Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

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Lord, I know that faith is not the natural condition of the human heart, but why do You make it so hard to have faith? Were we so far gone here in boring North Van that we needed a shock treatment? There are thousands of suburbs as average as us. Why us then? And why now? You raise the cost of faith and You dilute its plausibility. Is that smart? Dear God, I keep on imagining what those kids under the tables must have been feeling and it only makes me angrier and crazier at You. It just does. Dear God, I'm prayed out, and yet here I am, still knocking on Your door, but I think this could be the last time. Dear Lord, This is the first time I've ever prayed because I didn't grow up with this stuff, but here I am, praying away, so maybe there's something to it. Maybe I'm wasting my time. You tell me. Send me a sign. You must get a lot of that. Proof proof proof. Because to my mind, the school massacre could mean that You don't exist just as much - if not more than - it could mean that You do. If I was trying to recruit followers, a school massacre isn't the way I'd go about doing it. But then it got me here right now, praying, didn't it? Just so you know, I'm having my first drink here as I pray my first prayer - apricot liqueur, I skimmed off the top inch of my dad's bottle. It tastes like penicillin and I like it. I've never told anyone about the moment of my conversion in eleventh grade. I was by myself, out in the backyard in fall, sitting between two huckleberry shrubs that had survived the mountainside's suburban development. I closed my eyes and faced the sun and that was that - ping! — the sensation of warmth on my eyelids and the smell of dry cedar and fir branches in my nose. I never expected angels and trumpets, nor did any appear. The moment made me feel special, and yet, of course, nothing makes a person less special than conversion - it ... universalizes you. But then how special can any person really be? I mean, you have a name and some ancestors. You have medical, educational and work histories, as well as immediate living family and friends. And after that there's not much more. At least in my case. At the time of my death, my life's résuméconsisted of school, sports, a few summer jobs and my Youth Alive! involvement. My death was the only remarkable aspect of my life. I'm rummaging through my memories trying to find even a few things to distinguish me from all others. And yet ... and yet I was me - nobody saw the world as I did, nor did they feel the things I felt. I was Cheryl Anway: that has to count for something. Page 18
And I did have questions and uneasy moments after my conversion. I wondered why it is that going to heaven is the only goal of religion, because it's such a selfish thing. The Out to Lunch Bunch talked about going to heaven in the same breath as they discussed hair color. Leading a holy life inside a burgundy-colored VW Cabrio seems like a spiritual contradiction. Jason once joked that if you read Revelations closely, you could see where it says that Dee Carswell counting the calories in a packet of Italian dressing is a sign of imminent apocalypse. And yet we all possessed the capacity for slipping at any moment into great sin and eternal darkness. I suppose it's what made me a bit withdrawn from the world - maybe I just didn't trust anybody fully, knowing how close we all were to the edge. That's not true: I trusted Jason. Whenever I felt doubts I overcompensated by trying to witness to whoever was nearby, usually my family. And when they even remotely sensed religion coming up, they either nodded politely or they bolted. I can't imagine what they said about me when I wasn't there. In any event, I think in the end it's maybe best to keep your doubts private. Saying them aloud cheapens them - makes them a bunch of words just like everybody else's bunch of words. * * * I don't think I fully understood sleaze until Jason and I entered the chilled lobby of Caesars Palace on that day of burning winds and X-ray sunlight. It stank of American cigarettes, smoky blue and tarlike, and of liquor. A woman dressed up like a centurion with balloon boobs and stage makeup asked us for our drink order. She reminded me of a novelty cocktail shaker. The thing is, we said yes, and Jason ordered two gin fizzes - where did that come from? They arrived within moments and there we stood, dumb as planks, while the most desperate sort of gamblers - I mean, this was August in the middle of the desert - slunk past us, serenaded by the endless rattling and dinging of the slot machines. I don't think I'd ever seen so many souls teetering so precariously on the brink of colossal sin. Hypocritical me. We're all equally on the brink of all sins. We went up to our room: shabby and yellowing. I couldn't figure out