10 Things to Do Before I Die (17 page)

Fraud

Well. Alone again.

At least my situation isn’t so dire as I imagined. A few more questions have been answered. Still, a Pandora’s box has also just been sprung. What did he mean by counseling? Am I going to have to start seeing a shrink? Not that I mind. I’m actually relieved at the prospect.

One comic detail: during that brief chat With Dr. Webb, I Was still clutching the photo of Mark, Nikki, and me. I hadn’t even realized it.

I Wonder What a shrink Would have to say about that?

I study the image for a minute.

If you looked at Mark and me, you’d probably think that We Were the two best friends in the World, having the time of their lives. And on one level, that’s true. But you’d never know that one of us believed he Was dying, and that the other had just hired a hooker, and that one is annoyed With the other, and that both are keeping secrets. So on another level, the picture is as fake as it looks. Which means Mark Was right. It belongs on the Walls in my home.

Those Walls are a testament to fraud.

I’ve never really thought about it until now. I mean, I have, but not in the intensive Way you think about things When you’re alone on a hospital bed. (Billy Rifkin, if you can hear me, I apologize for the thousandth time. I admit: I thought that your little sermon about dying and being reborn sounded corny. I regret that. Because … now I’m starting to understand it. A little bit, anyway. Besides, Where the hell do I come off judging you? I didn’t lose my ability to Walk. Compared to you, nothing happened to me.)

Anyway, now I know What my parents believe about those photos. I’ve known it forever, inside. They believe: photos always tell the truth. Why Wouldn’t they? They’re instantaneous! Naturally they should represent What life is like at its most candid and natural, right?

And they do, on a superficial level.

But in my home, it’s all superficiality. There’s nothing deeper.

The photos represent What life is supposed to be like.

Look at how happy this family is, you might say, examining all our portraits. You might even believe We Were super-close. You Would. I Would! That’s the scary part. Because the more time passes, the more truthful the fraud becomes. The memories fade. Only the false representations remain. And soon even I Won’t be able to tell the difference. I’ll brainwash myself into believing that I Was happy once, that We all Were. I’ll think: Here I am, With my super-close family!

I Won’t even remember Why I called them out-of-their-gourds Wacko… .

No Wonder I suffered a panic attack.

Cartoon Characters

A few minutes later there’s a loud knock on the door.

“Come in,” I call.

The door swings open. I Was hoping it Would be Mark. It’s not. It’s my parents. They look even more Wiped out than he did. Mom clutches her handbag in front of her. The sharp creases in her business suit match the Worry lines on her forehead. Dad’s in a suit, too—though his is considerably less crisp. His gray hair is uncombed. He looks as if he spent the night sniffing Elmer’s in an empty lot.

“How are you, Ted?” he asks, hesitating in the doorway.

I muster a smile. “I’ve had better days, I guess.”

Mom stares down at her feet. “Ted … I—I just don’t know What to say. I just never … This business of the prostitute, of your threatening behavior at the airport, the alcohol … This isn’t the Ted We know.”

I blink. At first my throat tightens. Then I almost laugh. Incredible. That’s What she has to say to me after everything that’s happened? Yes, I screWed up on a variety of levels—but still, I’m their only child, and I’m lying in a hospital bed. And those are the first Words out of her mouth? That I’m not the Ted they know?

“But you don’t even know me!” I shout.

They both glare at me, aghast.

“Ted!” Dad barks.

“But you don’t. Listen to you! I Was trying to run away! Don’t you get it? I mean … I’m sorry, but I’ve been lying here for a While, and I’ve had a lot of time to think about stuff. Besides, Dr. Webb says I should be allowed to vent because that’s Why I’m here in the first place. You know, because of the panic attack. Because you guys stress me out. I mean, not just you guys, but—”

“Ted!” Dad interrupts, raising his palms and smiling nervously. “Relax, kiddo! Don’t get so Worked up!”

I sink back against the pillows. “Sorry. But I should feel like I know my own parents. And I don’t. You’re like these … these … I don’t know—these cartoon characters to me. And I know that sounds harsh, and I know it’s partly my fault. But it shouldn’t be like that. I mean, yes. Most kids have strained relationships With their parents. But they still have relationships. Even Mark, Who sees his mother maybe four times a year, even he knows her, deep down—”

“Ted, obviously you’re still under sedation,” Mom cuts in. “I think We should talk later.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Dad breathes shakily. “Mark Would like to see you again, anyway.”

I nod, swallowing. My throat is drier than ever. “Mark is …”

Mark’s head suddenly floats into view, looming in the door Way between theirs. Boy, do I Wish I had that Polaroid now.

