"Eddie, why?"
He clenched his aspirator in one fist, his other hand taken by his mother. She tugged on it like he was a rag doll, her expression waiflike. Her nails dug into his wrist, and as he began to move away they slipped off and she moved to the sleeve of his jacket.. He swore she was going to tear it. He hadn't packed another jacket-was he supposed to? The rulebook hadn't said anything about that. But it got really cold up in Maine, probably no colder than his Connecticut hometown, but it was probably best to have a working jacket.
"I don't know, Mom. I don't know."
"Eddie, you…" She trailed off. "Eddie, why would you do something like this?! Don't you know how much you have back home?! You've even got a scholarship at the local university! Please, Eddie!"
"The backout date was yesterday, Mom. You drove me. I don't know why you drove me if you didn't want me to go." He didn't really believe it himself. He got out of the car, and she followed. She looked so much older somehow. He knew she wasn't young anymore, truthfully, he didn't believe she ever had been, but she looked at him like a woman on the last legs of life.
She didn't respond, only led him up to the turnstyle where a khaki-clad soldier stood. She fished around in her purse for a blue card, then handed it to him. Gulping, he swiped it in the silver turnstyle. Didn't they have things like this in New York City? On the subway? He'd always wanted to go to the city. Maybe this was close enough. A message flashed on the green screen by the soldier's seat.
KASPBRAK, EDWARD LOUIS
HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT
OK-OK-OK
He and his mother stood there silently for a moment. "Eddie," she said. She was wearing out his name. "Eddie." Stop saying that, he wanted to shout. Just stop it! Just say whatever it is you want to say, don't say my name!
"What, Mom?"
"I love you, Eddie."
"I know, Mom." I know. I know from how you won't let me go to any of the school dances, or go out after seven at night, or get a driver's license.
"You've got your aspirator? Eddie, I don't think this is such a good idea, not with your asthma."
"Goodbye, Mom."
"Eddie!" She enveloped him in a hug. It felt like a death grip. "My Eddie, my baby…"
He freed himself from her embrace. The soldier took his card and silently allowed him to pass through. He didn't look back. He couldn't look back, because he'd see her looking back at him with those dead, watery eyes. Her Eddie. Her baby. Her Eddie, off to join the Long Walk. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, trying to process for a moment what had happened. He felt a cough rising in his throat and swallowed it as best he could. He wanted to start off good and strong.
What a fucking laugh, he thought. Good and strong, my ass. You're asthmatic and sickly. He opened his eyes, took a deep, raspy breath and stepped forward. He wouldn't think like that. That's what his mother would think. That wasn't what he thought. He was a good, strong boy. He'd tried out for the soccer team and sure, he'd had an asthma attack, but at least he'd tried. He'd had the willpower to at least be able to try. And he could run alright. More importantly, he could walk. There was no way you could get out of breath walking. Right? Right?
"Are you ready for the walk of your life?!" A voice mimicking the voice of a TV advertiser made Eddie nearly jump out of his skin. Somebody had come up behind him and clapped him on the back. "Oh, man, did I scare ya?" The voice changed from the TV advertiser to a higher, younger sounding one. Eddie turned around. The boy had a smattering of freckles on his pale face, and hair the color of caramel. But the thing that was most noticeable about him was the thick, square glasses over his eyes. The piece that went over the bridge of his nose had a piece of duct tape across it, Eddie thought that his mother would say he looked like a troublemaker.
"No! No, I'm fine. Honest. And I don't know if I'm ready. Is anybody ready?"
"Good point." The boy laughed. "Richie Tozier's my name, voices are my game. I hail from good old New York. Who're you?"
"Eddie Kaspbrak. From Connecticut."
"Eddie! What a name! Eddie! Does anybody ever call you Eds?"
"Anybody ever call you annoying?" He felt lame, pretending he knew how boys his age conversed. Should he have put in a swear word there? He'd kind of wanted to say 'pain in the ass,' but something in him stopped him. He felt like his mother was still watching. Like she would somehow hear him say it. But what he'd said made Richie Tozier from New York cackle.
"Good one, Eds! Boy, I like you." He grinned. Eddie looked back at the parking lot behind the turnstyle. His mother's blue Prius was gone. He looked back at Richie. Next to Richie, he could really tell how short he was. It was kind of humiliating. He barely reached Richie's neck. And when he looked forward, there was the road. The white line down the middle went on for as far as Eddie's eyes could see, and he could practically see the heat steaming off of the pavement. 8:53 AM wasn't really a hot time of day, but he figured that by noon it would be burning up. "What's on your mind?" Richie asked.
"The road's gonna be pretty hot soon."
"You're looking pretty hot. I'm feeling pretty hot. Won't be a problem." Eddie decided he had no idea what any of what Richie Tozier said meant. But he didn't feel pretty hot. He realized he was still clutching his aspirator and quickly shoved it into the pocket of his jacket before Richie could comment on it. He spotted a group of boys sitting on the edge of the road. As if reading his mind, Richie asked jovially "Shall we go join them?"
