Be well, Mateo
Mateo
1:52 a.m.
I'm almost ready to go.
I did the dishes, swept dust and candy wrappers out from underneath the
couch, mopped the living room floor, wiped the bathroom sink clean of my
toothpaste smears, and even made my bed. I'm back in front of my laptop,
faced with a greater challenge: the inscription for my headstone in no more
than eight words. How do I sum up my life in eight words?
He Lived Where He Died: In His Bedroom.
What a Waste of a Life.
Children Take More Risks Than Him.
I have to do better. Everyone wanted so much more out of me, myself
included. I have to honor this. It's my last day to do so.
Here Lies Mateo: He Lived for Everyone.
I hit Submit.
There's no going back. Yeah, I can edit, but that's not how promises
work, and living for everyone is a promise to the world.
I know it's early in the day, but my chest squeezes because it's also
getting late, for a Decker, at least. I can't do this alone, the leaving part. I'm
really not dragging Lidia into my End Day. Once I get out of here—not if—
I'll go see Lidia and Penny, but I'm not telling Lidia. I don't want her to
consider me dead before I am, or ever bring her any sadness. Maybe I'll
send her a postcard explaining everything while I'm out living.
What I need is a coach who can double as a friend for me, or a friend
who can serve as a coach for me. And that's what this popular app often
promoted on CountDowners provides.
The Last Friend app is designed for lonely Deckers and for any good
soul who wants to keep a Decker company in their final hours. This isn't to
be confused with Necro, which is intended for anyone who wants a onenight
stand with a Decker—the ultimate no-strings-attached app. I've
always been so disturbed by Necro, and not just because sex makes me
nervous. But no, the Last Friend app was created so people can feel worthy
and loved before they die. There are no user charges, unlike Necro, which
goes for $7.99 a day, which disturbs me because I can't help but feel as if a
human is worth more than eight bucks.
Anyway, just like any potential new friendship, the relationships born
from the Last Friend app can be pretty hit-or-miss. I was once following
this CountDowners feed where this Decker met a Last Friend, and she was
slow about updating, sometimes for hours, to the point where viewers in the
chat room assumed she'd died. She was actually very much alive, just
living her last day right, and after she died her Last Friend wrote a brief
eulogy that taught me more about the girl than I'd learned in any of her
updates. But it's not always sweet like that. A few months ago this Decker
with a sad life unwittingly befriended the infamous Last Friend serial killer,
and that was so tragic to read about, and one of the many reasons I struggle
with trusting this world.
I think engaging with a Last Friend could do me some good. Then
again, I don't know if it's sadder to die alone or in the company of someone
who not only doesn't mean anything to you, but also probably doesn't care
much for you either.
Time is wasting.
I have to take a shot and find the same bravery hundreds of thousands of
Deckers before me have found. I check my bank account online, and what
remains from my college funds has been automatically deposited into my
account, which is only about two thousand dollars, but it's more than
enough money to get through the day. I can visit the World Travel Arena
downtown, where Deckers and guests can experience the cultures and
environments of different countries and cities.
I download the Last Friend app on my phone. It's the fastest download
ever, like it's some sentient being who understands the whole point of its
existence is that time is running out for someone. The app has a blue
interface with an animation of a gray clock as two silhouettes approach
each other and high five. LAST FRIEND zooms into the center and a menu
drops down.
Dying Today
Not Dying Today
I click Dying Today. A message pops up:
We here at Last Friend Inc. are collectively sorry for this loss of you.
Our deepest sympathies extend to those who love you and those who
will never meet you. We hope you find a new friend of value to spend
your final hours with today. Please fill out the profile for best results.
Deeply sorry to lose you,
Last Friend Inc.
A blank profile pops up and I fill it out.
Name: Mateo Torrez
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 164 lbs.
Ethnicity: Puerto Rican
Orientation: <skip>
Job: <skip>
Interests: Music; Wandering
Favorite Movies / TV Shows / Books: Timberwolves by Gabriel
Reeds; "Plaid Is the New Black"; the Scorpius Hawthorne series
Who You Were in Life: I'm an only child and I've only ever really had
my dad. But my dad has been in a coma for two weeks and will
probably wake up after I'm gone. I want to make him proud and break
out. I can't go on being the kid who keeps his head low, because all that
did was rob me of being out there with you all—maybe I could've met
some of you sooner.
Bucket List: I want to go to the hospital and say goodbye to my dad.
And then my best friend, but I don't want to tell her I'm dying. After
that, I don't know. I want to make a difference for others and find a
different Mateo while I'm at it.
Final Thoughts: I'm going for it.
I submit my answers. The app prompts me to upload a photo. I scroll
through my phone's album and there are a lot of photos of Penny and
screenshots of songs I'd recommend to Lidia. There are others of me out in
the living room with Dad. There's my junior year photo, which is lame. I
stumble on one I took of myself wearing the Luigi hat I won in June for
entering this Mario Kart contest online. I was supposed to send the contest
host my picture to be featured on the website, but I didn't think the boygoofing-
around-in-the-Luigi-hat was very me so I never submitted it.
But I was wrong, go figure. This is exactly the person I always wanted
to be—loose, fun, carefree. No one will look at this photo and think it was
out of character, because none of these people know me, and their only
expectations of me are to be the person I'm presenting myself as in my
profile.
I upload the photo and a final message pops up: Be well, Mateo.