Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

The first thing I did was stop phoning her. I knew she'd phone me, and she'd only do so when she knew
the time was right to strike. This freed me to do things I'd been neglecting. I cleaned up the place, as
though performing an FBI crime scene sweep: I put everything of Jason's that held his smell in extra-large
Ziploc freezer bags. All his toiletries - his razors, his brushes: bagged. His wallet by the fruit bowl:
bagged. I bagged his dirty underwear and T-shirts and shoes. I also bagged all the clothing that was in
his hamper. Once I'd isolated all his personal effects, I opened each bag and held it up to my face and
inhaled for all I was worth. I wondered how much longer his odor would last. The smell of his cheap
underarm deodorant made me cry. I drank most of a bottle of Bailey's and passed out - much better than
sleeping pills. I was woken up around nine this morning by a phone call from Larry, asking if I was okay.
I said I was sick. I am sick.
I looked at the pile of Jason's things. I knew I had to start my life all over again from scratch. I could go
to work, sure, but I'd be a husk. There was no way I'd ever meet anybody again, and in real life I'd
become the invisible blank of a person I pretended to be in the courtroom.
So where do you start when you want to start your life again? At least when you're young you're also
stupid. But me? Tick tick tick.
I made coffee and was going to call Barb when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Heather. It's Allison."
"Hello, Allison." My voice was stripped of spark, a prisoner's voice.
"I thought I'd call. See how you're doing. I had another message come to me."
"You did, did you?"
"Yes. And it was quite a long one."
"That's nice."
"Should we get together?"
"Yes, Allison, we ought to get together. Why don't I come to your office or wherever it is you work."
"I work from home."
"Why don't I come to your house?"
"Oh, no - I never let clients come here."
"How much is your rate for the session going to be, Allison?"
This was the clincher.
"Allison?"
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