10 Things To Do Before I Die Part 16

"Well, it's like this," I tell her. "And I'm not joking, so don't laugh."

"I'm not really in a laughing mood," she says Wryly.

I smile. For a second I find myself staring back at her in that dim, hallucinatory, speeding-cab light. How does she do it? I Wonder. How does she manage to appear so relaxed, as if this is all just part of a normal night? It's making me relaxed. Which I know is intentional. But With her black jean jacket hanging off one shoulder, and her black hair a mess, and those benevolent alien eyes- Hmmm. I really need to stop that: the thinking-too-much-about -Nikki's-appearance thing. That part of my life is over, too.

"It all comes back to the clown thing," I say, trying to focus.

"I Was up there With that clown nose on my face. I Was up onstage, knowing I've always been a clown, With a clown band, and ..." I pause. "I figured I had to be more like Mark for once, you know?"

The eyes bore into my own. "Like Mark?" she repeats.

"Yeah. Like the kind of guy Who dives in and saves the day. It's just ... Mark has this incredible faith that something amazing is always just around the bend. And because he believes it, it's true. Mark makes amazing stuff happen. He tackled Leo to the ground! He affects the World! But I'm the opposite. The World affects me. So I Wanted to change it up. Besides, you Were being molested."

Nikki doesn't respond. She smiles sadly.

"What?"

"Nothing," she says.

"Listen, Nikki, can you do me a really huge favor?"

"Of course." She straightens and leans close. A few strands of black hair fall in her eyes. Reflexively I brush them out of the Way so We can see each other.

"Can you promise me that We Won't talk about the past anymore? I mean, this is my night. Like you said? Not to sound ungrateful ... the Shakes the Clown thing blew me away-but can you promise me that We'll only talk about the list?"

She nods, looking down at her lap.

"Anything you Want," she Whispers.

No Baggage.

I spread out the napkin in front of her. My hands are shaking- more than they've shaken since I've been poisoned. I'm not sure Why. Probably not a good idea to dwell on it. Nikki doesn't notice, or she pretends not to.

"See, the Way I figure it, I've already taken care of five and a half of these things."

She laughs. "Five and a half?"

"Yeah. I mean, not exactly. But just look. Skip number one, obviously. Number two: I jammed With Shakes the Clown. And they poured beer over my head, so that counts as partying, right? Number three. Okay, number four's a tough one. I didn't get back at Billy Rifkin. I got With Billy Rifkin. So that's a yes. Number five: No, I didn't rescue a baby from a burning building, but I got Twig's hands off you. So that's another yes. And the Way I see it, kicking Twig in the face counts for seven and eight as Well." I glance up at her, satisfied. "Five and a half. See?"

"Sure. But tell me, Ted. How does kicking Twig in the face count for robbing a bank or bungee jumping off a bridge?"

"It's the spirit of the thing," I explain. "It all comes back to What you said at the diner. It's about embracing the Dark Side. Wouldn't you say that kicking a guy in the face counts as embracing the Dark Side? Even more than robbing a bank? Because, you know, theoretically, n.o.body Would get hurt in a bank robbery. So painwise it's a victimless crime. Kicking is much Worse. And similarly, kicking a guy Who's ten zillion times your size-and Who's a s.e.x fiend With a penchant for dismantling people to boot-is a h.e.l.l of a lot more dangerous than bungee jumping off the GW Bridge, right?"

Whew. Talk about diarrhea of the mouth. I haven't run my mouth this hard or this fast since that fateful day I first explained to Rachel about Why I loved Shakes the Clown.

Nikki smirks. "Oh, I get it," she says teasingly, in the sort of deadpan voice that late-night talk show hosts use to silence dumb hecklers. "As long as you kicked a guy in the face, you've lived. Gee, Ted. You make a very strong case. I apologize."

"Ha, ha," I tease back, in the same deadpan voice.

She lays her ringed fingers on my knee-just for an instant. "So you never answered my question," she says.

"Yes, I did! I told you Why I a.s.saulted Twig!"

"No, the other question. Why are We going to JFK?"

I point at the napkin. "Because, as you've suggested, I haven't lived yet. See for yourself. I have to go to Nigeria. But don't Worry. You aren't coming With me. Well, not unless you Want to. Do you Want to? Just kidding. I'll have the driver take you home. Which, by the Way, is another instance of robbery because Rachel's parents are paying for this Whole entire ride-"

"Nigeria?" the cabdriver interrupts. "Did you say you Were going to Nigeria?"

"Yes? Why?"

She smiles at me in the rearview mirror. "I have an uncle Who lives in Lagos. I'm from Sierra Leone."

"Oh." I smile back. I'm not sure What I'm supposed to say.

"The reason I ask is because you have no baggage," she adds. "How long Will you be staying in Nigeria?"

