Read Online Player One: What Is to Become of Us by Douglas Coupland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Douglas Coupland
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the full program will arrive at this address in two days.” Leslie looked up at the room. “People — nice to have met you all. Welcome to the best of the rest of your life.”
And with that, Leslie and Tara were gone, a little bit too quickly, giving Rick just the briefest whiff of suspicion that Leslie’s interest in Rick’s future success and mental livelihood might not have been entirely spiritual.
Luke
It wasn’t just the Bake Sale Committee’s pissy reaction to Luke’s Rapture joke that made him reach his tipping point and loot the parish coffers and abandon his flock. Something else happened. When the Bake Sale meeting was over, Luke walked past the out-of-tune baby upright piano and up the rear staircase, which smelled of old textbooks. He went into his office and locked the door. He sat in his wooden chair, which overlooked the rear parking lot, where the women were milling about their cars and gossiping, most likely about him. He turned off his cellphone and took his land line off the hook and watched the women leave. Then he looked to the side of the window, where a crow on a telephone wire was having a deep, vigorous preening session, feathers akimbo, groom, groom, groom . After finishing its routine, the crow fluffed out its feathers, pooped, and then yawned.
It yawned?
Birds yawn ?
Luke found it interesting that birds yawn. Some people would have us believe that birds and human beings evolved from one common ancestor six hundred million years ago — which would mean that yawning goes back six hundred million years — as does, Luke supposed, preening and grooming and battling for turf and seeking out mates and . . .
. . . suddenly the idea of sharing a common ancestor made more sense than the thought of being created in six days — more than the notion of Creation itself. Luke’s loss of faith was that quick. He’d always feared it, but he had thought it would be a long, drawn-out process. He should have known it would happen in an instant. From years of tending his flock, he knows that most big moments in life and death are quick — those key moments that define us probably fill less than three minutes altogether.
The next morning — this morning — Luke drove to the bank and made small talk with Cindy the teller, who had a port wine birthmark on her chin, after which he withdrew the church’s savings and went to the airport to catch the first flight he could get to a big city, which happened to be Toronto, where he now sits with a crazy robot-woman supermodel.
On his bar stool, his pockets brimming with cash, Luke feels as though he radiates darkness as surely as the sun radiates light. Luke still believes that we are all, at every moment of our lives, equally on the brink of all sins, except that now, in a world without faith, sin has no ramifications; it’s just something humans do.
Luke sits with the flawlessly beautiful Rachel. The TV screen shows the remains of a Florida zoo recently pummelled by a hurricane. An array of animals and birds stand amid and on top of broken walls and mangled metal, yet none of them knows it’s wreckage; it’s merely the world. Luke feels old and lost. He felt lost when he was young, too, but back then he felt lost in his own special way. Now he feels lost in the same way everybody else does.
Luke turns to Rachel and asks, “Have you ever had a vision?”
“I don’t understand your question, Luke.”
“A vision — a picture in your mind that’s not real life, but it’s not a dream, either — it’s something you see that you know is true and you know is going to happen.”
“Have you?”
“Once. Last summer. I was with my sister and her kids, at some lake. The kids were driving me nuts, so I went off on my own and got lost in the scrub — it’s easier to get lost than you think — and I ended up on a sandbar down the lake. I was thirsty, but I didn’t want to drink the water because it probably had bear shit and skunk shit in it,
And with that, Leslie and Tara were gone, a little bit too quickly, giving Rick just the briefest whiff of suspicion that Leslie’s interest in Rick’s future success and mental livelihood might not have been entirely spiritual.
Luke
It wasn’t just the Bake Sale Committee’s pissy reaction to Luke’s Rapture joke that made him reach his tipping point and loot the parish coffers and abandon his flock. Something else happened. When the Bake Sale meeting was over, Luke walked past the out-of-tune baby upright piano and up the rear staircase, which smelled of old textbooks. He went into his office and locked the door. He sat in his wooden chair, which overlooked the rear parking lot, where the women were milling about their cars and gossiping, most likely about him. He turned off his cellphone and took his land line off the hook and watched the women leave. Then he looked to the side of the window, where a crow on a telephone wire was having a deep, vigorous preening session, feathers akimbo, groom, groom, groom . After finishing its routine, the crow fluffed out its feathers, pooped, and then yawned.
It yawned?
Birds yawn ?
Luke found it interesting that birds yawn. Some people would have us believe that birds and human beings evolved from one common ancestor six hundred million years ago — which would mean that yawning goes back six hundred million years — as does, Luke supposed, preening and grooming and battling for turf and seeking out mates and . . .
. . . suddenly the idea of sharing a common ancestor made more sense than the thought of being created in six days — more than the notion of Creation itself. Luke’s loss of faith was that quick. He’d always feared it, but he had thought it would be a long, drawn-out process. He should have known it would happen in an instant. From years of tending his flock, he knows that most big moments in life and death are quick — those key moments that define us probably fill less than three minutes altogether.
The next morning — this morning — Luke drove to the bank and made small talk with Cindy the teller, who had a port wine birthmark on her chin, after which he withdrew the church’s savings and went to the airport to catch the first flight he could get to a big city, which happened to be Toronto, where he now sits with a crazy robot-woman supermodel.
On his bar stool, his pockets brimming with cash, Luke feels as though he radiates darkness as surely as the sun radiates light. Luke still believes that we are all, at every moment of our lives, equally on the brink of all sins, except that now, in a world without faith, sin has no ramifications; it’s just something humans do.
Luke sits with the flawlessly beautiful Rachel. The TV screen shows the remains of a Florida zoo recently pummelled by a hurricane. An array of animals and birds stand amid and on top of broken walls and mangled metal, yet none of them knows it’s wreckage; it’s merely the world. Luke feels old and lost. He felt lost when he was young, too, but back then he felt lost in his own special way. Now he feels lost in the same way everybody else does.
Luke turns to Rachel and asks, “Have you ever had a vision?”
“I don’t understand your question, Luke.”
“A vision — a picture in your mind that’s not real life, but it’s not a dream, either — it’s something you see that you know is true and you know is going to happen.”
“Have you?”
“Once. Last summer. I was with my sister and her kids, at some lake. The kids were driving me nuts, so I went off on my own and got lost in the scrub — it’s easier to get lost than you think — and I ended up on a sandbar down the lake. I was thirsty, but I didn’t want to drink the water because it probably had bear shit and skunk shit in it,
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