yet round. But most of all, everything on our faces seemed very precisely placed. It all looked like it belonged there.
After school she would always have me study and do homework at the kitchen table. That way she was right there to help me, it was her way of bonding. I usually didn't need a lot of help, but she always asked me anyways, "Is it all coming along okay?"
"Yeah, it's nothing difficult," I said, without looking up.
"You know, I can never get that sister of yours to sit still long enough to do her homework. She's your father's kid," She thought for a moment, "She'll want to work with your father as soon as she's old enough."
"Can she not go with him now?" I asked. Mother liked small talk, I usually humored her.
She chuckled. "She's only 11, they'd eat her alive." we both laughed.
"Maybe I should be going with father sometimes?" I said. It was going to be my job after all.
My mother looked at me, puzzled. She leaned forward in her chair and folded her hands hands together above the table. "Would you like that?" she asked, "There are other jobs. There's always a need for teachers. Or fisherman."
"What? And condemn myself to being poor? Dad's job is nice."
"Dad's job can always be taken from him. If he messed up, he'd get cut."
She was right. If he didn't send enough fish, or sent it late, or messed up inventory, the capitol themselves would fire him. We'd lose everything, it's all he knew how to do. A fisherman can't be told to stop fishing. It was the first time I had ever thought about what'd I'd do after I turned eighteen. What I would do to support myself, or a family.
I snapped back to the present. "What happened?" ringing in my ear. I took a long moment, and I looked up towards James, still not at him, but close.
"A fisherman's life is stable. I can't lose that job. It's a skill I can fall back on. I can provide for myself, my family. A fisherman doesn't starve," I was talking so fast I couldn't keep up with myself, so I took a breath before I continued, "If my father lost his job, or if he died, I could make sure my sister and mother ate. If I grow up to be poor, it'd be worth it."
James took a second to process what I had said, and then chuckled. "You know, kid. That's really wise. You're also a dumb ass," he laughed harder, "But I respect it. Come on, I'll teach you to fish."
And we turned back and headed towards his men. I was nervous, and confused. But something inside of me told me I was doing okay. I guess you would call it my guy.
I lived several miles from the docks. My mother was a school teacher. my father managed a warehouse team that made sure enough fish shipped out to the capitol on time, every week. The people brought the fish to him, we never had to bother catching our own. My father's work paid plenty enough so that once he combined with our mother's income we had enough to stay clean and fed.
We weren't necessarily wealthy, but we were well enough to not have to worry. Mother, however, grew up poor and always reminded my sister and I to be grateful for everything we have. It can always be taken away from us. I've never forgotten that. That is why I was trekking across all of District Four to the docks. My father had a regular supplier who had become a close friend of his, and so when I showed interest in work, my father set me up a meeting.
The air was salty and weighted with heat. The sky was blue with noon. The smell of sand filled my flared nostrils as I approached the docks. Approaching the group of fisherman, I began to become embarrassed. My sweat had painted my hair many shades darker and stained the pits of my white button up shirt. I had untucked the shirt from my blue jeans to allow air flow. Luckily though, the men didn't seem to notice.
I didn't recognize most of them, but my father's friend, James, had pointed me out before I even made my way up the dock.
"Bubby! It's good to see you. Come here, boy!" Every face turned to look at me. I collapsed into myself and looked down at my black shoes. James was a loud, extroverted man. Thankfully, he was more funny than obnoxious.
I looked forward enough to see in front of me, but not high enough to make eye contact. As I got closer to the group of men, James stepped out and met me halfway. he turned me around and we began walking back towards the beach together. "Tell me, Bub, how old are you now?"
"I'm fifteen, sir," I said, as confidently as I could.
"Whoa there. I'm not no sir. You've never called me that in your life, who are you trying to impress?" he laughed. I didn't answer the question, I figured the answer was obvious. Not realizing his question was rhetorical, he continued, "You can call me James. You can call me JJ, for fuck sake's you can call me dumb bastard. But I ain't no sir, and I ain't no mister." James was vulgar. Mother didn't like that language, so dad never used it in the house, though I'm sure he used it at work, and I never really saw the point in the expletives.
"Sorry," I said without looking over at him.
"Bubby, your father has been good to me. He's always come to me for business first. He's helped my wife and I out a lot. The least I could do is teach his son to fish. But I do have a question for you?" He put his arm around me. I tensed up.
With my shoulders raised I told him, "Anything."
He stopped our walking. He slid his arm off my shoulder, offsetting the collar. I immediately adjusted it. He turned to face me before he spoke. "You're old enough to start learning your father's work. It pays better, it's mostly indoors. It's closer to your home. Your father'd make sure you took over the whole damn operation once he left. So why the fuck are you out here tryin' to fish?"
I paused. I hadn't really thought of it like that. My father did have a much nicer job. A comfortable one. I didn't like the smell out here. I didn't like how dirty it was, but I knew I wanted to be there.
I opened my mouth, entirely unsure of what was about to erupt, "I, uh, I. There's something about it that seems right, I guess."
James smirked. "It's calling to you. Y'know, I never took you for someone to follow their gut. Not without a push anyways. What happened?" What did happen? I suddenly felt uncomfortable. Not just for being out of place, but not knowing why I put myself there. I thought back, searching for an answer to my own daring.
It was just a week before. My mother and I sat across from each other at our table. The room, was white and perfectly square. It made you feel closed in.
I looked a lot more like my mother than I did my father. We were both ghostly pale, and lightly freckled. Are faces were long, yet round. But most of all, everything on our faces seemed very precisely placed. It all looked like it belonged there.
After school she would always have me study and do homework at the kitchen table. That way she was right there to help me, it was her way of bonding. I usually didn't need a lot of help, but she always asked me anyways, "Is it all coming along okay?"
"Yeah, it's nothing difficult," I said, without looking up.
"You know, I can never get that sister of yours to sit still long enough to do her homework. She's your father's kid," She thought for a moment, "She'll want to work with your father as soon as she's old enough."
"Can she not go with him now?" I asked. Mother liked small talk, I usually humored her.
She chuckled. "She's only 11, they'd eat her alive." we both laughed.
"Maybe I should be going with father sometimes?" I said. It was going to be my job after all.
My mother looked at me, puzzled. She leaned forward in her chair and folded her hands hands together above the table. "Would you like that?" she asked, "There are other jobs. There's always a need for teachers. Or fisherman."
"What? And condemn myself to being poor? Dad's job is nice."
"Dad's job can always be taken from him. If he messed up, he'd get cut."
She was right. If he didn't send enough fish, or sent it late, or messed up inventory, the capitol themselves would fire him. We'd lose everything, it's all he knew how to do. A fisherman can't be told to stop fishing. It was the first time I had ever thought about what'd I'd do after I turned eighteen. What I would do to support myself, or a family.
I snapped back to the present. "What happened?" ringing in my ear. I took a long moment, and I looked up towards James, still not at him, but close.
"A fisherman's life is stable. I can't lose that job. It's a skill I can fall back on. I can provide for myself, my family. A fisherman doesn't starve," I was talking so fast I couldn't keep up with myself, so I took a breath before I continued, "If my father lost his job, or if he died, I could make sure my sister and mother ate. If I grow up to be poor, it'd be worth it."
James took a second to process what I had said, and then chuckled. "You know, kid. That's really wise. You're also a dumb ass," he laughed harder, "But I respect it. Come on, I'll teach you to fish."
And we turned back and headed towards his men. I was nervous, and confused. But something inside of me told me I was doing okay. I guess you would call it my guy.