Nikki buries her face in her hands. I can't tell if she's sad or embarra.s.sed. Maybe both. Why did I just invite her to come With me?

The driver laughs. She obviously doesn't believe that I intend to fly to Africa tonight. For some reason, I find this extremely annoying.

"Another reason I ask: Do you have a pa.s.sport?" she says.

"Yeah, I do," I answer.

I yank my pa.s.sport out of my back pocket and flap it in the air for her to see. It's a little the Worse for Wear-having been stuffed into various pairs of pants for the past year-but it's valid, and I'm sure it Will get me on a flight. So Why is she giving me a hard time? I'm utterly Wholehearted about this. I am going to Nigeria. As sure as I kicked Twig in the face. As sure as I'll start a religion about a doughnut-shaped universe. The clock is ticking, and I've been galvanized.

"Do you mind if I ask you something else?" the Woman says.

"Not at all," I lie.

"What is the purpose of your visit?"

Good question. Excellent question.

I should answer it before that giddy euphoria slips away. I should be candid about my feelings. I should let loose in that honest, intimate Way that you can only With perfect strangers- With that freedom you get When you know you'll never see a person again. I have nothing to Worry about. I can confess Whatever I Want to this Woman, Without any repercussions. I'll be dead by this time tomorrow. And in answering her, I'll have answered my own questions. I'll have further liberated myself. Besides, Nikki deserves to hear this, too.

"You Want to know Why?" I answer. "Because I'm dying. I don't have a Whole lot of time, and I've always lived a sheltered and lazy life. I Want to see how the rest of the World lives, just for a brief moment. Because if I go someplace Where there is real sickness and poverty and crimes against humanity and if I can help in some Way-if I can do just one little thing, once, I don't know. I'll feel good. Because for the first time ever- tonight, just now-I felt something. And I Want to hold on to that feeling. I Want to milk it for all it's Worth. Okay?"

The Woman bursts out laughing.

Nice. Well. That Went over perfectly. I'm glad I could entertain. My sense of comic timing isn't as lousy as I believed.

"Only a child Would say something like that!" she cries.

You can stop now, please. I slump down into the car seat. At least it's dark in here. Wouldn't it be great if I could die right this second and just get it over With? Nikki touches my knee again, very briefly. I'm not sure What the gesture means, but I can't bring myself to look at her. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at her. No, I have a feeling this current bout of embarra.s.sment Will last me a long, long time-as in forever.

"I don't mean any disrespect," the Woman adds apologetically. "I just mean that perhaps you should spend the time you have left With your girlfriend. You know, instead of running away? She's beautiful!" She beams at Nikki in the mirror. "But you certainly don't need to travel the World to do good things. The World is an ugly place. Every city is the same. Lagos is no different than New York. Both have McDonald's. Both have suffering. There is only one difference between America and the rest of the World: people outside America know What it is like to live With death. They see death around them all the time. But people in America believe that they are going to live forever. Perhaps that is Why you are running. You are afraid of death. But no matter how fast and far you run, even to Nigeria, you are not going to outrun death."

I open my mouth to answer, to argue-and then stop. What's the point? I saw What opening my big mouth did for me the last time: it bought me a one-Way ticket to the Land of Humiliation. But that's all right; I'm used to it there. I've lived there most of my (short!) life. Sure, I vacationed for a While back at the Onyx, but now I'm back Where I belong. The prodigal son has returned.

Except, Madam Cabdriver, you are Wrong about one thing: I'm not trying to outrun death. I'm just trying to run, period-to move, to go places, to do things instead of sitting on my b.u.t.t during my last hours. Is that so bad? And so What if I'm afraid? Who isn't afraid of dying? Name one person! And for G.o.d's sake, lady, did you have to insinuate that Nikki Was my girlfriend? Thanks a lot! Way to make things awkward!

You're Wrong about something else, too.

I have plenty of baggage. You just can't see it. It's swirling around With the guilt and the poison and all the rest of the c.r.a.p I've got stowed up there.

Fingers.

The three of us exchange very few Words for the rest of the drive. I Wonder What Nikki is thinking. I know What I'm thinking. I'm thinking about how she Was right: I ran away. Again. I left Mark and Rachel back at the Onyx. I'm thinking about What Twig Will do to them if he finds them, especially if he discovers that they're my best friend and my girlfriend.

"Nikki, you don't have a cell phone, do you?" I finally ask When the JFK exit signs start appearing With alarming frequency. "I left mine at home."

She shakes her head. "I left mine at home, too."

I lean forward. "Excuse me, ma'am?" I ask the driver. "You Wouldn't happen to have a cell phone, Would you?"

"Yes, I do," she replies. "But it's not for you. I have to keep the line open."

