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

TRAIN WILL NO LONGER BE RUNNING ON THE LOCAL TRACK. IF YOU WISH TO GET OFF AT INTERMEDIARY STATIONS, PLEASE CROSS THE PLATFORM AT TIMES SQUARE AND TAKE THE LOCAL DOWNTOWN TRAIN. THIS TRAIN WILL BE RUNNING EXPRESS.”
    A collective groan rises from the passengers.
    What did I tell you? Something always goes Wrong.
    Now it’s bonding time. I catch Thom’s eyes. I search them for a flicker of recognition, an acknowledgment of shared suffering. We’re War buddies, after all. I feel for you, my man, I tell him With my sympathetic gaze. We’re in this together.
    “What are you looking at, asshole?” he asks.

My Obligation
    Until now, I haven’t fully taken stock of What’s happening to me. Yes, I’ve known and accepted that I’ve been poisoned… .
    Or have I really? No, I don’t think I have. I’m still floundering in denial. But Thom’s question has brought my fate into stark relief. Not just for the obvious reason: that no matter how much I romanticize this last subway ride, I’ve just been called an asshole. It’s not even so much that my intestines suddenly feel as if they’ve been tied into neat little bows. It’s because I feel like saying something back.
    Normally if I Were asked “What [I Was] looking at” by a pretentious jerk, I’d probably just stare at my sneakers. At Worst, I might mutter “not much” under my breath—inaudibly, of course. But at this moment, I don’t harbor any ill Will. Clearly this is a guy Who feels too much stress and anger. You can see it in the tight lines on his face, in the flatness of his bespectacled eyes. Thom, life is too short for all that, I think. I know how short it is, firsthand. I’ve got maybe twenty-one hours left. I’ve been granted a great gift of Wisdom. And it’s my obligation— better yet, my duty—to share it.
    Thom raises his eyebrows. They vanish under his bangs. “You got a problem?”
    “No, I don’t,” I say. “I’m at peace.”
    He laughs shortly. “Excuse me?”
    “Everybody, listen up!” I hear myself yell.
    Poisoned blood pounds in my head. I stand in the middle of the car. I’ve never done anything like this in my life. I’ve never intentionally made a spectacle of myself. I’ve been made a spectacle of, many times—but it’s finally time for me to Wipe the symbolic pie off my clown face. It’s time to talk back, to take action.
    Unfortunately, the only two people Who seem to be paying attention are Charlotte and Thom. Everybody else looks away. Why Wouldn’t they? A disheveled teenager has embarked on a loud monologue for no apparent reason.
    “Listen up!” I repeat, fighting to milk the alcohol and adrenaline for all their energy. “I don’t Want any money, and I’m not trying to sell anything! I just Want to say that there’s no point in fighting! If you’re involved With somebody, I mean! Because, you know, if you’re in a relationship, even if you don’t necessarily love that other person With all your heart … you have to be considerate! You have to respect that person! You have to respect peace! And maybe you have to let them go! But if you do—”
    “THIS IS FORTY-SECOND STREET, TIMES SQUARE,” the automated voice announces.
    I frown at the loudspeakers. The train screeches to a halt.
    The force of the braking sends me toppling to the floor.
    My knees hit first. My palms scrape on the grimy linoleum.
    “Ouch,” I grunt.
    Miracle of miracles, the fall stops there. I’m able to maintain balance on all fours, like a child, awaiting a Well-deserved spanking. To be honest, I half expect somebody in the car to take advantage of this precarious position. Fortunately, nobody does. Every single passenger scurries out the door.
    “Charlotte, promise me We’ll take a cab next time, okay?” I hear Thom mutter. “There are too many freaks on the subway.”

Surprise Attack
    Screw it. I’ve changed my mind. I am going to beat the crap out of Billy Rifkin. Why the hell not, right? I’ll be dead by this