The bus pulled up just then and I got on, finding a seat without anyone around. Tucking the paper under my arm as I pulled out my cell phone, I loaded her number and pondered what to say. I couldn’t just tell her the truth, of course, she’d think I really had gone mad. I wasn’t even sure I believed it myself; I just had to do something.
I finally settled on saying I was having a problem that only a best friend could fix, and I was going to play hooky from work tomorrow and would she spend the day with me? If the ‘incident’ happened at her home, then the obvious conclusion was to get her out of her house. Then it couldn’t happen, could it?
Time had never passed so slow as I waited for a reply, staring out the window, at the other people, at the phone, anxiety eating away in my chest. It seemed like forever before I heard the chime and looked to see her reply. She’d love to, sounded like just the thing.
Relief flooded me and I flopped back into my seat, not realizing until now how tense every fiber of my body had been. I texted back to come over as early as she liked and we’d make a day of shopping, salons and then a nice walk in the park. We’d finish off with a half gallon of ice cream and some sappy movies. The more I thought of it, the more it sounded like something I had desperately needed for a while myself!
I tried to put the paper out of my mind for the evening, not wanting to dwell on the thought of my best friend’s death. It never occurred to me that if the paper was already printed, if someone really could see the future, then nothing I did was going to matter.