Do You Believe in X?

There had been a long pause in the car. The silence between them was punctuated by occasional comments on random things, and questions more meant to be rhetorical than answered, as well as superficial agreements and disagreements to reassert their familiarty with each other. The words uttered were less meant to go through, than to hang about in the air, and let fade like incense.

A. Do you believe in X?

B. Why do you ask? I have had X. I must have. But I am not sure if I believe in X. Or what it even means.

A. You know, to believe in X enough, that you have the courage to want it, and to get it. To believe in X enough, that when you have it, you know you have it.

B. I wouldn’t say I believe in X.

A. You’ve never had X?

B. That’s not what I said.

A. What do you mean? How can you have had X but not believe in it?

B. I don’t know. It’s just strange. To hold X in your hand, you don’t really have to ask anything. Is this really X? Do I believe in X? Of course, you have X, right in front of you. You can feel its weight, its warmth, its moistness, and its firmness. But then X starts to go away, and the desperation of wanting to hold on to it…

A. But even when I feel most surely of X, I still ask. It is not out of doubt, I think.

B. X is like an indigestion.

A. What?

B. Uh… when I eat too much, blood goes to my stomach, and I can’t really think.

A. I don’t get it.

B. That’s what X is like to me.

A. So you don’t ask. But then how do you know?

B. I ate a whole lot of food, then immediately after I predictably feel the indigestion. Ditto with X.
A. You are not making any sense at all.

B. Maybe I am not.

A. I DO believe in X. And I think you do as well.

B. That’s interesting. Should I say “I believe in X”, to affirm your believing of my believing of X? You know, just to be friendly.

A. Please do.

B. I believe in X.

A. But you don’t mean it?

B. I meant it. I meant what I said to you. But I am not sure what it was exactly I did say.

A. It’s not that hard, you know.

B. No it’s not that hard.

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B. Do you believe in Y?

A. What?

B. Do you believe in Y?

A. You are just repeating the question. It doesn’t make sense.

B. Why not? I believe in Y.

A. You CAN’T believe in Y. Is the question even grammatically correct?

B. Sure it is. I believe in X. And I believe in Y.

A. And you want me to believe in Y?

B. No. You can’t believe in Y. I want to hear you say you believe in Y.

A. You just want me to say that?

B. Ya.

A. Uh… I believe in Y.

B. Excellent. I believe in Y too.

A. I am happy we agree.

B. Me too.

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A. I am hungry.

B. For X?

A. For food. I am hungry.

B. I am not hungry yet.

A. I BELIEVE you are hungry.

B. Oh. Maybe I am hungry. Hmmm, what do I like to eat?

A. You are so hungry, you’d eat anything.

B. I can sense it now! Ahh, right there, the hunger pang.

A. There, make a right turn.

They pulled the car into McDonald’s. He turned down the music, and turned off the engine. They emerged from the car into the chill of the night. Both shivering, they huddled together across the parking lot. They walked under the Golden Arch, and disappeared, hand-in-hand, enveloped in the glow of white florescent light.

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