why such a splashy place would have such dumpy rooms, but Jason said it was to drive people down into the casinos. Once the door was closed, it was a bit awkward. Until then, it had all felt like a field trip. We sat on the edge of the bed and Jason asked if I still wanted to get married, and I said yes - I'd caught a sliver of his naked behind through the bathroom door's hinge crack as he changed into his other pair of pants. As we sat there, we realized our clothes, even in the air-conditioned room, were far too hot for the climate. Jason shed his tie, and I replaced my all-concealing "skin is sin" dress with a jacket and skirt, the only other garments I'd brought - something like you'd wear to work on a Wednesday morning. Sooner than I'd have liked we were out the door, appearing to the world as if we were headed to a $2.99 all-you-can-eat shrimp buffet or to lose ourselves for a few hours in front of the dime slots with the pensioners. We were alone in the elevator and kissed briefly, and then we staggered through the lobby bombarded again by a wash of noise and sleaze. Outside it was nearing sunset. An ashtray on wheels picked us up. The cabbie was a fat guy with an East Coast accent and exactly one hair on his forehead, just like Charlie Brown. He slapped the steering Page 19
Page 1 and 2: Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Couplan
Page 3 and 4: house was quiet - not even a clock
Page 5 and 6: I said, "Let's talk about it at hom
Page 7 and 8: Dear God, Remove the blood from the
Page 9 and 10: My family didn't know what to make
Page 11 and 12: Dear God, What's hardest here is th
Page 13 and 14: The important thing is that we were
Page 15 and 16: only indicate Your absence - that f
Page 17: outfits must have made us look all
Page 21 and 22: late into the game, I think." "What
Page 23 and 24: didn't hurt, the shooting, and I di
Page 25 and 26: someone who spends her days deliver
Page 27 and 28: ecame ghosts. The only thing that c
Page 29 and 30: It's a bit later again, still here
Page 31 and 32: on a locker's ventilation slits. "L
Page 33 and 34: turned around to me and said, "You
Page 35 and 36: their badge. Another cop looked at
Page 37 and 38: myself reflected in the one remaini
Page 39 and 40: * * * Like anyone, I've seen those
Page 41 and 42: I sat down, while Mom gave Joyce a
Page 43 and 44: Mom said, "Didn't you hear me?" Dad
Page 45 and 46: "Stick a potato in it. Your job, by
Page 47 and 48: "Barb?" "Go now. Because I'll break
Page 49 and 50: the water, and here I am now in my
Page 51 and 52: My main memories of those two weeks
Page 53 and 54: Just don't screw your life up the w
Page 55 and 56: was in. What came over me? It was n
Page 57 and 58: I changed the subject. "How long ar
Page 59 and 60: In the third week after the massacr
Page 61 and 62: don't, and they all work so hard -
Page 63 and 64: Alive! friends look forward to the
Page 65 and 66: But I was going to say that when it
Page 67 and 68: "Tell me." "He said, 'Who are we to
Page 69 and 70:
"I've heard of that. More for me, t
Page 71 and 72:
I dropped the rock onto a nearby bo
Page 73 and 74:
But I hadn't killed Yorgo. I stoppe
Page 75 and 76:
* * * I'm in a Denny's in North Van
Page 77 and 78:
"No. Just you." I was confused. I h
Page 79 and 80:
have a carry-on bag? So that some c
Page 81 and 82:
I was going to motion to the elevat
Page 83 and 84:
Saturday afternoon 4:00 I met Jason
Page 85 and 86:
Barb's commuting down the coast, an
Page 87 and 88:
"Heather, how many people are in th
Page 89 and 90:
Okay, Barb's housekeeper will be in
Page 91 and 92:
Oh, Heather, you knew it wouldn't b
Page 93 and 94:
"I'm driving." "So?" I didn't argue
Page 95 and 96:
kitchen table where I picked at the
Page 97 and 98:
"Wait. Hold on a minute. When you g
Page 99 and 100:
It was becoming windy, and our voic
Page 101 and 102:
Oh. So, um - what are you up to lat
Page 103 and 104:
"Why did he say, 'Oh, I say'?" "Bec
Page 105 and 106:
first disappeared, but which I've s
Page 107 and 108:
What has happened to me? I've gone
Page 109 and 110:
In my peripheral vision I'm also no
Page 111 and 112:
sweater and readying my purse. "Oh,
Page 113 and 114:
morning jobs, and he clocked out ea
Page 115 and 116:
Tuesday afternoon 3:00 I was eating
Page 117 and 118:
"No, I'm not." And he wasn't. Reg h
Page 119 and 120:
"Five thousand dollars." "I figured
Page 121 and 122:
existence. This is when I felt the
Page 123 and 124:
"How could Allison have known such
Page 125 and 126:
Okay then, what did happen? I follo
Page 127 and 128:
Five years ago, before I met Jason,
Page 129 and 130:
Allison didn't like this. "Oh, real
Page 131 and 132:
I was appalled. "How could you use
Page 133 and 134:
eating an egg salad sandwich, when
Page 135 and 136:
We were in the Keg at the foot of L
Page 137:
But I haven't lost you, my son. No
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