The Fuckit List

by ahorsewithnoname

In the summer of 2014, I traveled to Pennsylvania to meet Rich. We'd been talking for a couple of years, both having a love of writing, and our senses of humor meshed well. He told me that he had something special to do, and asked if I'd join him, that it'd take about a week, wouldn't cost me a dime and I might just have the time of my life. Mysterious! So I put my affairs in order, cranked up the '94 Jag convertible, and set off for Amish country.

It was late afternoon when I entered town, cruising up High Street, passing the A&M Pizza, then making the next left onto Main where I noted the Brick House Cafe, a little diner-like place that Rich said he frequented. Two blocks up I made a right and another quick right, and found a place to park, just like he said I would.

"Hey, young fella'," came the call from the 2nd story window of the brick building, "come on up!" He smiled wryly, the smile I'd seen plenty of times via Skype. Grabbing my suitcase from the backseat of the Jag, which is infamous for having little luggage space in what they call the trunk, I walked up the steps and knocked on his door.

It was a modest apartment, as he'd described. Didn't have a woman's touch, to be sure, but it smelled of a crock pot working its magic, and there were books, plenty of books.

"So what's all this mystery about," I asked, once I'd settled into a comfy chair and took a long drink from the glass of water I'd requested.

He pondered the question for a moment; it looked like he was gearing up for an announcement of sorts.

"Well, neither of us is getting any younger, right?" he started, and I nodded, definitely agreeing with him. "So, I don't have a bucket list, but I do have a few things that I'd like to do before I either get too old and hobbled to do them, or, lose too many marbles and forget what I wanted to do! I call it my Fuckit List."

I nodded, chuckled a bit, and took another long draw from the glass.

"Okay, here it is: I want to white-water raft in the Grand Canyon, and I want you to go with me."

I looked at him with what most likely could only be described as sheer disbelief.

"Um, Rich? Have you ever white-water rafted before?"

"Hell no, if I had I wouldn't be planning this trip." The wry smile was gone and now it was a full-out shit-eating grin.

"Okay look, I don't wanna' be the wet blanket here, but aren't you--" and I got cut off.

"Hold it right there, Sonny. If you're gonna say too old; hell no. If you're gonna say not medically fit; hell yeah, but if I don't do it now, it's just gonna be that much harder next year, or the year after."

"Okay, but I know you are, well, apprehensive about heights. What about airplane travel?" Pretty sure I tripped him up with that, I thought to myself.

"Apprehensive? I'm terrified of heights! Tough shit on me. I'm gonna take a strong tranquilizer before I fly and tough it out." He pointed to a prescription bottle sitting on the coffee table.

I'd known Rich long enough and had discussed his famous stubborn streak with his good friend Ellen long enough to know that I wasn't gonna win taking that approach. So, I tried another tactic.

"Rich, not looking to pry into your business, but, you mentioned more than a few times that you were living on a budget, that the divorce--"

"--cost me a lot that I had saved, yeah yeah. Absolutely true. But," and he looked around the room almost conspiratorially cartoonish-like, "I have a stash."

"A stash?" Now he had my full attention.

"Yep. It's true, I don't live on much throughout the month, but I had a hobby collecting coins over the years, and that was one thing that my ex never managed to sink her claws into, and last month I sold it. Made a tidy sum, too. You'd be surprised at what a $20 gold coin from a hundred years ago is worth, especially in near-mint condition. Even better when you have a few of them. Took six months to find the right buyer, but I did it."

"So, let me see if I have this correct. You wanna go do something terrifying, so you sold off a coin collection to finance the trip. I'm not sure where that leaves me because while I do have some money, I don't think I have--"

"Who said you'd need money?" Damn that smile. "I got this. I need someone to go and help me document all of this, so, don't worry about money, that's the one thing that I do have an abundance of for this trip. It's just a question of whether your 'Miss' will let you go." I could see he was poking at my manhood there. Nice try, I thought.

So after dinner we sat for a couple of hours, drinking, him some ale and me some schnapps, and talking about the good things to come. He did have this planned out, had his research done on how to maximize the days, the best companies for each of the excursions, what airlines to take...everything. All he needed, he said, was for me to give him the go-ahead.

"Hey," I said with a bit of a southern drawl, which came out when I had been drinking, "you had me at 'Who said you'd need money', pal." I took another slug. I was a good drinker with plenty of practice.

"Good!" He picked up the phone and I swear to all that's holy it was a rotary dial phone, and he started dialing it. As he finished and saw my astonished look, he pointed to a device on the wall near the phone jack. Ah, I thought, a pulse-to-tone converter. Cute.

He apparently had called a travel agent because he started rattling off flight numbers and connections and other stuff from a piece of paper he was holding. A couple of minutes later he was off the phone.

"I could have emailed her, but, I'd rather she have to write the stuff down, earn that commission. Besides that, she's hot as balls and has a damn sexy voice."

"So, when do we leave?"

That was a preview of The Fuck-It List. To read the rest purchase the book.

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