Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

first disappeared, but which I've so far refused to take. I'm going to bed.
Monday night 7:00
Work today was hard, and I screwed up several times. I passed on lunch with Jayne from the court next
door, and I bought a tuna salad sandwich and some chocolate milk. It sat beside me untouched on the
courtyard steps while I began phoning Allison's number once again. How many times had it been, at that
point - ten? But I couldn't help it: her number was the combination to a safe, and I desperately wanted in.
By the end of lunch hour, I felt sick - well, more freaked out than sick. I clocked out and drove home,
as if home would afford me any comfort. I phoned Allison twice again and then decided at the last minute
to visit Jason's mother at the extended-care facility off Lonsdale. She was awake and for an instant
seemed to recognize me, but quickly forgot me again. She kept asking for Joyce, Jason's old dog, but I
told her about ten times that because I was allergic to her, Joyce was living with Chris down in Silicon
Valley.
Then she asked how Jason was. I said he was fine, and then from the innocent expression on her face I
time-traveled just a few months in the past to a world where Jason was still here. I felt relief that we'd
decided to not tell her the news.
Tuesday morning 5:30
Allison won't answer her phone, and I'm ready for murder. For the love of God, how many times do I
have to dial her? I threw all caution to the wind and put her number on autoredial for the entire evening.
Then I went and bought a copy of every local newspaper and checked out all the psychics, looking for
her.
I went through the Yellow Pages and the Internet, and still nothing. She must have some sort of business
alias. I called all the psychics I could, asking who Allison might be, but nobody knew. Some of them tried
reeling me in by fishing for what Allison might have been onto. Scum. But all leads went dead. The nerve
of this woman - the nerve - she knows darn well what it's like to endure what I've endured, and she
doesn't return my call.
I can't sleep. Instead, I just think about her more and more, and then I think about Jason, somewhere
out there in the afterworld trying to reach me, and instead all he connects with is Allison in her
teal-colored fleece - pilled fleece, at that - who tells me right out of the gate that she's in the business of
being a liar. I walk around the condo, talking aloud, telling Jason that he could come directly to me,
instead of wasting his time trying to go through this uncommunicative Allison bitch.
I then felt uncharitable and petty. I thought that maybe if I drank a couple of gallons of water, it'd
de-gunk anything in my veins or muscles that might be blocking Jason from reaching me directly. Then I
figured I was maybe too clear, so I drank a shot of tequila.
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