Seeing into the future is a drag [Story #20]

“Must be great,” people would say, “being able to see into the future and all. You must do a lot of gambling.”

“Only the normal amount,” Daniel would respond and walk away. He was always walking away from stupid conversations. When you’re acutely aware, like Daniel was, of the date and time of your own death, you develop an intolerance for pointless conversations.

Today, Daniel had already walked away from three such conversations and it was not even noon. He sat at the bus stop and flicked through the “Songs to Help Me Relax and Not Feel the Need to Punch Others in the Face” playlist on his iPod and did his best to ignore sideways glances from the other bus-goers. They obviously knew who he was. Daniel couldn’t buy a packet of crisps or a pint of lager without some knucklehead shouting out, “Hey, ain’t you the guy from the telly? Predicted every World Cup game, dincha?”

Yeah, that was him. Stupid, really. He should have followed the advice of his friend, Alvin, and only placed bets on a few key games. Then, he could have kept his ability under wraps. Instead, it went spilling out into the world and was paraded around like the half-man, half-walrus in a circus sideshow. Soon, people from the far corners of his life—ex-girlfriends, distant cousins, former classmates—were calling up news stations and reporting every oddity they had ever noticed about Daniel.

“Kept to himself a lot, he did. Was always afraid to ask out the ladies.”

“He told me once that I shouldn’t go to chemistry class—that was the day my lab coat caught on fire and I had to be rushed to the hospital.”

“He completely predicted last year’s elections. He was grousing about the new prime minister months before election day.”

Daniel had answered all these allegations with shrugs and one-sentence responses. “Yeah,” he’d said on multiple occasions, “I suppose that was true.”

It was a good thing he had Alvin. Alvin helped him feel perfectly normal. They did normal things together, like drink beer and watch football. They talked about ladies. They complained about their jobs. They sat next to each other at their favorite pub for hours and didn’t exchange more than a handful of words. They never discussed Daniel’s ability to predict the future, even though Alvin knew about it. It just didn’t seem important.

Daniel relished his casual friendship with Alvin. It was wonderful. But after the World Cup scandal, Alvin began asking questions.

“If you knew all this was going to happen, why’d you do it?”

Daniel rolled his eyes at his friend. “That’s just it, Al. It was inevitable. Who am I to mess with the big, grand plan?”

“Kind of fatalistic, isn’t it?”

Daniel shrugged and took a long slug of whiskey.

“So,” said Alvin, “did you imagine this conversation that we’re having now? Did you know I was going to ask you about your…ability before we stepped into the bar today?”

“It doesn’t quite work like that. I make predictions two ways.” He held up one finger. “Number one. I focus on something and that thing’s path becomes apparent to me. That’s what happened with the World Cup. I pictured each game in the series and I could see each outcome. Or two,” he held up a second finger, “the future comes to me in flashes. Major events will pop up in my head at random—floods, bombings, someone’s goldfish dying—”

“Goldfish dying?”

“That’s a major event for a five year-old.”

“I suppose, but—”

“I don’t know, Al. The whole thing is nonsensical and maddening. If I could control it, I would, but it’s unstoppable. I can’t go to films. I can’t date girls. I know precisely how things are going to end before they even begin.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then you know which girls will actually let you have a beginning before they opt out. I wish I had your gift. It’d make dating a hell of a lot easier.”

Daniel glared at his friend. Alvin was short with a pudgy face the color of a dusty green olive and thick glasses that sat at the brim of his nose—not the type of guy the ladies usually drool over.

“Believe me, Al, you do not wish you had this gift. Now, let’s shut up about it. The game’s on.”

“But don’t you already know—”

“I still want to watch it, Al! If a guy can’t watch football and drink whiskey in a pub with his best mate, what’s the goddamn point?”

After that, Alvin shut up about Daniel’s ability. That was four months ago and Daniel sometimes found himself wishing he could open up to his friend and talk about all the sidelong glances, letters from desperate strangers, and random weirdos approaching him on the street and asking him to predict if they would get caught for murdering the gas station attendants/pastry chefs/yoga instructors who were surely sleeping with their wives.”

A tap on Daniel’s shoulder jolted him out of his daydreams.

“Whatd’ya want?” Daniel barked, removing his earbuds. “No, I cannot read palms so—”

He froze. A woman with dark eyes and haphazard brunette hair stared back at him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the woman said. “It’s just…I could hear your music. I’m also a fan of Vivaldi. His melodies make me feel so freaking relaxed. If I ever feel like punching someone in the face, I always turn on Vivaldi and let the world melt away…”

Daniel gulped and nodded. He stared into the dark eyes and could see a path stretching in front of them. Marriage, vacations, a daughter, a little house on the outskirts of London, wrinkled skin, old hands. A future. With him. He could see the end before it even began. He wanted to reach out and caress her cheek, like he would do so many times in their life together.

Daniel shook the images from his head and blinked his eyes. He noticed his hand jutting out, reaching for her face and he lowered it quickly and offered it to her.

“Daniel,” he said.

She grasped the outstretched hand and tossed him a crooked smile. “Sherry.”

“Sherry,” Daniel said, tasting the words. They felt familiar in his mouth, safe. He met her eyes. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to meet you.”