10 Things To Do Before I Die Part 10

"I did," I admit. "And ..."

Bee bee beep! Bee bee beep!

"... And he's not the same person he Was before," I manage. "He's changed. So I didn't ... I mean, I just didn't."

Our eyes meet once more, briefly. Nikki smiles. I see a glint of understanding. In those alien orbs, I see everything that's not said: that she knows I Would never punch anyone in the face ... and also that she feels bad about Mark, and that telling him he had no soul Was unfair, and that she doesn't know the funky chicken. I Want to tell her I understand. But I don't.

She scurries out of the room, closing the door behind her. Which probably says something, too. I'm just not sure What.

Trusting a Person Is All That Matters.

I grab the phone and collapse on the bed. "Rachel?"

"Ted?" Her voice sounds tiny, as if she's calling from Bucharest.

"Listen, Rachel, I am so glad you called because-"

"Ted, I'm so sorry for storming off this afternoon."

"No, no. It Wasn't your fault. It Was my fault."

"What's all that noise?" she asks.

"What noise? You mean the static?"

"No, I hear music," she says. "Can you turn it down?"

"No!" I bolt upright and then quickly collapse again. The vertigo seems to be Worsening. "I mean, no. You see ... I Was in the living room earlier. I Was feeling really sick, you know? Music makes me feel better. So I turned on the stereo. Rachel, you have to understand: something really bad happened to me today."

"Ted, I know. I'm so sorry."

"No, I mean something really bad."

"Yeah, I understand. You got sick, and then you acted mean. I know I should have trusted you. I know I can trust you."

"Rachel, you have to listen-"

"Trusting a person is all that matters," she continues, but her signal is starting to break up. "You don't even drink! It's just that When I saw your shirt this afternoon and the Way your face looked ... I just ... I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Rachel. I accept your apology. But look, did you see the news today?"

"Did you say the blues? Are you sad? Is this a guitar thing?"

"The news. Did you see it? Because-"

The bedroom door crashes open.

Joy stands before me, Wagging a crystal decanter in front of her face. It's empty.

"Yo, sweetheart?" she squawks. "You got some more of this Wine?" She spots the cell phone and clamps her free hand over her mouth. "Oh, d.a.m.n, sorry!" she Whispers. "That's your old lady, right?"

"Ted?" Rachel's voice rattles in my ear. "Is there somebody in your apartment right now?"

"Well, um ..." d.a.m.n it. I can't lie now. I scowl at Joy as she staggers back out into the hall. (Isn't she supposed to know the meaning of discreet?) "Yeah, see, Well, one of my parents' friends came to check up on me. My parents called her from Denver because they knew I Was sick. It's Mrs... . It's Mrs... ."

I feverishly hunt for a name-and then a miracle occurs: For the second time tonight, I conjure a masterful lie out of thin air. (Is it possible that Leo's poison increases the brain's potential before killing you?) "It's Mrs. Rifkin. She came to check up on me. She's an old family friend. She's a really cool Woman. She brought her checkbook, too."

"Her checkbook? I don't get it."

"She knows I'm involved in Amnesty International, so she made a two-hundred-dollar donation. She thought it Would make me feel better."

There's silence on the other end.

"Rachel?"

"Ted, I don't believe you."

"You don't?"

"No. You're lying. I can tell. I can always tell When you're lying. Just like I can always tell When you're being honest. That's how I knew you Were really sick today. But now ... We Were just talking about this! We Were just talking about trust!"

Click.

"Rachel? Rachel?" I can't believe it. For the first time ever, Rachel has hung up on me. She's that mad. I stare up at the ceiling. I Watch it rotate slowly, like a giant Whirlpool. I should try to call her back. I should run over there right now. I should, I should ... That's What this day is turning into, my "should" day. But I can't think about that right now. I have more pressing matters: namely, making sure that Mark gets Joy the h.e.l.l out of here-and that he makes up With Nikki so We can all leave together. Because in spite of the fact that I feel terrible about Rachel, I'm suddenly filled With excitement.

I'm about to see Shakes the Clown!

Unbelievable. But I guess that's What happens When you're a sixteen-year-old music geek. That's What happens When you're an immature teenager Who Worships a bugged-out band. Even When you've just been a jerk to the one person Who doesn't deserve it, you still fantasize about meeting these demented heroes of yours. Meeting them takes precedence over your own girlfriend.

Of course I Would never, ever admit this to anyone because it's too ridiculous and loathsome. But at least I admitted it to myself for once. That's a start, right?

I toss the phone on the bed and stumble out to the living room.

Doughnut-Shaped Universe.

Bad news: Nikki has just left the premises. She Wasn't joking.

Worse news: Joy has decided to keep dancing, this time on the coffee table.

I can see scuff marks forming With every stomp and twist of her stiletto heels. She's helped herself to another bottle from the liquor cabinet, too-What looks like Jack Daniel's, although she's moving too fast and I'm too dizzy to tell for sure. She guzzles it straight. Mark crouches below her, snapping pictures With a Polaroid. I didn't know that he'd brought a camera. And actually ... No, it's not his. I'm sure of this because somebody has rifled through the bureau Where my parents keep their Polaroid. Drawers have been flung open. Old receipts are strewn everywhere.

"Yo, you got mad pictures up in this place!" Joy shouts at me, Waving a hand at the Walls in time to the music. "This place is crazy!"

Can't argue With that one. Nope. This place is crazy.

Mark Whirls around and snaps a photo of me. I Wince. The flash is blinding. Purple dots swim in front of my eyes. I stagger backward and fall into the couch.

"Let me take one!" Joy demands, hopping down.

Mark yanks the picture from the camera and tosses it on the floor, then lunges onto the couch, right on my lap.

