The End or Something Like That (10 page)

When your best friend dies, things happen.

You lie under your bed.

You plan spiritual visitations.

You watch a lot of TV.

You eat turkey burgers.

•

One time, I sat in my room and watched Gabby.

She was outside and she was with a couple of girls and some boys pulled up.

It was the same Jeep as before and she was laughing so loud.

She was so easy at it.

Easy peasy.

The middle of ninth grade and she had five thousand friends.

They were talking and the sun was going down and it looked like how it should. Like they were real people, hanging out and being normal.

Why couldn't I be normal?

Gabby looked up at me, she was saying something into the Jeep, and she looked up at me and I ducked down.

I sat on the carpet and sat there.

•

In three days it was going to be Gabby's birthday.

Kim thought we should do a visitation for Gabby at Forever 21.

“What?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I want to scare everyone who shops there. I think it'd be hilarious.”

I stared at her. I hated that we talked about this all the time, and I hated that she wanted to do Gabby's at Forever 21.

“What do you mean you want to scare everyone?” I said.

She looked at her toenails. “Like I want to appear and the lights will flicker and everyone will talk about the haunted Forever 21.”

“Which one?” I asked.

“Meadows Mall, of course.”

I tried to process this. It was true, if anywhere would be good to haunt, Forever 21 at Meadows Mall would be the place. But I didn't want to do it.

Dr. Farnsworth said visitations aren't scary. “It's not like you'd be haunting us,” I said.

She laughed. “I know. I just want to try.”

“Gabby doesn't even know about all this,” I said.

“It'll be a surprise.”

I sat there. Then I said it. I'd said it before and now I was saying it again.

“You're not going to die.”

She lay down on the bed, her hair splayed out.

“I am going to die.”

“You don't know that. What about Jenny?”

One lady, Jenny Biggs from Rhode Island, Jenny lived until she was fifty-four, and she had the same thing as Kim—even as bad as Kim. We had been sort of obsessed with Jenny in sixth grade when Kim's doctor told her about her. We'd e-mailed her and Jenny Biggs was really cool. She sent us pictures of her family and her dog and told Kim that she should dream big. Dream old!

Now Jenny Biggs was dead.

“Jenny Biggs is dead,” Kim said.

“I know but she lived for a long time.”

“Jenny Biggs is dead,” she said again.

Then she looked at me. “I really want to appear at Forever 21.”

After breakfast I went up to my room.

Dad said a prayer.

To God.

About Kim.

Like God was real.

And like Kim was real.

More than dust.

•

I took out a notebook.

How to see Kim:

Be present.

Wear light clothes.

Do visualization exercises.

Get back to nature.

Believe.

BELIEVE!!!

Anyone who wants to can talk to dead people but some people are better at it than others.

THEY HAVE THE NATURAL SENSE FOR IT, Dr. Ted Farnsworth said into the microphone. We'd been at the seminar for two and a half hours. We'd gone over which times were the best to contact the dead, where were the best places to do the contacting, and finally, who were the best candidates to do the dirty work—which people were the ideal conduits for a return to earth. YOU NEED TO PICK SOMEONE WHO KNOWS YOU BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE. SOMEONE YOU TRUST. SOMEONE WHO FEELS WITH BOTH THEIR HEART, a picture of a heart came on the screen, AND THEIR BRAIN, now a picture of a brain.

I sat there.

Kim poked me with her pencil.

“What?”

“That's you,” she whispered.

“Kim, I can't.”

She put her finger to her lips and pointed at him.

ALL THEY NEED TO DO IS BE PREPARED. BE OPEN TO IT. MAKE THEIR BODY AS CLEAN AS THEY CAN.

He was crazy. This was crazy.

He went on and on and Kim scribbled in the notebook the entire time. I had never seen her like this. She didn't take notes in school. Ever. She had a hard time paying attention in one class, let alone a three-hour lecture on spiritual preparation.

When it was over and music was pumping and old people were swarming Dr. Ted Farnsworth near the refreshment table, Kim said, “What did you think?”

“Uh,” I said. “I don't know.”

