10 Things To Do Before I Die Part 18

Death of a Clown: III.

SCENE: A cemetery. A lone burial plot. My casket, descending into the earth.

It's the end of the service. Dad steps up to the podium. He pulls a folded letter out of his pocket. "Before We conclude here today, Ted asked that I read something. He Wrote it just before the poison consumed him completely. He Wanted to honor his friend Mark. It's just a short statement."

He clears his throat: "*Mark Was my best friend. We had our ups and downs. But I must say that I never met anybody more honest than Mark. And that's a pretty Weird a.s.sertion, considering he Was an impulsive maniac.

"*Actually, forget that. It makes no sense. All I'm trying to say is that I Was lucky to know him. He made me realize that you don't have to do a bunch of crazy stuff to make your life complete. You just have to DEAL With life. You have to hang out With the people you love and not BS them. And if more people Were like Mark, I personally think We'd be a lot better off. Then maybe We could start seeing the important stuff.'"

Doubt.

The first thing I notice is that I'm lying in bed.

It's a good sign. Generally, in those doc.u.mentaries about the afterlife, you hear about Walking into bright light. You hear about being on your feet. Except ... Wherever I am, the light is pretty bright.

"Ted?"

I don't recognize the voice.

"Ted? Can you hear me?"

"Yes?" Wow. I don't recognize my voice, either. My throat is bone dry. I sound like one of those old guys Who hang out at the Off-Track Betting near our school.

"How do you feel?" the voice asks.

I'm not sure. I don't even know if I'm still alive. It's a man's voice-but maybe not so deep and ponderous that it could belong to a divine ent.i.ty. I hope not, anyway.

"I don't know," I croak. "Pretty confused, I guess."

"Do you know Where you are?"

"No."

"You're at St. Mary's Hospital in Brooklyn, Ted. You had a panic attack."

Brooklyn? I force myself to open my eyes all the Way, blinking rapidly to clear the glare. A fuzzy face floats directly above me, framed by several lights. Gradually the face grows clearer... . He's bearded, ruddy, With gla.s.ses, in his late thirties or early forties... . He's Wearing a White coat. He's holding a clipboard.

"You gave us all quite a scare," he says. "For a lot of different reasons."

I shake my head, struggling to sit up straight. "I ... I ..."

"Hold on!" he cajoles. He lays a hand on my shoulder, easing me back down into the pillow. "Just relax. The sedative Will take a While to Wear off. But I do have some good news for you, Ted. You Weren't poisoned."

Once again I try to prop myself up on my elbows. It's no use. I'm becoming aware of other details, though. My clothes are gone. I've been dressed in a hospital gown. Something is sticking into my arm, too, an IV of some kind. It stings. Clear liquid drips into it from a plastic Baggie suspended on the bedpost. There's also an annoying beep beep beep.

"We gave you an anesthetic earlier," the doctor says. "That's Why you're just Waking up now. Nothing major; We Wanted to run some tests. Your friend's father notified us." He glances at the clipboard. "Joshua Singer, an administrator at St. Vincent's? He contacted us immediately upon your friend's request. He advised us of this incident at the diner in Manhattan, so We felt it prudent to rule a few things out as soon as possible. As I said, the good news is that-"

"Wait, Wait," I interrupt. "I'm sorry. How did I get here?"

"Your friend took care of it."

My friend?

His eyes fall to the clipboard again. "Yes. Mark Singer. He found you at the airport. Apparently he explained to the police What Was going on. You'll probably have to give a statement at some point, but We can talk about that later."

A statement?

It's hopeless. The more this guy talks, the more baffled I become. I guess I should be glad that Mark knows What's going on. I sure as h.e.l.l don't.

"He can explain it to you better than I can," the doctor says. "Would you like to see him? He's Waiting outside."

I nod, very vigorously.

"I'll send him in."

He extends a hand. I shake it, on autopilot.

"My name is Dr. Webb, by the Way," he adds. "And just so you know, your parents Will be here soon. They're on a flight from Denver right now."

"I ... okay." Mom and Dad are coming. I'm not quite sure how to feel about this news. I'll have a lot of explaining to do. Which Will be difficult.

"I'll be back in a little While to check up on you and answer any questions you might have," Dr. Webb says on his Way out the door. "Okay?"

"Okay, thanks," I call after him.

Somehow I have a feeling that even if Dr. Webb gave me twenty-four straight hours of his time, he couldn't possibly answer all the questions I might have. But I should probably give him the benefit of the doubt. Doubt is pretty much all I have to hold on to right now.

Caveman Style.

"Ted!" Mark exclaims.

"Ted? Did you just call me-?"

"Yeah." He pulls up a chair and sits beside me. "I called you Ted."

He looks terrible, exhausted. His hair is even messier than usual. He's also Wearing a plain White T-s.h.i.+rt. This is unsettling because it indicates that a fairly significant amount of time has pa.s.sed since I last saw him. I have no idea if it's day or night, come to think of it. There are no windows in here.

"You've never called me Ted," I gasp hoa.r.s.ely.

"Yeah, Well, Burger died, dude," he says.

"What?"

Mark leans back. The chair squeaks on the linoleum.

"Didn't you hear?" he says. "Burger Was poisoned. He Went out strong, though. He played With his favorite band, and kicked a guy in the head, and then he Went to the airport and tried to steal away With his best friend's girlfriend-and he keeled over, right before the cops could get him. But he's gone now. Long gone."

