Spinal Meningitic Enthusiasm

Luther inhaled a full chamber of smoke from the bong, exhaled it as smoothly as he could, put the tube on the floor, and flipped open his cell phone. He hit the button beneath the “contacts” graphic on the tiny LCD screen, and then he hit the 7 button, and the name Penny became highlighted. He hit the “send” button and the graphic for the reception began making waves. There was a click after the rings sounded, and Penelope murmured, “Hello?”
“Hey Penny, what are you up to?” Luther asked her.
Penelope was in her apartment alone. She was doing aerobics while watching television.
“Nothing, how are you feeling?” she asked.
“I’ve got this really weird pain in my neck, right where my neck meets my back. It’s like really sore or something. I’m pretty sure it’s spinal meningitis.”
“You do not have meningitis!”
“It can happen to anyone, anytime.”
“Listen, I think you’re taking this a little too seriously”
“Well you’re not me and you can’t feel what I’m feeling right now, and believe me if you could, you would think you had meningitis too. But listen, I don’t even care. I’ve heard you only live for twenty-four more hours once you contract meningitis, and I’m not even going to try to get better. I’m not going to spend my last day in the hospital, only to get more depressed to learn that I’ll be dying in the next few hours. No, this is my last day, and I’m going to do everything I can possibly do to end things on a good note. I don’t want to go out not having done something I’d said I’d always do and never did.”
“Well great. What are you going to do on your last day that’s so important?”
“I’m going to spend it with the people I like most. I’m going to try to forget about what is coming tomorrow and tie up every loose end in my bodily existence.”
“Are you going to see me? I have to work tonight.”
“Your work will be my last stop. What time do you get off?”
“Probably sometime around 10.”
“I’ll be there at 9:30.”
“Hey, are you feeling any better about last night?” Penelope asked.
“I don’t even care about last night. I just have to think of a way to get back at Ted.”
“Well, he’s going to be working with me I think, so you can say whatever you want to say before we leave.”
“I don’t know if it’s just going to be ‘saying’ anything.”
“Well whatever it is, I’ll see you then, okay?”
“You will. Bye-bye, my love.”
Luther flipped the phone shut, dipped his finger into the bong’s bowl to see if there was anything left in it, picked it up into his lap, flicked the lighter, and sucked the last of the material through the hole in the bowl and into the water in the bottom of the bong. He put it back into its hiding place, behind the corner of the couch.
He stood up from the couch and considered his options. He decided it would be prudent to employ an excellent hygienic attitude towards his last day on earth. He would make no mistakes. He would say only the right things. He would speak to the people he wanted to speak to, and when he finished saying whatever it was he would have to say, they would part paths with warm hearts. They would recall their final conversation with him fondly, and not with a foreboding memory. In order to best accomplish this goal, he decided, an extensive and thorough stint in the shower would be necessary. With this thought in mind, he proceeded towards the bathroom.