She said, “I think it was amazing.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Like what if it really worked. Didn't you think that video was awesome?”

He'd shown a video of a lady talking to her dead real estate agent about a property that she wanted to buy.

“I mean,” I said, “it was a little weird.”

But Kim wasn't listening to me anymore. She was standing up and looking over at the crowd around Dr. Ted Farnsworth.

“Come on,” she said. “I want to meet him.”

I sat in my room.

The plan was on the day she died, I should meet her at the spot.

On the rock.

The minute of her death.

The MINUTE OF VISITATION!! An entire chapter in Dr. Ted Farnsworth's book.

We didn't know when that minute would be.

“What if it's at like three in the morning?” Kim had asked me.

We were eating fries and I was not thinking about when she was going to die. At least I was trying not to.

I said, ”What?”

And she said, “What if I die in the night?”

I shoved the fry in mouth. “I don't know,” I said.

“What if we don't know the exact minute?”

“I don't know.”

“You would have to camp out there.”

“Camp out there?”

“Camp on the rock.”

I stared at her. “You want me to camp out there?”

She picked up her shake and sipped it while I sat there. She wanted me to camp out on the rock.

“By myself?”

She shrugged. “I don't know.”

•

I don't know.

•

Luckily, Kim did not die in the middle of the night.

She died at 5:48 in the evening, during a hot spell.

One of the worst in Vegas history.

A hot spell where when you walked outside you felt like you were in hell. Like you were burning to the ground and soon would be a pile of ash and bones.

Ten people died that day from the heat. It was on the news. Ten people and Kim died that day.

I wonder if they know each other now and hold hands.

•

So today, at 5:48, I had to be at the rock.

And I had to be ready.

I had to believe.

In the mirror I looked like a person who could believe.

My face with my eyes and my freckles. A face I'd looked at over and over and over again for fourteen years.

Why wasn't it working?

Even with Ms. Dead Homeyer and her hair and her husband, Ed, being real, and even with Dad saying a prayer about God.

To God.

My dad.

My family.

In our house.

Even with all that, I don't think I believed.

Maybe it really was my fault.

They want to visit you. They yearn for it. You are the one stopping it. YOU.

Was it not working because of me?

•

I lay on my carpet and stared at the ceiling.

I could lie here all day.

I could stitch creepy dolls out of old T-shirts.

I could watch Gabby and her friends hang out in her yard in bikinis.

Or I could go find Dr. Ted Farnsworth and scream.

I stood up.

I was going to see Dr. Ted Farnsworth.

Even though I could feel the puke in my mouth.

Even though it meant going to the strip by myself.

All by myself.

Even though he was fake and creepy and a fraud.

I was going to see him because what if he wasn't a fraud?

What if he could help me?

What if this was my last chance?

•

I put on my red jeans that Gabby told me I should never wear.

She said it when we were getting ready to go to the mall one day. Because we went to the mall almost all the time.

“Never wear those, Emmy,” she said.

“Why would you say that?” Kim asked her while I stood in the full-length mirror staring at myself in the pants I had been wearing once a week for months.

Gabby was painting her nails on our white carpet even though I asked her not to.

“I won't spill,” she'd said. So she was painting her nails and Kim said, “She looks good.”

Gabby looked up. Bored.

“Only certain body types can pull off colored jeans. Emmy doesn't have that body type.”

Kim said, “What body type can pull it off?”

Gabby sighed. “Mine. Yours. Not Emmy's.”

Kim got the look in her eyes and I said, “It's okay.”

“It's not okay,” she said.

“No. It's okay. I don't have to wear them,” I said. Trying not to let my voice shake.

Kim said, “You're wearing them.” And then to Gabby she said, “Why are you being so mean?”

“I'm not being mean. Actually I'm being nice. Friends help friends.”

“You are being mean,” Kim said. “You look good in the jeans,” she said to me.

Gabby added a heart on her pinkie nail and said, “Do what you want, Emmy. But you don't look good. You look big.”

•

I hadn't worn them since that day. Over a year ago.