"Oh. Right. Of course." I smile. I'm tempted to lunge forWard and strangle her, but I don't-mostly because Nikki might die, too, if the car goes out of control. I collapse into the cus.h.i.+ons. Flat marshlands Whiz past the Window. I hear the roar of a descending plane. We're very close.

"Who do you Want to call, Ted?" Nikki asks.

"I Want to call Mark or Rachel," I mumble. "I Want to see if they got out okay."

"Oh," Nikki says.

She takes my hand. She squeezes it between both of hers.

I turn toward her-clumsily, a little taken aback by the physical contact. It's odd: she's held my hand before (dragging me various places), but I sense right away that this is different. This isn't nannyish or maternal... . Actually, I don't know What it is. And defying logic, it makes me feel terrible. It makes me feel more angry and embarra.s.sed and ashamed.

"You're something else, you know that?" she Whispers.

"Yeah, you told me that once."

She stares at our jumble of intertwined fingers. A melancholy smile spreads across her face. "Can I ask you one thing?"

I swallow. "Of course."

"When you Were onstage tonight-you know, at first, right When you started to play-you Were super-psyched, Weren't you?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"But then you Weren't. Something changed."

"Well, yeah, I saw that Twig Was coming up behind you."

She shakes her head. "No, even before that. I Was Watching you. In the middle of the song ... You looked down at us, and you looked at the band-and then it Was like, a light in your eyes Went out. You looked really depressed."

I stare at her, amazed. "You saw that?"

"It Wasn't hard to see. But the thing is, I think I know What you Were thinking, maybe. And this is just a guess: but Were you b.u.mmed that Shakes the Clown didn't live up your expectations? I mean, Were you thinking-Oh, man, this is great; this is just What I always dreamed of; this is gonna become part of the Whole Shakes the Clown history, and lore, and legend-and I'm in it ... but still, somehow, it just doesn't cut it?"

I'm stunned.

No, stunned isn't strong enough a Word. Nikki just read my mind. That's no exaggeration. She articulated everything I Wanted to but couldn't before, not concisely, anyway; she articulated exactly What Was going on-inside me. It's scary. It's terrifying. It's exhilarating, too, though, I have to say. n.o.body's ever understood me like that. n.o.body's ever even come close to being in the same ballpark ... the same galaxy. I try to answer, but the Words get stuck in my throat.

"The thing is," she continues, "I know it's not exactly the same situation-but sometimes that's how I feel With Mark. I mean, I expect him to be one thing, but he isn't. He doesn't measure up. Like tonight! He hired a prost.i.tute. I mean, I know Why he did it, and it Was funny on one level ... but on another it Was really, really uncool. And I told him so. I knew you'd agree. But did he listen? No. He didn't even notice What you noticed from the stage, that Twig or Whatever the h.e.l.l his name is Was grabbing me. He should have done something. Not you."

I shake my head. "But ... but-he Was Watching me perform," I stammer thickly. "He didn't even see it."

"Well, that's the Whole point, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"That our relations.h.i.+p isn't What it's cracked up to be," she murmurs. "On the outside, everything looks perfect. It's almost like We have to make it look perfect because We've been going out for so long. Because people expect it. Most of all, because you expect it. Sometimes We act like these parodies of ourselves just for your benefit. It's not even conscious." She lets out a deep breath. "You know What, Ted? Mark and I depend on you a lot more than you probably know. A lot more."

Wow.

That's ... Well, that's heavy. I don't know What to say or even if I'm supposed to say anything. So I don't. I try to be like Nikki for once. I try not to run my mouth. I try to let my silence speak for me. I keep gazing at our hands, for lack of anything better to do. And then a puzzling thing happens: one of her fingers caresses mine. Very delicately. Nothing more than a brush. I can't even tell if it's deliberate or not. Was it just a tic, an involuntary flutter?

I shouldn't think about it, though. No. Bad to go there. I should think about something else, like how fascinated I am by how cold her fingers are. They're as cold as her rings. It's as if there's no difference between them.

She s.h.i.+vers, glancing up at me. Her face drifts toward mine. I see nothing but those eyes. They're two s.h.i.+ny black asteroids floating in the vastness of s.p.a.ce-and due to chance or astrophysics or both, they've drifted too close to my own ... right into their gravitational fields. We're caught now. No force in the universe can prevent us from changing course. The attraction is too strong. It's irreversible.

I've been Waiting for this all my life. And now my life is about to end.

Involuntarily I pounce, Rachel style.

Nikki pounces back.

The speed and ferocity are almost scary. I feel a blast of euphoria, the same swift kick to the central nervous system I got When the lights came up onstage at the Onyx. In an instant our lips are mashed together, and We're clawing at each other and stroking each other's hair- This Was no accident. This is destiny.