Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

eported the incident, nor did Reg. But in that one little window of time, many lasting decisions were
made. First, any love for my father that might have remained either in my mother's heart or my own -
vaporized. Second, we knew for sure that Dad was unfixably nuts. Third, upon discharge a few weeks
later, he was coolly shipped off to his sister's daffodil ranch in the most extreme eastern agricultural
reaches of the city, in Agassiz, a soggy and spooky chunk of property surrounded by straggly alders,
blackberry brambles, dense firs, pit bulls, Hell's Angels drug labs and an untold number of bodies buried
in unmarked graves.
But my parents never got divorced. Dad always paid support and . . . who knows what ever really goes
on inside a relationship. Dad probably felt guilty for wrecking Mom's life. No. that would imply feeling on
his part.
* * *
I arrived at Barb's house a bit on the late side. The attendees were mostly Kent's friends - friends who'd
seemed old to me in high school and who always will. Folding wooden chairs were arranged on the back
lawn, none of them level; the forest, after decades of lying in wait, was silently sucking the old ranch
house and the moss-clogged lawn back into the planet. The twins (that would be you, my nephews) and
a few other babies were in the TV room, being as quiet and gentle as their pious parents, as they were
serenaded by a tape of soothing nature sounds: waves lapping a Cozumel beach; birds of the Guyana rain
forest; rain falling in an Alaskan fjord.
Kent's friends had all been hardcore Youth Alive!ers who'd never strayed, who became dentists and
accountants and moved to Lynn Valley along with most of the city's Kents. I'd seen none of them in the
year since Kent's funeral. I knew they'd all enjoy a righteous tingle from any confirmation of my life's
downwardly sloping line. My slapped-together ensemble delivered the goods.
"Hey, Barb."
"Finally, somebody from your family shows up."
"Mom can't make it. One guess why. Reg is praying up by Exit 5. I imagine he'll creak his way here soon
enough."
"Lovely."
I poured myself a glass of red wine; piety mercifully ended at the bar with this crowd.
Barb was never involved with Youth Alive!, and because of this, had always felt like an outsider in the
Kent set. As I looked out at all the healthy teeth and hair on the patio, I realized how sad and insufficient
any memorial service would be. I missed Kent. Badly. "Was the service your idea, Barb?"
"Yes, but not this big Hollywood production. They're trying to set me up with some guy in the group. It's
so clinical and mechanical." She looked out onto the lawn. "They're pretty efficient. I have to hand that to
them. All I had to do was open the door and look wounded."
"Charitable."
Page 44