“Ted?” Mom says, With the self-possessed tone she always adopts When she’s in public.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but …” She tries to smile. “I thought of something that might cheer you up. I don’t know Why—” She sighs and turns away. “A boy named Wes left several messages on our machine. I had a hard time understanding him, but I think he said that if you Were still alive, he Wanted you to join his band … you know, the one you like so much? Chafes the Clown?”

“Really?”

Mark’s eyes Widen. He bursts into a huge smile. “Dude!” he mouths silently.

For some reason, I feel like crying.

Mom and Dad shuffle out into the hall.

“Hey, Mom?” I call after her.

“Yes?”

I clear my throat. “I know I’m not exactly in a position to ask you guys a favor … but if Wes calls again, Will you do something for me?”

“Yes?”

“Please just tell him no thanks. Tell them I’m starting my own band.”

“Will do, kiddo,” Dad answers for her.

Walls and Barriers

Mark closes the door behind them.

“I’m proud of you,” he says.

I sniff. “Proud?”

“I’m serious!” He steps forward. His hands are clasped behind his back. It looks as if he’s hiding something. “I mean, okay, I’m pissed at you, too. But I heard that Whole conversation. I heard everything that just Went on between you and your parents. And When I heard it, I knew that I Was right.”

“Right about What?” I mutter, Wiped out. I rub my puffy eyes.

“About how Burger Was dead.”

“Mark,” I groan. “Please—”

“No, I know you, Ted. You’re always trying to impose order on the chaos.”

I almost laugh. “Listen, man, I really don’t know if I can deal With any sort of grand philosophy right now. I don’t need to hear about the doughnut-shaped universe.”

“No, no, no! Just let me finish. I do know you. I mean, I knew Burger. See, Burger had this Weird set of routines and barriers. Burger set up all these Walls around himself. Which is What I’m talking about. Burger tried to keep things simple, all mellow and Whatever, but how could he? There’s no Way to impose order on the chaos—not even if you let everybody else make decisions for you! Not even if you hide by obsessing about a stupid band all the time! Get it? That Burger is long gone!”

“Mark?”

He closes his Wild eyes for a second and then opens them in an exhausted blink. “Yeah?”

“Maybe you should get some rest,” I say.

He laughs. “I gotta split right now, anyway. But don’t Worry. I just got off the phone With Nikki. Rachel’s at her place, and they’ll be here soon.”

I jerk upright. “They’re together?”

“Yeah. See, Nikki called me as soon as she got home. I explained What Was going on. Then she called Rachel and invited her over to hang out. You know, until they got Word that you Were all right.”

“I don’t get it. How did they …”

Mark stares at me. “They probably had a lot to talk about. Like how you tried to kiss Nikki in the cab.”

I swallow.

“Funny,” Mark says. “I don’t remember seeing that on the list.”

“Mark, I’m so sorry,” I blurt. “I swear—”

“Shhh.” He raises a finger to his lips. “It Was a long time coming.”

“But I—”

“Hey, don’t think you’re so special. We’ve all got Walls and barriers. We all run and hide. The good thing is, We’ve got plenty of time to talk about it now. Right? I mean, just think What Rachel and Nikki are talking about right now.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Well, don’t Worry too much. We don’t Want you to have another panic attack. They actually get along really Well. They’ve never really hung out before all that much, you know? Rachel is really, really nice.”

I’m at a loss for Words again.

“Oh, but before I split, I just Wanted you to have this. I Wrote it While you Were getting examined and stuff, While you Were still out. I Was gonna give it to the Circle Eat so they could name a meal after you—you know, in a Worst-case scenario. It’s number ten on the list. It’s not a fountain or a park, but Whatever… .”

Mark shoves another crumpled napkin into my hands and hurries out the door.

THE TED BURGER: Fries and Ketchup on a Bun
$6.95

Named in honor of loyal customer Ted Burger (yes, his real name), who was a big fan of fries. As you enjoy this odd burger, remember that when there
is
no burger, you shed the entire burger identity—and on the last day of his life, Ted Burger learned how to shed the Burger identity, too. That’s how he made his mark.

Metaconclusion

Yes, you’re entitled to know: A little sniffling goes on.

I blow my nose in the napkin.

Mark Singer is a very Wise kid. It’s clear, isn’t it? He knows me. He knows me in the Way that only a best friend can.

My Whole life, I’ve fought to impose order on the chaos, to build a Wall of routines and barriers. And then came that final day: Burger’s spring break, ten things to do before I die, the chapters, the chapters Within chapters, the visions of my own funeral—the lists, the bullet points, the footnotes …

But you can’t impose order on the chaos. You can’t divide it up. Reality isn’t like that. Reality isn’t neat. It comes as it comes, in a great roar—not in lists and footnotes and chapters, but in real time. There’s no Way to divide it up, no Way to keep it at a safe distance no matter how hard you try. Sure, you can hole up in your room and fantasize about being in your favorite band. Sure, you can pretend that you have a good relationship With a nice, beautiful girl even though you don’t. You can even go for years Without communicating With your parents; you can even lust after your best friend’s girlfriend—and hate yourself for it because you love your best friend… . But you can’t hide. Sooner or later, reality Will catch up With you. It always does.

