10 Things to Do Before I Die by Daniel Ehrenhaft Page B

you can do! Doctors can’t even help—”
    Jeez. I can’t tell Which one of them is talking anymore. They’ve started shouting. Their voices are a jumble, bouncing around between my ringing ears.
    Unfortunately, I feel the denial Wearing off quicker than I Would have liked. Now I’m entering the second stage of grief. And if memory serves correctly … Actually I don’t remember What the second stage is. Forgetfulness?
    Mark and Nikki stop pacing. They draw the same deep, anxious breaths.
    “I really think you should come With us, Burger,” Mark states. “Just come back to the hospital. Get yourself checked out. Okay?”
    “But you just said there’s nothing the doctors can do. Right?”
    “That’s What Leo said,” Nikki argues, her voice quavering.
    I blink at her. I’m at a loss. I ask myself: Do I really Want to go back to St. Vincent’s?
    No. No, I don’t. Even though I’ve been poisoned … Poisoned! Holy—
    Forget it. I’m calm. And I have to milk this calmness for all its Worth. Calm, calm, calm. If I go back to St. Vincent’s, I’ll definitely lose Whatever tenuous grip I have on the calmness. I’ll have to deal With that obese security guard again, for starters. No calmness there. Then I’ll have to sit in the Waiting room. Yikes. Then I’ll have to call my parents to secure their permission to get my stomach pumped, or blood transfused, or Whatever. And if I can’t get in touch With them, my best friend’s father Will have to sub as my legal guardian, Which means he’ll have to grant permission to some random surgeon (Who I’m sure Would much rather be at home in the suburbs having dinner With his Wife and kids) to perform Whatever desperate “procedures” can be done to save me When there’s no chance, no chance at all… .
    Ugh. Who Would Want to spend their last hours like that? Not me.
    “Burger!” Mark shouts at me. “Come on, dude. This is your life!”
    “My life?” I echo blankly. “My life?”
    It is my life, isn’t it?
    That’s When it hits me. My God.
    He’s right. Until he said the Words, I didn’t even look at it that Way. I only looked at it in terms of the sniveling coward I am… .
    Mark is a genius. More than that.
    He just triggered an epiphany.
    Now I know exactly What needs to be done. Exactly. I mean, really; it can’t get any more perfect, right? I have a list, don’t I? Mark posed the question himself, before he even knew I Was poisoned: “Have you ever really lived, Burger?” NO! Of course not! It Was a sign! A sign from above! Because now I have a chance, an opportunity—a single, glorious, twenty-four-hour period to be brave, like Mark—to make up for my mistakes, my laziness… .
    Yes, it is MY LIFE. It’s truly mine. For the first time ever.
    And death Will be my catalyst.
    I’ll bust loose. I’ll forget everything. I have to. I owe it to myself. I’ve followed the same stupid nonroutine every single day, ever since I can remember. Obsessively! Compulsively! Without fail! I hang out at the Circle Eat, I hide in my bedroom With my guitar, I daydream While I play along to Shakes the Clown, I avoid Rachel … and so on and so on. It’s all evasion, all nothingness. And best of all, I can milk this sudden hysteria; I can use it to quash the panic about What’s really happening: that I’m about to head off to that Great Gig in the Sky—
    “Ted,” Nikki Whispers. “You’re scaring me. What are you thinking right now?”
    “I’m thinking that I don’t Want to think!” I exclaim, sounding frighteningly like my parents.
    Neither she nor Mark says a Word.
    “Hey, don’t be so glum,” I add. I leap off the couch. “Buck up, you guys. If What you’re saying is true, that I’m gonna die, then What’s the point in dwelling on it? I need to start getting busy. Now, bring on the list. I’m serious. Let’s finish it, okay? Ay-sap!”

The Second Big Fight of the Last Day of My Life
    Before either of them can respond, I dash back to my