10 Things To Do Before I Die Part 19

"Ah, yes! Very good question!" He sits down in Mark's chair. "First of all, just to rea.s.sure you, it can't kill you. It's fairly common, in fact. And it's treatable. So you aren't dying. I just Want to make that perfectly clear. Do you understand? You aren't dying. You haven't been poisoned."

I nod, feeling vaguely cowed. I didn't Want to die. I just thought I Was going to.

"What happens is ..." He sighs. "Well, let me explain it this Way. Everybody experiences stress. The healthy Way to deal With stress is to talk about it, to confront it. OtherWise it just builds and builds inside you. Are you following me so far?"

"Yeah. The more you keep things inside you, the sicker you feel."

He laughs. "Exactly! But you see, Ted, I'm concerned that you've kept too much inside for a very long time. This is precisely Why you acted the Way you did. When you thought you Were sick, you decided to go off on this crazy adventure instead of dealing With it. And that's Why We feel that counseling Will-"

EE EE EE EE.

It's his beeper. He glares at his belt. His lips turn downward.

"I'm sorry. I have to run out." He shakes his head and stands up, distracted. "But it seems you have a good take on this. Remember: aside from the tinnitus, the symptoms you described to your friend's father are consistent With panic attacks. And as far as the tinnitus goes, I understand you're a rock musician?" He laughs again, not Waiting for me to answer. "No big mystery there, right?" He gives me a last perfunctory smile and shuts the door on his Way out.

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 h.e.l.l 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 pa.s.ses, 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 prost.i.tute, 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 relations.h.i.+ps With their parents. But they still have relations.h.i.+ps. 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 p.i.s.sed 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 ident.i.ty-and on the last day of his life, Ted Burger learned how to shed the Burger ident.i.ty, too. That's how he made his mark.