But today for Kim's dead day, I was going to do whatever I wanted. I yanked them on. I couldn't button the top button, so I found a rubber band and tied the front together.

I pulled on Kim's Mickey Mouse T-shirt and braided my hair. I felt like I was preparing for something. And I guess I was.

I was preparing to go see Dr. Ted Farnsworth to change my mortal and immortal life.

Dr. Ted Farnsworth had a huge tour van. HUGE. A bus really.

And I said to Kim, “Look at that thing.” It was black with purple nebula and stars and his huge spray-tanned face on it.

“Shh,” she said.

We'd followed him out back into the blowing desert heat parking garage and now he was talking to his assistants.

The bus was towering and it made me feel uncomfortable, imagining greasy-haired Dr. Ted Farnsworth relaxing in there.

“We have to talk to him out here in the parking lot,” I said. “I'm not going in that bus.”

She nodded but then she said, “What could happen?”

And a lot could happen. I watched
CSI.
I watched
Law and Order
. I watched
Psych
. I even watched
Murder She Wrote
with my dad on Sundays sometimes. A lot could happen.

Finally, when his people were leaving, Kim yelled, “Dr. Ted!”

She sounded so desperate. I'd never heard Kim sound desperate.

One of his guys, the flattop one said, “He can't talk to you right now. He has to rest.”

But Dr. Ted Farnsworth turned. He was standing on the steps of his bus and he turned and said, “It's okay, Bart.” Then he got this huge creepy smile and said, “Come in, girls, and chat for a bit.”

Kim started walking and I said, “We can't go in there.”

She looked at me. “We have to.”

“We can't.”

“We have to,” she said again. I grabbed her arm and she said, “Emmy. I'm going in there. You can come or you can stay.”

And then she went into Dr. Ted Farnsworth's cosmic tour bus.

•

So I followed Kim inside. I couldn't let her go alone.

•

“Sit down, sit down, girls,” he said. “Sit down.”

He motioned to a leather couch against one wall of the bus.

There was a flat screen TV. A full kitchen. A massage chair. I could see a bedroom down the hall. It was awesome. And also made me sick. This guy was making a lot of money.

“You like it?” he said.

“Yeah,” said Kim. “It's nice.” She was sitting on the edge of the couch and I saw that she'd written some questions down.

He sat down on the massage chair and then he pointed at Kim. “So you're going to die.”

HOLY CRAP. HOLY CRAP.

Kim turned white and I felt nauseous again and Dr. Ted Farnsworth said, “It's okay. It's okay, girls. It's a part of the grand scheme of things, you know what I mean?”

I tried to think what to say. What I had the courage to say. He was a jerk. And a fake. And he was full of crap and I wanted to throw a wooden duck at him. We shouldn't be in there and why did he say that? I started to stand up but Kim said, “Yeah. I am going to die. And it's okay.”

“That's right,” he said. “It's okay.”

I looked at her. She had a determined look on her face and it scared me.

“How did you know,” she said.

He leaned forward and touched her cheek with his big fat hand and said, “Darling, the beautiful touch of death is on your visage.”

She started to tear up.

“What are you talking about?” I said, barely able to control myself. “What are you talking about?”

Kim said, “It's okay, Emmy. I am.”

“No, you're not. Jenny Biggs lived to be fifty-four, which is really old. You're going to get really old.” My voice was louder than I expected it to be, but I didn't care.

“I'm dying, Em. I am. I'm going to die,” she said.

I tried to swallow but it was hard. So hard. “No you're not,” I said.

She wasn't. She was not. She was fine. She looked good. She looked fine. She was
not
going to die.

“I thought things were going better,” I said. Trish had told Mom that. That things were going better.

Kim nodded. “They were but . . .

Then she stopped talking like we were in a soap opera and Dr. Ted Farnsworth who was listening to me and my best friend fight about how she was going to die, Dr. Ted Farnsworth scooted back in his dumb massage chair and pushed a button, and his orange face started jiggling.

“I hope you girls don't mind if I do a little refreshing while we talk. I'm quite sore.”

This was not happening.

