The List

“So,” he said, swirling the last of the bourbon around in his glass, “You’re going to be there?”

“Yes, goddamn it, how many times must I answer that same question?”

“Until I’m sure you mean it,” he answered without looking up from the bar.

“You know, there’s a lot of beautiful women in here tonight John.”

“Hmm.”

“Why aren’t you ever interested in them?”

He looked up and wrinkled his black, bushy eyebrows and said, “Because there’s no point in it, that’s why.”

Gregory looked at his friend as though for the first time. He knew what line of reasoning was coming but it never failed to shock and sadden him. “Of course there’s a point. I’ve seen lots of girls look your way. There’s one now,” he pointed to the far corner of the bar.

John ran a hand through his dark hair and said, “There’s no point in that, in getting involved, falling in love, whoever she is, she’ll just mourn me when I pass. I can’t do that to someone.”

“John, you’re 28 for God’s sake, you’re not passing.” He signaled the bartender for two more drinks.

“We’re all passing Greg.”

“Not anytime soon I should hope.”

“You can hope all you want, but you never know. That’s why I prepare as I do. You should too. Make a list of your own.”

“People think you’re weird you know, that list of yours makes people uncomfortable.”

“I don’t make the list for their comfort. I make it for mine.”

The bartender, who knew them both from many Friday nights just like this one, put two fresh bourbons in front of them and said, “Still at it are you John? I hope I’m still on the list. Count me in.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Greg said, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t think he needs no encouragin’, do you John?”

“You’re mocking me,” John said without looking up. He carefully folded up his list, placed in the inside pocket of his black suit, and picked up his drink. “You shouldn’t do that. You’ll wish you’d been more prepared when it happens.”

Greg was waving at an attractive brunette at the other end of the bar, encouraging her to come over. “John, don’t you think the woman, whoever she might be, should be allowed to decide if she’d rather have to mourn you when you pass as opposed to never knowing you at all. Don’t you believe in love?”

“Of course I believe in love. Love is precisely the reason I can’t become involved. Love makes it hard to let go of someone when they pass. I can’t be responsible for that.”

The bartender, on hearing this, asked the same questions he always did. Not because he truly was curious anew, but because the answer always fascinated him somehow. “Don’t you think you should be a funeral director instead of a life insurance salesman?”

“No I don’t, and I believe you know that. Life insurance prepares us for passing, prepares our loved ones.”

“You said you don’t want any loved ones, so you won’t need it,” Greg said smiling. The bartender joined him in a chuckle.

“I can’t help who might fall in love with me. Like passing, love is out of my hands. Should some unfortunate fall in love with me, I want them to be taken care of. The funeral needs to be paid for as well, I have plans for it and they aren’t cheap.”

“So,” the bartender continued, “why don’t they call it death insurance?”

John looked up and again wrinkled his eyebrows, looked at the bartender as though he were very dim, and said, “Don’t be ridiculous, that would be depressing.”

“Isn’t planning your funeral at your age depressing?”

“Of course it is. I’m depressed.”

Greg got up, took his drink, and walked, chest out, towards the brunette who had failed to take his hints and had stayed put. John didn’t so much as glance at him as he went.

The bartender, having other customers to attend to, moved to the opposite end of the bar and began mixing margaritas. Being alone again, much to his relief, he pulled the list back out and looked at very closely.

Why couldn’t they understand? Why could the rest of the world never see what he could so clearly see? He looked again at the list and nearly became misty eyed upon seeing the names he had crossed out over the years, the names of people he could no longer count on to attend.

All his life he had known that you don’t make friends, that’s not our purpose here. You go through life and you gather mourners; you meet people and get to know them only well enough to be certain your funeral won’t be empty. Don’t get to know them so well that they’re terribly sad, just enough so that they will want to pay some small tribute and then let it be.

One of the reasons he was unafraid to keep such close company with Greg was that he was sure Greg was cold as ice and would not be devastated at his passing. He could sleep very well at night knowing that Greg would carry on just fine once he was gone. What a relief it had been to find him, someone to talk to and not have to worry about. What a wonderful mourner he was.

Greg returned to his seat, accompanied by two very attractive young women. He always did have a way with the ladies. John crackled his knuckles, took a deep pull from his drink and tried to turn his back to them. Greg had wedged his foot into his stool and John was frightened to find he couldn’t turn away.

Greg shook his head and laughed at his friends feeble attempt to escape. “We’re all going to fall in love with you tonight Johnny.

“Don’t say that, don’t you ever say that,” he hissed.

Unfazed, Greg carried on making introductions.

“What are you writing?” the shorter of the two women asked, leaning in to read it.

“It’s my list,” he said possessively. “I’m sure Greg has told you all about it and you’ve had a very nice laugh at my expense.”

“Why, I’ve done no such thing Johnny,” Greg said. He always called him Johnny when the booze started getting to him. “Now, I’ve brought you a beautiful woman, are you going to put that list away and let us all get to know each other?”

John tilted his head as though he we’re a dog cocking his ear and seemed to be thinking very hard. “Well, alright. But I can’t….”

“Get to know her too well, I know,” Greg said. “Ah, my friend, you’re very depressing sometimes. You have an uncanny ability to take the charm from an evening.”

“I don’t think so,” said the shorter woman, “I think he’s cute.”

“Be careful,” the bartender said as he walked by, “He’ll put you on his list and then you’ll have to go with us.”

“Go with you where?” she asked, looking at Greg.

“Why, to John’s funeral. When he passes.”

Oh!” she gasped. “I’m so sorry, are you dying?”

“We’re all dying,” Johnny said, draining the rest of his drink and glaring at the bartenders back.

“You seem very nice,” Johnny said to her, looking her up and down. “I like you, I think. Can I have your name please?”

“Cheryl,” she replied warily.

“Do you have a black dress Cheryl? Something a little longer than what the dress you’re wearing tonight I should think.”

Greg rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the taller woman, staring into her eyes and trying to draw her a little closer.

“Yes, I believe I do. Why?”

“Because,” Johnny said, looking at her with wrinkled brow, “I think I’ll add you to my list. Would you come? It’s a serious commitment, don’t answer lightly.”

“Oh, she’ll come, she’ll come Johnny,” Greg said, annoyed. “Now please, before you make these lovely women less lovely, can we please get to know them now?”

“All right, I suppose,” he said, scribbling Cheryl’s name onto the list. “As long as she’ll agree to come.”

“Just tell him you’ll go to his damn funeral will you?” Greg snapped.

“Umm, alright. Where is it then?”

“St. John’s cathedral,” the bartender yelled back. “It’ll be a morning service.”

“What day?” Cheryl asked.

“Now you’re being silly,” John said, “How should I know what day?”