10 Things to Do Before I Die by Daniel Ehrenhaft

But—”
    Bee bee beep! Bee bee beep!
    “But What?”
    “There’s just one thing I Want to know. Did you really go see Billy Rifkin?”
    “I did,” I admit. “And …”
    Bee bee beep! Bee bee beep!
    “… And he’s not the same person he Was before,” I manage. “He’s changed. So I didn’t … I mean, I just didn’t.”
    Our eyes meet once more, briefly. Nikki smiles. I see a glint of understanding. In those alien orbs, I see everything that’s not said: that she knows I Would never punch anyone in the face … and also that she feels bad about Mark, and that telling him he had no soul Was unfair, and that she doesn’t know the funky chicken. I Want to tell her I understand. But I don’t.
    She scurries out of the room, closing the door behind her. Which probably says something, too. I’m just not sure What.

Trusting a Person Is All That Matters
    I grab the phone and collapse on the bed. “Rachel?”
    “Ted?” Her voice sounds tiny, as if she’s calling from Bucharest.
    “Listen, Rachel, I am so glad you called because—”
    “Ted, I’m so sorry for storming off this afternoon.”
    “No, no. It Wasn’t your fault. It Was my fault.”
    “What’s all that noise?” she asks.
    “What noise? You mean the static?”
    “No, I hear music,” she says. “Can you turn it down?”
    “No!” I bolt upright and then quickly collapse again. The vertigo seems to be Worsening. “I mean, no. You see … I Was in the living room earlier. I Was feeling really sick, you know? Music makes me feel better. So I turned on the stereo. Rachel, you have to understand: something really bad happened to me today.”
    “Ted, I know. I’m so sorry.”
    “No, I mean something really bad.”
    “Yeah, I understand. You got sick, and then you acted mean. I know I should have trusted you. I know I can trust you.”
    “Rachel, you have to listen—”
    “Trusting a person is all that matters,” she continues, but her signal is starting to break up. “You don’t even drink! It’s just that When I saw your shirt this afternoon and the Way your face looked … I just … I’m sorry.”
    “It’s fine, Rachel. I accept your apology. But look, did you see the news today?”
    “Did you say the blues? Are you sad? Is this a guitar thing?”
    “The news. Did you see it? Because—”
    The bedroom door crashes open.
    Joy stands before me, Wagging a crystal decanter in front of her face. It’s empty.
    “Yo, sweetheart?” she squawks. “You got some more of this Wine?” She spots the cell phone and clamps her free hand over her mouth. “Oh, damn, sorry!” she Whispers. “That’s your old lady, right?”
    “Ted?” Rachel’s voice rattles in my ear. “Is there somebody in your apartment right now?”
    “Well, um …” Damn it. I can’t lie now. I scowl at Joy as she staggers back out into the hall. (Isn’t she supposed to know the meaning of discreet?) “Yeah, see, Well, one of my parents’ friends came to check up on me. My parents called her from Denver because they knew I Was sick. It’s Mrs… . It’s Mrs… .”
    I feverishly hunt for a name—and then a miracle occurs: For the second time tonight, I conjure a masterful lie out of thin air. (Is it possible that Leo’s poison increases the brain’s potential before killing you?) “It’s Mrs. Rifkin. She came to check up on me. She’s an old family friend. She’s a really cool Woman. She brought her checkbook, too.”
    “Her checkbook? I don’t get it.”
    “She knows I’m involved in Amnesty International, so she made a two-hundred-dollar donation. She thought it Would make me feel better.”
    There’s silence on the other end.
    “Rachel?”
    “Ted, I don’t believe you.”
    “You don’t?”
    “No. You’re lying. I can tell. I can always tell When you’re lying. Just like I can always tell When you’re being honest. That’s how I knew you Were really sick today. But now … We Were just talking about this! We Were just talking