Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

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Part Two 1999: Jason You won't see me in any of the photographs after the massacre - you know the ones I mean: the wire service shots of the funerals, students felt-penning teenage poetry on Cheryl's casket; teenage prayer groups in sweats and scrun-chies huddled on the school's slippery gym floor; 6:30 A.M. prayer breakfasts in the highway off-ramp chain restaurants, with all the men wearing ties while dreaming of hash browns. I'm in none of them, and if you had seen me, I sure wouldn't have been praying. I want to say that right from the start. Just one hour ago, I was a good little citizen in a Toronto-Dominion bank branch over in North Van, standing in line, and none of this was even on my mind. I was there to deposit a check from my potbellied contractor boss, Les, and I was wondering if I should blow off the afternoon's work. My hand reached down into my pocket, and instead of a check, my sunburnt fingers removed the invitation to my brother's memorial service. I felt as if I'd just opened all the windows of a hot muggy car. I folded it away and wrote down today's date on the deposit slip. I checked the wall calendar - August 19,1999 -and What the heck, I wrote a whole row of zeroes before the year, so that the date read: August 19, 00000001999. Even if you hated math, which I certainly do, you'd know that this is still mathematically the same thing as 1999. When I gave the slip and the check to the teller, Dean, his eyes widened, and he looked up at me as if I'd handed him a holdup note. "Sir," he said, "this isn't a proper date." I said, "Yes, it is. What makes you think it isn't?" "The extra zeroes." Dean was wearing a deep blue shirt, which annoyed me. "What is your point?" I asked. "Sir, the year is nineteen ninety-nine, not zero zero zero zero zero zero zero one nine nine nine." "It's the same thing." "No, it's not." "I'd like to speak with the branch manager." Dean called over Casey, a woman who was maybe about my age, and who had the pursed hardness of Page 24
someone who spends her days delivering bad news to people and knows she'll be doing it until her hips shatter. Casey and Dean had a hushed talk, and then she spoke to me. "Mr. Klaasen, may I ask you why you've written this on your slip?" I stood my ground: "Putting more zeroes in front of '1999' doesn't make the year any different." "Technically, no." "Look, I hated math as much as you probably did - " "I didn't hate math, Mr. Klaasen." Casey was on the spot, but then so was I. It's not as if I'd walked into the bank planning all those extra zeroes. They just happened, and now I had to defend them. "Okay. But maybe what the zeroes do point out is that in a billion years - and there will be a billion years - we'll all be dust. Not even dust: we'll be molecules.'" Silence. I said, "Just think, there are still a few billion years of time out there, just waiting to happen. Billions of years, and we're not going to be here to see them." Silence. Casey said, "Mr. Klaasen, if this is some sort of joke, I can try to understand its abstract humor, but I don't think this slip meets the requirements of a legal banking document." Silence. I said, "But doesn't it make you think? Or want to think?" "About what?" "About what happens to us after we die." This was my real mistake. Dean telegraphed Casey a savvy little glance, and in a flash I knew that they knew about me, about Cheryl, about 1988 and about my reputation as a borderline nutcase - He never really got over it, you know. I'm used to this. I was furious but kept my cool. I said, "I think I'd like to close my account - convert to cash, if I could." The request was treated with the casualness I might have received if I'd asked them to change a twenty. "Of course. Dean, could you help Mr. Klaasen close out his account?" I asked, "That's it? 'Dean, could you help Mr. Klaasen close out his account?' No debate? No questions?" Casey looked at me. "Mr. Klaasen, I have two daughters and I can barely think past next month's mortgage, let alone the year two billion one thousand nine hundred ninety-nine. My hunch is that you'd be happier elsewhere. I'm not trying to get rid of you, but I think you know where I'm coming from." She wasn't wearing a wedding band. "Can I take you out to lunch?" I asked. Page 25
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 and 18: outfits must have made us look all
Page 19 and 20: And I did have questions and uneasy
Page 21 and 22: late into the game, I think." "What
Page 23: didn't hurt, the shooting, and I di
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
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"How could Allison have known such
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Okay then, what did happen? I follo
Page 127 and 128:
Five years ago, before I met Jason,
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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
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We were in the Keg at the foot of L
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But I haven't lost you, my son. No
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Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

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