10 Things to Do Before I Die

by Daniel Ehrenhaft

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 space 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 God 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 God. But We couldn’t see his face. We could only see the back of his head. Because you can never see the face of God, 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 God. 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 mass 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 passing 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?”

 
Because I’m a coward! I’m terrified! Because I don’t Want to! Because I’d much rather go to a Shakes the Clown concert than think about it! (Forget the doctor; I need to see a shrink.) “Because I have to live life to the fullest, remember?” I reply casually. “I have to bungee jump off the GW Bridge. I mean, come on, Nikki. You said it yourself. Right?”

  And I get the desired response: She laughs. It isn’t much of a laugh, but it’s a start. She looks as if she’s about to add something.

  “What?” I say.

  “I don’t know if it’s my place to ask. It doesn’t really have anything to do With … tonight. Well, no, that’s not true. It has a lot to do With tonight.”

  “I don’t have much time, Nikki,” I joke lamely. “So you better ask away.”

  She stares at me from across the long gulf of the cab seat. “Have you been happy With Rachel? I mean these past few months, going out With her?”

  “Have I …” Wow. I Wasn’t expecting that one.

  Of course I’ve been happy With Rachel. I’ve been happy because I know What it’s like not to have a girlfriend. I know What it’s like to be horny and lonely. I know What it’s like to sit across from a couple that is absolutely, completely, 100 percent in love, day in and day out. It’s all I’ve ever known. On the other hand, I still am horny and lonely. And now it’s looking like I’ll die that Way.

  “Yes, I have been,” I end up telling her. “I’ve been happy because she likes me.”

  Nikki laughs again.

  “That’s funny?” I ask.

  “No, Ted. Sorry.” She shakes her head sadly. “It’s just, a lot of people like you. A lot of people love you. You know that? Ah—forget it. I really am sorry.”

  But I can’t tell if she’s sorry because she laughed or sorry because she implied that a lot of people love me. Unfortunately, she doesn’t pursue it any further.

  A Brief History of Shakes the Clown

  So. Since Wondering about my best friend’s girlfriend’s motives for asking me such a Weird question isn’t a Whole of fun, I’d like to take a quick time-out here to tell you a little about my favorite band:

  The singer/guitarist and bassist (Hip E. Shake and Phurm Hand Shake, respectively1 met at the EZ-LERN Driving School in Brooklyn three years ago, When they Were both sixteen.

  Both Were music geeks, so they Were naturally drawn to each other.2

  They Were kicked out of class When they decided to spike their instructor’s coffee With Manischewitz. (Their instructor, Mr. Firth, caught them in the act, an incident that Was later memorialized in the song “Kosher Firth Day.”3

  Not long after their expulsion from EZ-LERN, both discovered that they shared a love of the epic film Shakes the Clown, starring Bobcat Goldthwait.4They decided to renounce their previous identities, adopt stage names, forget about learning how to drive, and start a band named after the film.

  They placed an ad in the New York Press: TWO LOSERS SEEKING DRUMMER FOR PURPOSES OF SCAMMING OLDER CHICKS. REQUIREMENTS: MUST BE AN OLDER CHICK OR HAVE PUNCHED A COP IN THE GROIN. MUST HAVE A CAR AND/OR VALID DRIVER’S LICENSE. MUST LOVE THE EPIC FILM SHAKES THE CLOWN. MUST ACCEPT TO BE CALLED BY A NEW NAME OF OUR CHOOSING. MUSICAL SKILLS A PLUS BUT NOT NECESSARY. NO PETS.5

  A twenty-year-old, six-foot, 180-pound, black female drummer With a five-inch Afro Was the only person to respond to the ad. She met every single requirement. She agreed to be called “Sheik Down”6and joined immediately.

  Thus the greatest band in the World Was born.

  An Overwhelming Urge to Lean Over and Hug Nikki

  “What are you thinking about right now?”

  Until Nikki said the Words, I’d almost forgotten We Were in the backseat of a taxi.

  For a While now (I don’t even know how long) my mind has been festering With questions—the questions I’d managed to stave off since she and Mark showed up at my door. As in: Why the hell did Leo poison the fries? Why Would he kill the people Who Were loyal to him, Who ate his product? Who else Was poisoned? Should I notify the cops? File a report? Call my parents? They don’t even know yet! Should I forget everything and finally take my friends’ advice and just go to the stupid hospital? What Would my parents say about What I’m doing right now?

  “Ted?”

  I take a deep breath. “I Was thinking: I hope Shakes the Clown is good tonight.”

  She laughs softly. “That’s really What you Were thinking?” she says. Her black eyes glisten in the passing lights.

  “No,” I admit. “Well, sort of. I mean, this is the only time I’m ever gonna get to see them in my life, right? And they’re my heroes. And I know that’s lame and dorky, but it’s true. So they better be good. What if they aren’t as messed up as they make themselves out to be? What if they’re a bunch of poseurs? What if they suck tonight?”