He cleared his throat and got this serious look on his face and said to Kim, “You can feel it, can't you? You can feel death approaching.”

Kim nodded. “I sort of can. Does that happen?”

I looked at her. She could feel death coming?

“Sure does,” he said. “Especially to sensitive souls.” He pushed another button and then his voice vibrated and he said, “So you got heart disease?”

Kim nodded—I could tell she was in shock and so was I. How did he know that?

I tried to calm myself down. Get my breathing normal. This was a mistake. She'd been going to parties with Gabby. She was voted hot bod on the student council poll week. She was maybe going to try out for the dance team.

She was not sick. This was a mistake.

He took out his iPhone and started typing things in.

“Are you excited?” he asked.

He was crazy. He was a crazy man. Excited? To die? Who was excited to die? What kind of question was that?

But then she just said, like it was normal, she just said, “I don't know.”

This was the first time Kim talked about her death. I mean she'd talked about dying and her funeral and dead people and stupid stuff all the time. But not like this. Not like she was going to die tomorrow.

Then she said, “Will it hurt?”

He turned off the stupid chair and took her hand. “It might hurt. You know, initially, but then it will feel warm.”

I wanted to punch him in the face. I wanted to punch him hard, and I wanted to get out of that leather and brass bus as fast as we could. But Kim, when I looked at her, she had a tear running down her cheek.

He said, “Tell me what I can do for you.”

Kim shifted on the couch. She glanced at me and then she said, “I want to come back,” she said. And he nodded. “As you should.”

Then her voice got more confident. “This is my best friend, Emmy. She is perfect for the medium. I think she'd be perfect for the medium.”

He looked me square in the eye for the first time. “Hi, Emmy.”

He waited for me to say something.

“Uh, hi, Dr. Farnsworth,” I said.

“Call me Dr. Ted,” he said, his big fat gold tooth glittered in the fluorescent lighting.

“Do you have what it takes to help your friend?”

I could feel Kim watching me. I could feel her staring and at that moment, I wished she had brought Gabby. Or even Joe or someone. I wished it wasn't just me.

I took a breath and then I said, “Sure.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

“Sure is not enough.” He looked at Kim. “Sure is not enough.”

“She can do it,” Kim said. “I know she can. She's more of an iceberg, you know?”

Ugh.

He looked at me again. Cocked his head to one side and closed his eyes. “Tell me your full name.”

“Emilee Anderson,” I said.

“Emilee Anderson.” He opened his eyes. “I think Kimberly here is right. I think you are an iceberg. I think there's much hidden under the surface but you're afraid.”

Kim nodded. “She's afraid of everything.”

What? Why would she say that?

He nodded. Then he said, “But you want to see your friend again, right?”

I started to sweat. Why were we in here? Why were we here?

“Yeah, of course,” I said.

He put his hand on my knee. “You can do it. You can. I feel the love between you two.”

My mouth was dry and I moved my knee away from him.

“I think we should go,” I said. And I stood up.

Kim didn't stand up but I said, “Come on, Kim.” I said it loud and it startled her.

“What is wrong with you,” she said, but I was shaking and, “We are leaving.”

Dr. Ted Farnsworth laughed. “It's okay, Kimberly. Classic iceberg behavior. I have to recharge anyway. I'm going to give you some advice and a gift. First of all, you are both young. This is in your favor.”

He was talking like Yoda. He was a fat, orange Yoda.

“It's much easier to cross over if you're young and you believe.” He pointed to me, “You need to access your depth. You need to let go of your heart and let it breathe.”

He stood up and walked to the front of the bus. “Let's go,” I whispered.

“Please, Emmy. Please,” she said. “Just hang on.”

He came back holding a box.

He said, “This is what you really want. It's out of print.”

On the front it said,
If You Believe.

Kim opened it. It was full of old CDs. “Have your friend listen to these,” he said. “It will give her the power to overcome her weaknesses and unearth her sensitivities and then,” he paused for dramatic effect, “and then you two will be able to continue your relationship into the eternities.”

Kim gripped the box and I said, “Come on.”

And she said, “Thank you so much, doctor. So much.”

And then we left.