So.

Rachel and Nikki are on their Way to see me. Together. Mom and Dad are Waiting outside to finish the conversation We started. Together. A large dose of reality is coming at me. And I’m apprehensive, maybe even a little freaked. But I’m alive. I’m not running away anymore. Besides, even if I Wanted to run away, I couldn’t— because I’m trapped in a hospital bed in Brooklyn.

Honestly, though, I don’t Want to. Mark Was right. Burger is dead. And as far as Who takes his place … Well, I’ll just have to Wait and see. But I’m hopeful. I really am this time—no joke. The glass is half-f and rising.

1
Their real names are Wes Levitz and Herbert Goldstein.

2
Just take a look at their names. They aren’t so far from Ted Burger.

3
It’s on their first three-song demo: an impossible-to-find CD (but yes, I have it) called Clowned Out.

4
Hailed by one critic as “the Citizen Kane of alcoholic clown movies.”

5
I have the original ad taped to my bedroom door.

6
Real name: Glenda Givens. She Was training to be a cop until a fellow officer sexually harassed her, Whereupon she punched him in the groin and quit. True story. I downloaded the police report.

Epilogue: A Month Later

“I can’t believe it,” Nikki says.

“What, that We came back here after What happened?”

“No. That they actually added Mark’s Ted Burger to the menu.”

“Well, of course they did. Who doesn’t love fries on a bun?”

She laughs.

It’s the first time We’ve been back to the Circle Eat. We’re sitting across from each other at our old booth. Looking around, you might think nothing had happened. It still stinks of grease. Nikki is still all in black; I still register a nine-point-five on the Afro Q-Tip meter. Old Meatloaf Lady, Guy With Crumbs in His Beard, P.Y.T.—they’ve all returned, too, all to their usual counter-stools or tables.

There are two very significant and conspicuous absences, however. Leo is in jail, pending his trial. And Where Mark always sat beside Nikki … Well, my guitar case and her knapsack currently occupy that spot.

“Besides, Mark is a living legend,” I add. I glance around. “He saved this place. Speaking of Which, he really needs his picture on the Wall.”

Nikki lays the plastic menu on the table. She stares down at it, her black hair shielding her. “So he didn’t Want to come today, huh?”

“No, no. He did. It’s just he’s …” I laugh and shake my head. “He’s making a documentary about Leo’s trial.”

Nikki looks up and brushes the black strands out of her face, finally revealing her beautiful, saucer-alien eyes. “Wait—What?” she asks, smiling.

“Yeah. He’s doing this project With the film club because he’s super-pissed that Leo’s lawyer isn’t pleading insanity. He said that this Whole thing jump-started an interest in documentary filmmaking and the legal system. He said that he had a long talk With his father and that he doesn’t have a ‘thing’ either. So he has to find something to do With all his energy. He never had an outlet for it before, and, Well, you know, his judgment stinks… .” I leave the sentence hanging.

Her smile grows Wistful. “So you guys are cool?”

“Getting there.” I shake my head, puzzled. “But you know about all this, right? He says he talks to you all the time.”

She sighs. “We do talk, I guess. We just don’t really … you know. Talk.”

I nod, looking into the black orbs. I do know. And she knows it. Nothing more needs to be said.

“But hey, did you notice the smell When We first came in?” she asks suddenly. “That deep-fried grease smell? It Was crazy.”

I glance around the diner and lean toward her. “I know exactly What you mean,” I Whisper so only she can hear. “You know What my shrink told me? Like the very first thing he said to me? I mean, aside from the fact that my parents should probably be in on my sessions, too? He Warned me that I shouldn’t come back to the Circle Eat. He said that neurological studies prove that odor is the most powerful stimulus for triggering traumatic memories.”

“Really?” she asks. “So Why did you come back here?”

I shrug, settling back in the seat. “Because you Wanted to.”

“I don’t believe you, Ted.”

“I’m serious!”

She reaches across the table for my hand. “Don’t BS me,” she murmurs dryly, looking straight into my eyes.

I laugh. “Okay, I came back here because my band’s rehearsal space is right around the corner, and I knew I Would be hungry, and the food is good here—and I Wanted to see you, and I knew you Wanted to come here. Satisfied?”

