Work Text:
Dear Mr. Gary Barkovitch,
Congratulations!
Your voluntary submission to participate in the Long Walk has been accepted through lottery.
You now have the rare honor of representing your state as a symbol of hope in these economically desperate times.
The entire nation will be watching the live broadcast with admiration and awe.
If you win, unimaginable riches and a single wish await – a chance to break free from today's financial struggles and inspire the nation.
Please report to the starting line on May 1st by 8:00 a.m.
Luck to you, Mr. Barkovitch.
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"Meemaw?"
"I'm listening to my show." The radio drones on, some substanceless soap opera with state-approved plot points. Every episode sounds the same to him.
"Well can you turn it down a second?"
She sighs, twisting the dial on the radio to mute it, then turns toward the sound of his voice. "What is it?"
The words catch in his throat, mouth open but silent. She scoffs, throwing her hands up and pressing him to go on, "Well?"
"I'm leavin' tomorrow."
His hands shake as he lays the letter down on the kitchen table.
Her eyes, milky white hiding the blue that used to match his, stare straight through him. He doesn't need to read it to her for her to know what it says. "No."
"Meemaw—"
"I'm telling you no." Her voice is firm and unflinching, but there is a panic in her face. It makes Gary's stomach churn.
She reaches for the letter and he lets her bring it close to her face to read it, shaking her head and pressing her hand over her lips.
He starts pacing. "We need—"
"Need what? What the fuck do you wanna die so bad for?" The sharp sound of her slamming the letter back onto the table startles him. The anger in her voice makes him shrink back.
"I'm not gonna die." He's not sure he believes that.
"What, you think you're gonna win?"
"I–"
"Gary. They've got athletes signing up. Bigger, stronger than you. You're not going to win."
"But I could! I could, I got a plan. I'll go and win, and‐and we can get out of here, and I could use my wish for your—"
"God damn it, Gary, listen to yourself! You wanna do this stupid shit for my sake?" Her voice finally cracks, and she waves him closer. He takes her hand, squeezes it. "No. No, baby. What I need is for you to stay here."
Gary shakes his head. "I have to go. You know we can't keep on like this. You're not eatin' right, you're not seein' right!"
"I don't need to eat right, I'm seventy-five for Christ's sake. I'm on my way out."
"You can't say that."
"You've got a whole life ahead of you, don't throw it away just 'cause I give you my rations! You need them, you're all skin and bones." Gary screws his eyes shut and jerks his head once for no.
"If I win then we'll both be fed, and—"
"And if you die—"
Pulling his hand away, Gary raises his voice. "If I die you'll stop fuckin' starving to feed me anyway!"
"Watch your mouth!" She smacks his arm, but not enough to hurt. It's hypocritical. There's no one to blame for his mouthiness but herself.
"You know all I am is a leech on you."
"That's not true. Don't say that, don't be stupid. You're the only thing that matters to me."
"That's sad."
"That's called being your grandmother, you little asshole."
He starts tearing up, glad she can't see details anymore. "You shouldn't have to do it. You shouldn't, and you won't have to anymore, cuz I'm gonna buy us a big house, and you're gonna see again, a-and..."
She's blind, not deaf. Hearing his voice start to shake, she brushes her hand over his cheek, shaking her head. "Don't go," she whispers.
He stiffens his lip. "I walk everywhere. Uphill, even, you know that. To the city and back. I got a shot at it, I got good shoes. I'm going."
"You're gonna leave me all alone."
"Not if I win."
"I'm not following it." The radio broadcast, she means.
"That's fine."
"Not gonna listen to you die."
He doesn't respond.
"How are you gonna get to the starting line? I can't take you."
"They'll pay for it. Bus you up."
"When?"
"They'll get me at 6 PM. Be in Maine by 8 AM, like it says."
There's a tense, silent moment where her expression is unreadable.
Then she breaks. He's in her arms before he can react, stiff and shocked. They don't hug often, but now he holds onto her tightly and she squeezes him so hard he wheezes. "Nothing I can say to stop you, is there? First I lost your mother, now I gotta lose you too?"
Gary doesn't answer, can't answer. His throat is too tight. He focuses on the smell of her perfume, trying to commit every note of it to his memory. He shakes his head against her shoulder.
"You're so stupid."
"I know, Meemaw."
"So fuckin' stupid."
"I know."
He can't tell how long they stay like that, weepy and wordless. Her voice croaks when she breaks the silence, pushing him back and holding him by the shoulders. "I'll be waiting for you. You remember that when you're up there."
"I will."
"I love you."
"Love you too."
----------
The dull handle of his spoon takes a lot of force to plunge into his throat. He feels his esophagus muscles flex around it, screaming in protest. Hot blood gushes down his neck, and he hears Ray scream from behind him.
He can't scream, he can only gurgle as he falls to the ground.
Warning. Second warning, five.
He can't breathe. It hurts. He writhes weakly on the pavement, legs kicking. He can feel himself fading, but not fast enough to stop the pain. Are those horses?
Third warning, five. Final warning.
Maybe it's his mind, cracked into pieces from the trauma and lack of sleep, or maybe it's that "life flashing before your eyes" stuff people talk about, but he swears... for just a second, he smells her perfume on the air.
BANG!
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She turns the radio off.