I stare at him, speechless.

"You Want to hear something funny about Burger's final, glorious day, though?" he Whispers. He leans forward and glances toward the open door. "See, his best friend hired this escort named Joy. And it probably Wasn't such a great idea. Because she snagged one of the receipts that fell out of the drawer-you know, When his best friend Was looking for his parents' Polaroid? And she stole the credit card number and maxed it out. You see Where I'm going With this?"

I shake my head, uncomprehending.

"I'm sure you Will," Mark says. "Just give it some time to sink in."

"But ... airport ... cops ... how ... What ...?" I can't do much more than produce monosyllabic grunts, caveman style.

"See, after Burger ran out of the club, his best friend managed to slip out With his girlfriend and her two meathead brothers," Mark says.

I nod, still just as lost.

"Forget it." He drops the silly tone. "Here's What happened. Rachel told me that she'd ordered a car service for you. And When she and I found out you took it, We found out you Went to Terminal E at JFK. So I thought that you'd lost your mind and decided to take this list seriously. The last part, at least." He pulls the napkin from his pocket and Waves it front of me. "You know, this? So I chased you down at the airport. And When I got there ... oh, man." He shakes his head and laughs, running his other hand through his hair. "Well, I Was lucky I found you When I did because you Were lying on the floor, surrounded by cops. They thought you Were dangerous. You Were all disheveled, and you stank of beer, and you insisted on getting on an international flight."

"I stank of beer?"

Mark raises his eyebrows. "The doctor said your hair Was soaked With it."

Oh, right. I'd almost forgotten about Herbert's baptism.

"So anyway. Look, you Want this?" He lays the napkin on my nightstand.

I barely notice. I'm gazing at him, fighting to understand. "What Was the deal With Leo?" I ask. "I thought I Was-"

"He lied," Mark interrupts, lowering his voice and leaning close again. "It Was all a lie. He got all that c.r.a.p about blowfish off the Internet. He tried to scare us. He made it all up! He Was a chemistry student, but he flunked out. He's a couple of chairs short of a dining room set, you know What I'm saying? Personally, I don't think he should be tried as a criminal. I think he's insane. He shouldn't be held responsible for his actions."

I agree. I'm not even mad at Leo. He isn't the only one Who shouldn't be held responsible for his actions. I hope not, anyway. He just flipped out. He'd reached the end of his rope. Lord knows I can relate. Poison or not, I Was sick. Leo may be insane, but I'm running a close second. I might have even taken the lead. My actions Were a lot Worse. Like the Nikki thing, for one ...

"But look, I think you should keep the napkin," Mark says. "It'll be a memento. You can frame it and put it up With all those pictures on your Wall. Hey, that reminds me!" He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a Wrinkled Polaroid. "You definitely should have this. If anything belongs on your Wall, this does. I mean, just look at it. Joy may be running around With your credit card number, but she does take a nice picture."

I manage a faint smile. It's the photo of Mark, diving across my lap in the living room, right before I ran downstairs to hop in a cab With Nikki. Mark is posing-his eyes and mouth are Wide open. His tongue is sticking out. I'm Wincing. It's an action shot, but We look strangely fake, the Way people always do in Polaroids.

Mark pats my shoulder and hands it to me. "Enjoy it. I'm just gonna run downstairs and say good-bye to my dad. He's gotta go to Work." He stands and heads for the door.

"Wait, Mark!"

"Yeah?"

"What day is it?"

"What day? It's the first day of the rest of your life!" He Winks. "Just kidding. I got that from a sign downstairs in the ER."

Pieces of the Puzzle.

Over the course of the next hour or so, I fill in some blanks. Or I suppose I do. Lying there alone in that room, Waiting for Dr. Webb, or Mark, or anybody ... I don't have much else to occupy my time. It seems clear that I collapsed at the airport and that Mark somehow convinced the cops to let me go-or at least to take me to a hospital. It also seems clear that I'm in major, major trouble. Or I Will be. Because if What Mark said about Joy is true, then my parents are going to find out about it. And naturally, they'll Want to know: How did a hooker/felon ever get in a position to steal my credit card number in the first place?

Which Will lead to a lot of other unpleasant questions. Like, Where is all their booze?

Probably best to Worry about that later. At least, not until Mom and Dad show up. I don't Want to suffer another panic attack.

A few big pieces of the puzzle are still missing, though. Namely, Rachel and Nikki. Do they know I'm here? And if they do, did Nikki tell Mark What happened?

Meaning, does he know ... about the end of the cab ride? But of course he's talked to Nikki. He must have seen Nikki; otherwise he Wouldn't have had the napkin. She had it the last time I Was conscious. So she gave it to him. Which means ... What?

Come to think of it, I should Worry about all this later, too.

This is a puzzle I don't really feel like solving.

Venting.

When Dr. Webb reappears, his face is buried in a folder.

"How are you feeling, Ted?" he asks, full of gusto.

I shrug under my blanket. "Okay, I guess. Thirsty."

"Yes, you Were very dehydrated! We're taking care of that intravenously." He snaps the folder shut and smiles, adjusting his gla.s.ses. "So. Any questions?"

"Yeah. What's a panic attack?"