"Oof," I grunt. "Stop it, Mark. Get off-"

Snap! There's another explosion of White light. I rub my Watery eyes, grinning in spite of it all. Wait ... am I having fun? I can't be. It's impossible. Nikki is seething With rage and Waiting outside for me, Mark called a hooker-a hooker Who seems determined to drain my parents' entire liquor cabinet- I've just been a total jerk and I'm dying of poison ... but on the other hand, there's something fairly silly about all of this.

"Burger, We got a problem," Mark says, tumbling off my lap. He grabs the camera back from Joy and snaps one more of her. "I have to hang here until nine because that's When Joy's car service is coming to pick her up. So I'll catch up With you guys at Onyx. Okay?"

I blink a few times. "Uh-Well, don't you think Joy can Wait outside?" I smile at her. "I mean, no offense."

"None taken," she says. She crouches by the liquor cabinet, eyeing What's left.

"Why should she Wait outside?" Mark asks.

"Because you should come With me and apologize to Nikki!" I shout.

"What for?" he says, as unfazed as ever. "I'll apologize When I get there."

"Mark, believe me. I know. You can't let an apology slip away-"

"Nikki's a big girl," he interrupts. "She'll be fine. She can take charge for a While. Hey, that reminds me! You better take this." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the crumpled napkin. Since I saw it last, it's been stained With brown drops (scotch?), and two more tasks have been added-bringing the list to ten: Start your own religion.

Get something named after you (like a park or a fountain).

"Uh ... number nine might be a little tough," I tell him.

"Ah, you'll figure something out. How hard can it be? This is America, dude!"

I stuff the napkin into my own pocket, on top of Mrs. Rifkin's check. "What does America have to do With starting a religion?"

"People start their own religions all the time here, Burger!" he shouts. "Some of them blow up big, too. Look at the Mormons. The trick is to find a gimmick. Like a doughnut-shaped universe."

"Mark, how drunk are you right now?"

"No, no, no: listen. This is important because you don't have to Worry about dying. I got it all figured out. See, a lot of physicists theorize that the universe is shaped like a giant doughnut, right? And if We could look hard enough ... I mean, if We had the power to see across all of time and all of s.p.a.ce and everything that has ever happened or ever Will happen-We'd just end up looking around the entire doughnut and back at ourselves, at the back of our heads. Which makes sense, if you think about it. Because they say that G.o.d created us human beings in his image, you know? So if We could look at ourselves across all of eternity ... in a Way We'd be looking at G.o.d. But We couldn't see his face. We could only see the back of his head. Because you can never see the face of G.o.d, just like they say in the Bible. And you know What that really means? We never die. We're all part of the great big circle, and We're all part of eternity, and We're all a reflection of G.o.d. We don't disappear. We decompose and our atoms disperse and maybe We even become a part of something else-but We don't die. Get it?"

"Mark, you're hysterical. Why don't you just come With me?"

"I'll come in a second, okay?" He yanks me off the couch and escorts me into the foyer. The apartment spins around me. "Don't Worry; I'll clean up here. And I'll get Joy out quick. I'll see you up at the Onyx." He hesitates for a second in front of the door. "Are We cool?"

"Mark-"

"Just get this list done for me, Burger," he says. "And take care of Nikki. Because if you don't, I'm gonna take you to the freaking hospital myself. Got it?"

Questions.

I don't argue. I simply obey. Arguing is clearly bad. It's not how I should be spending the last hours of my life, as Mark and Nikki have proved.

Outside, Nikki has already hailed a taxi. She's Waiting in the backseat, Wringing her hands. I slide in beside her and shut the door.

"Brooks Avenue and 151st Street, the Bronx," she tells the driver. "Take the Willis Avenue Bridge. Thanks."

The driver guns the accelerator. We screech down the street. My head slams against the vinyl cushions. My stomach does a quick somersault. Another reason Why I prefer ma.s.s transit to cabs: there's less chance of an accident on a subway. A subway ride is very smooth. Not so much starting and stopping, and fatalities, and- Stop it. I refuse to think about death. I try to think about Shakes the Clown. I can't, though. Now that I'm here, alone With Nikki, all I can think about is What's going on there, back up in my apartment. I steal a few glances at her.

"Nikki, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she says.

"Remember What you said earlier tonight? That I had to do something totally beyond the confines of morality? That I had to embrace the Dark Side? That I had to knock over a bank?"

"Yes, Ted," Nikki says dryly. "I Was hoping you could be our vault man."

"Seriously, listen. I'm just saying: When Mark ordered Joy for me, didn't he embrace the Dark Side? Didn't he lead by example? By taking cash out on his parents' credit card to order a hooker for his friend? I mean, yes, he is an impulsive maniac-but still, that's not the kind of thing he does every day. Just like knocking over a bank isn't something that you do every day."

She smirks at me. "Are you sticking up for him?"

"I ... uh-I, Well, yeah. I guess I am."

"Why?"

"Because he Would never hurt anybody on purpose! Especially you. He does have soul. Like the Way he jumped in to save us today at the diner. Like With his dad and the Whole dog thing. I mean, even just now, he Went on this Whole long rant about how I don't have to Worry about dying because the universe is a giant doughnut ... or something. I Was sort of too dizzy to follow. The thing is, he's just really messed up right now, you know? He's taking this poison thing even Worse than I am. That's soul."

Nikki sighs and turns away, gazing for a moment at the pa.s.sing traffic. "You're something else, you know that?" she breathes. Then she turns back to me. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why don't We go to the hospital? Right now? Okay? Please?"

I laugh queasily. "Mark just said practically the same thing. That's What I mean."

"Well, he Was being smart for once," she states. "So Why don't We do it?"