Title
FINALE Braedan Zimmer
F
can remember, my parents watched Survivor at eight o’clock on Thursday nights. During elementary school, I lay awake in bed an hour past bedtime, straining to hear Jeff Probst’s voice and my parents’ whispered reactions. Thanks to persistent negotiations, my bedtime was finally extended, and my brother’s a year later.
OR AS LONG AS I
In the several years after he joined us, Survivor grew into more than just a Thursday evening tradition—it became the anticipated weekly event in our household. We each chose our favourite contestants, living vicariously through
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Non-Fiction
them in their struggle for power. After each tribal council and the elimination of another teary, hot-headed, or bravely deadpan contestant, the four of us would remain in our living room, plotting each alliance’s next move. Everything led up to the season finales, which were longawaited and invited a feverish excitement that rivalled even our own birthdays. This particular finale, though, was the most anticipated of any—we would all be gathering around the tv again. My mother, who’d been living in palliative care for weeks, had arranged to join us at home.