She squeezes my fingers for a moment. “Not really. I think you came back here because you Wanted to see your name in print on the menu.” Then she lets go and unzips her knapsack.

“You know What I can’t believe?” I find myself saying.

“What?” She pulls out a notebook and lays it on the table.

“That you’re actually going on that Amnesty International retreat.”

She chuckles, clicking open a pen, all business. “Well, I still have to get in first. Rachel said that the spaces are getting really limited. Anyway, it’ll probably do me some good to get away this summer. It’ll probably do us all some good.”

I shake my head. “Actually, What I really can’t believe is that you guys are so tight now.”

Nikki blinks. Her cheeks redden. She concentrates on her notebook. “Neither can I. But you guys are still friends, right? She says she talks to you.”

“Well, sort of,” I reply honestly. “But it’s the same thing. We talk, but We don’t talk. She Was so pissed at me that day When you guys came to see me in the hospital. Not that I blame her. She had every reason to be pissed. Basically, every single thing I ever said to her Was a lie. Except maybe about Shakes the Clown. She’s got a lot of forgiving to do.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Nikki states, still studying her notebook.

I glance at my Watch. “She doesn’t?”

Nikki shakes her head. “Nope.”

“You’ll have to tell me Why sometime,” I say, scooting out of the booth. I Want to stay With Nikki and finish this conversation— I Want to stay With her no matter Where I am or Who I’m With— but I have to get to band practice. We’re having auditions today for a singer. It’s a seminal moment. Once We have a singer, the band Will be complete. Finding a bassist and drummer Was insanely easy. Mark helped me make a bunch of flyers (nothing offensive, just BASSIST AND DRUMMER WANTED)… . Anyway, We posted them all over the school, and the bassist and drummer from the jazz band—John and George—answered immediately because as it turns out, Mr. Puccini is friends With the jazz band conductor, Who put in a good Word for me. The three of us jammed, it clicked, and We’ve been rehearsing almost every day for the past two Weeks. John and George have the same tastes I do. They love Shakes the Clown, too. (The music of Shakes the Clown, that is.) And after We get a singer … Well, all We have to do is come up With a name. Then it’s straight to the Onyx.

“Ted, I’m serious,” Nikki says. She grabs my forearm as I reach over her for my guitar. Her ringed fingers are cold against my skin.

“Serious about What?”

“Rachel doesn’t have a lot of forgiving to do. She lied to you, too.”

I have to laugh. Very funny, I think. Rachel is to lying What Pinocchio is to telling the truth. Lying isn’t a part of Rachel’s makeup. She’d probably have a violent reaction if she tried to tell a lie. She’s Honest With a capital H. “Uh … I think I’m going to have to disagree With you on this one—”

“I mean it, Ted,” Nikki says. Her tone softens. Her fingers slide down my Wrist to my hand. “She’d kill me if she knew I told you this. But maybe she told me because she Wanted me to tell you.”

My pulse picks up a notch. “Tell me What?” I ask.

“She lied about guitar lessons. She only started taking guitar lessons With Mr. Puccini after you introduced yourself to her.”

I laugh again. “No, she didn’t.”

“Yes, she did. She researched you, Ted. She had a total crush on you. And When she found out you took guitar lessons from Mr. Puccini, she came up With this huge scheme. She thought that if she just stared and stared at you, you might introduce yourself. And if you did, then she’d already have this Mr. Puccini story in place. And then she’d start taking guitar lessons to make the story true. Which is exactly What happened.”

I clutch Nikki’s hand tightly. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true, Ted,” she says.

“It’s …” I let go and glance at my Watch again. Damn. I’m late. I sling my guitar case over my shoulder. “But if Rachel Wanted to meet me, Why didn’t she just start taking lessons With Mr. Puccini? I mean, before? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

Nikki grins. “Because she’s a lot like you, Ted.”

“She is?”

“Yeah. She covers up her tortured soul With clownish shenanigans, too. She Was Worried Mr. Puccini Would tell her she had no talent. She Was Worried about being rejected. By you, by him, by everyone. She Was just Worried. So she came up With a brilliant plan involving staring at you and lying. Make sense?”

I swallow. “No. No, it doesn’t.”

“Well, don’t Worry about it too much. She’ll get over it. It’ll just take time.” Nikki smiles briefly and turns back to her notebook. “Anyway, I’ve gotta Write this essay for the retreat… .”

I lean over to kiss her on the top of the head and then head for the exit. I’m not letting her off the hook. This conversation Will be finished. She knows it. I know it. We also know We have lots of time. We have an entire future.

“Oh, hey!” she shouts after me. “Who are you auditioning today? You know, for a singer?”

“Billy Rifkin,” I call over my shoulder. “Turns out he started taking singing lessons after his accident.”