Somewhat ridiculous in her own way (though she didn’t care, either), Nadia paid for a message service, the kind which catches calls before they come through and patches them to the appropriate line.

The message played as follows:

“Please refer all concerns about my death to Wynne. She would be more than happy to discuss fears, dreams, nightmares, possibilities, and the whole grand grief of it all with you, whomever you are. I, on the other hand, couldn’t care less, and won’t waste my time talking about it with you. If you try pestering me with it, you’re bound to get hung up on. So, don’t bother. I’m too busy living to waste my time with all of this ridiculous death nonsense. Now, understanding all of that, if you still want to talk to me, press 1 when the message ends. If you would like to speak to Wynne, press 2. If this is Doctor Morgan, or anyone else from the Medical Center, press 3. If you do not get through to me, please do try me on my cellphone . . .” She then left the cell phone number, wanting to make it as easy as possible for the dinglebats. She would, of course, prefer to receive a heart from a recently dead stranger than from her girlfriend. The more time passed, the more likely it was, Nadia felt, that her lover would do something tragic and ridiculous.

Nadia occasionally felt that all of Wynne’s posturing towards death was a little selfish, a little showy, given Nadia’s predicament. I mean, Nadia wanted to live and she was given faulty mechanisms. All of Nadia’s parts were in working order, except the intangible ones (the psyche, the spirit, the will), and here she was about to toss her life off a high ledge in a very tall building. It didn’t seem right or fair.

She remembered one day being stuck on the subway for two and a half hours. They said that there was some medical emergency at the Lakeside station where she meant to get off. They wouldn’t give any more information than that until they neared Lakeside, when the conductor, sounding harried, her voice a little threadbare, mentioned something about someone being hit by a train. When Nadia was finally able to exit, she overheard the people who had been there, who had seen it, talking and crying to each other. Everyone seemed clear about the notion that she did not fall off that platform in front of that train. That she jumped. Right into the path of the approaching train. What a legacy—to leave subway patrons with three hours worth of backup to remember her by. Nadia meant it. That suicide made a more substantial impression on people’s minds than did the average wrist-slitting.

As she bicycled around the Lake, she thought about how wasteful it seemed to her. To just leap into death just like that, when there were so many people with no skin left on their hands, from grasping so tightly to their life which was wriggling and squirming against them, trying to scurry away. She thought of her teacher/friend/idol Marika who had given way to AIDS recently and of her best friend Ebony who had died last year after months of struggle in the hospital due to a car accident which made ground beef of her body. The absence of them still filled her lungs with tacks which tore gashes in her chest when she breathed too deeply. She supposed that life is precious to those who really live it and to those who feel keenly the absence of the beloved dead. To the already physically, bodily dead, she figured it probably didn’t matter, and to those who would be dead, she mused, life must be an endless flood of agony, each breath more torturous than the last.

So what was she learning in all of this rumination? That no one with anything remotely resembling a terminal condition should get seriously involved with someone suicidal. That should be worked out in the entrance interview:

The following section is multiple choice. Circle the letter corresponding to the selection which most resembles your thought or opinion. Remember—there may be more than one answer which will get you laid. Honesty in this case really is the best policy. Good luck.

Question #1. Life is:
a. precious, to be treasured, cherished, and fought for.
b. one good lay after the next. and/or: another drink, another bar.
c. what happens when you’re busy making other plans.
d. a sham. I want my money back.
e. an endless flood of agony, each breath more torturous than the last.
f. a and b
g. b and c
h. d and e

Any d, e, or h people should have been ferreted out immediately, their clothing put right back on their doubtless scintillating bodies, parting gifts given, and a cab called to carry them away asa(humanly)p. And the c people—one night stands only.

Her mistake—‘a and e’ wasn’t a choice. It should have been. Nadia should have accounted for people like Wynne.