  “They Won’t suck,” Nikki says in a soothing voice.

  “Yeah, but you see … Okay. I Was really thinking about my parents. I Was thinking about how they used to idolize Martha Stewart. I’m dead serious. They Worshiped her. You know, before all the scandals and stuff? ‘She’s a brand identity unto herself!’ they used to say. I mean, it Was kind of twisted. They’d be staring at her on TV like they Were Watching the Pope or something, like a religious service. ‘She’s a genius, Ted! Just Watch her!’ And then, When all the allegations came out, they felt totally betrayed. It Was like … she Was a mirror to them. She reflected What they Wanted to see in themselves. So When it turned out she Wasn’t perfect, they started doubting themselves. Because the mirror revealed these blemishes, you know?”

  Nikki swallows.

  “Ted, are you sure you’re okay?” she asks. “I mean, how do you feel right now? How does your head feel?”

  “Actually, it doesn’t feel so bad. I mean, I feel Weak and dizzy and nauseated, but it’s not as bad as it’s been.”

  “Oh,” Nikki murmurs in a quavering voice. She turns toward the window.

  I try to chuckle. She isn’t going to start crying, is she? I Wanted to lighten the mood. Time to change the subject. Or at least change it back.

  “Look, I’m just saying that if Shakes the Clown sucks tonight, then that’ll say something bad about me,” I go on. “I’ll spend the last hours of my life doubting myself. I swear. Because—and don’t laugh—they embody Purity for me, With a capital P. They’ve never cared about anything except themselves. They’ve just played and played, and they’ve invented an entirely new joke-but-not-joke style of music… . They’ve had the balls to do What I Would never do. They’ve pursued their dreams at any and all costs. They always believed in their twisted agenda, and—Well, now I’m starting to sound like I’m narrating a VH1 documentary. But it’s true—”

  “So in a Way, they can’t suck tonight,” she gently interrupts.

  “Huh?”

  A sad little smile curls on her lips. “They can’t suck, Ted. Even if they stumble off the stage piss-drunk, even if they refuse to play a single note … The thing is, you love them too much for them to suck. Just seeing them in person Will be enough. Anything they do Will make the show worthwhile. Anything.”

  I smile back. “You think so?”

  “I know so. Ted, the Whole point of having heroes is so you can look up to people Who can get away With Whatever they Want. Because like you said, they’ve always had the courage to do Whatever they Want. Right?”

  “I …” I bite my lip.

  “What?”

  “I Was just thinking … Maybe, it sounds like you’re talking about Mark?”

  Nikki laughs bitterly. “Well, maybe Mark Was my hero once,” she says.

  “He’s not anymore?” I hear myself Whisper.

  “Ted, this is your night.” She turns toward me, trying to act upbeat. “Let’s not talk about my heroes. Let’s talk about yours. Let’s talk about how you’re going to see Shakes the Clown in a few minutes, and party with them afterward, and jam all night into the Wee hours. I’m serious. I’m gonna make this happen. I swear I
Will. The second We get there. Okay?”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  I feel an overwhelming urge to lean over and hug her. But I don’t. I simply turn back to my cab window, Watching the East River as it rushes past.

  We leave it at that.

  Keep the Change

  Maybe coming to this show tonight Wasn’t such a great idea.

  Now that We’ve crossed the Willis Avenue Bridge, I remember Why I don’t make it up to the Bronx very often. It’s a little sketchy. Sure, some parts are probably beautiful. I hear Riverdale is nice. But from What I can see right now (and this is just through a taxi window), the Bronx isn’t like the other boroughs, even at their Worst. It’s got this sort of post-apocalyptic Weirdness: deserted avenues littered With blown-out tires, old buildings Where every single window is smashed, empty lots knee-deep in discarded bottles of Elmer’s glue.

  I mean, Elmer’s? How desperate Would you have to be to sniff Elmer’s?

  Clearly this neighborhood is not meant for Manhattan-bound Wimps. Not by a long shot. I squint out into the night, trying to get some sense of Where I am. Is Yankee Stadium out there? No. No, it isn’t. All I see is a decrepit Warehouse. Wait … A sign is mounted on the door. It’s spray painted in black: THE ONYX.

  So We’re here. Wonderful. There’s a big crowd outside, too. Mixed. Older. Rough looking. Lots of piercings and tattoos. All are bathed in a ghoulish White glow from a huge streetlamp overhead. (The industrial type, usually found in prison yards.) A few people stare at our taxi as it glides to a stop. None appear to be very pleased With its arrival.

  “How much money do you have, Ted?” Nikki asks.

  “Huh?”

  She points to the meter. The fare is $25.80. “Don’t Worry,” she says. “If you pay for the cab, I’ll pay for the show. I’ll charge the tickets on my credit card.”

  “Maybe it’s sold out,” I mumble. I fish through my pockets, cursing myself for not resisting the temptation to come up here. I should have gone straight to Rachel’s apartment instead.