"I guess."
Three boys sat on the concrete side of the road. One was small and lanky, with dark hair and dark eyes and a packsack with lots of what looked like boy scout buttons on it tied around his back. Next to him was a taller boy with hair that was bright red and curly. He held a moleskine notebook and a ballpoint pen. The third boy was chubbier, with short, spiky blond hair and beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. Eddie felt really rude thinking it, but he wondered what a guy like that was doing in the Walk. But if he was there he had to have passed the physical test just like they all had.
"Hey," Richie said.
The dark-haired Boy Scout looked up. "Hello." He smiled. "I'm Stan Uris. What's your name?"
"Richie Tozier. My pal here is Eddie Kaspbrak, but I call him Eds."
Eddie's face reddened. Since when were they pals? And 'Eds' sounded like something his mother would've made up. "Don't call me Eds," he blurted out.
Stan Uris laughed. "B-Bill Denbrough," the redhead said. At first, Eddie thought he was just stuttering because he was nervous. But it didn't sound like a nervous stutter. It sounded more...inherent. Like he was used to it. "Nice to m-meet you."
"Ben Hanscom," the chubby boy said. His voice shook a little. They sat there in silence for a few moments, seeming to ponder the fact that these weren't just lambs to the slaughter but honest to god human beings with names..
Stan Uris was the one who broke the silence. "The Walk's in my blood. My uncle was in the Long Walk."
"Did he win?" Richie asked. There was something in his tone that made Eddie think he was making fun of him. Stan was silent. He seemed about to say something when someone sauntered over and kicked Ben Hanscom in the rear. Ben whirled around. The boy in question was a tall, pimply boy with dark, grimy-looking hair and a poor complexion.
"What's a fatty like you doing in the Long Walk?" The boy grinned.
"Screw off!" Ben's eyes had narrowed. "I'll walk over your dead body! Just you wait!" But his voice was still shaking.
The boy laughed raucously.
"Wh-who do you think you are?" Bill Denbrough asked.
"Henry Bowers is my name. Remember it when it's in the papers after I win. Oh, wait, you'll be dead, so you won't remember."
Richie stood up. "You're real sure of that, aren't you?" He stepped closer to Henry Bowers. "Really sure? You sure that you're not going to end up dead meat on the road like the rest of us? Got something special up your sleeve-or down your pants, if that's how you roll-that the rest of us don't?" He took another step towards him. "Well, buddy, have I got some news for you." His face was inches from Henry's now. "You're gonna die just like the rest of us. Except for that lucky winner. Which I can tell for sure won't be you." A crowd of boys had drawn around their little circle. Eddie wondered if Richie had a death wish. Henry was about to take a swing at him. Hint 13, Eddie wanted to yell. Conserve energy whenever possible! Don't get in a fight!
But luckily, that was when The Major said it for him. "Hint 13, boys."
He had seemed to have come out of nowhere. The military superhero all the country adored. The man who ran the Long Walk. Right here, in the flesh. He could see himself in The Major's mirrored sunglasses. Eddie felt another cough rise in his throat. Henry Bowers stopped mid-punch. "Sorry, sir." He glowered at Richie, then sat down. Richie sat down beside Eddie.
They all knew what was going to happen now. The Major started to read off the list of names, alphabetically organized. He had a pile of leaves of paper in one hand that all had numbers on them. Eddie had always wondered who printed those papers. That would be one hell of a job. He started with A. The first boy had some kind of Greek last name, Angelakos or Argitakos or something. Henry Bowers stalked up to receive his #7. Bill Denbrough was #11. Ben Hanscom was #21. A lumbering boy named Patrick Hockstetter was #22. Finally, he, Eddie Kaspbrak, wandered up to meet The Major, a #30 pinned on his shirt. The ink smelled fresh. Richie didn't go up until late, and was given #91. Stan Uris, who soon became #93, walked up like he was receiving a diploma.
"It is now 8:56," The Major said. "Line up on the starting line."
Eddie followed Richie and Stan. "He talked to me," Stan whispered. "He talked to me. He said he was a Scout as a kid, too. I think he likes me."
"Is it really worth it to have The Major like you?" Richie said. He sounded almost sad, nothing like the Richie who'd clapped him on the back and called him Eds just a few minutes ago.
Food belts and canteens were being passed down, like papers in a classroom. Take one and pass it down, Eddie thought, and almost giggled. They were just kids. Just kids. Teenagers. And they were in the Long Walk. Imagine that. People had always said the Walk was a boys' sport, as was demonstrated by the fact that those over eighteen couldn't enter. Eddie had always thought that was-dare he use the word-fucked up.
The Major raised his pistol. There was a moment of absolute silence.
The shot rang out. And they were off.
.
Well. This is exciting. I am certainly excited to write this.
