“Do you believe in God?” Brent asked from across the table.
For a moment, just a moment, I almost answered him. But after a few seconds of contemplation I decided I didn’t feel like following Brent’s conversation to whatever depressing conclusion of life he’d find. Certainly not in the middle of Café Yoko’s where he has an unending supply of beer. So instead, I ignored him.
“Hey,” Brent said thinking that I just hadn’t heard.
With a sigh, I gave up on figuring out what to do with Holly and met his eyes.
“Do you believe in God?” Brent repeated.
I looked at him, gave him a sarcastic smile, then said, “Self-fulfilling delusions, specifically concerning girls.”
Brent blinked at me. “What?”
“Self-fulfilling delusions, specifically concerning girls,” I repeated.
He gave me a side-longed glance, like maybe I had finally lost my mind. “I, uh, asked, ‘Do you believe in God?’”
“I know,” I answered cheerfully.
“So, uh, do you?”
“That’s not what you’re asking,” I explained.
Brent hesitated. “It’s not?”
“It’s not,” I said. “Think about it. What are you actually asking me when you say, ‘Do you believe in God?’”
He frowned at me, like it was a trick question. “Just that. You know, do you believe in God? Is there an afterlife? All that?”
I shook my head. “No you’re not. Are you having a crisis of faith or something?”
“Uh, well…” Brent’s eyes roved around the room helplessly.“No, not really.”
“And will me telling you that God does or doesn’t exist affect what you think?”
Brent gave me a nervous grin. I think he was trying to decide whether or not he was going to piss me off if he told the truth. “Um… no, it won’t, actually.”
“My point,” I said. “You don’t want to talk about God; you want to talk about something serious so you can take your mind off how depressed you are. God’s just a good segue. So why don’t we talk about your self-fulfilling delusions, specifically concerning girls?”
Brent colored a bit. I think I had actually offended him. “You mean like you and your doomed relationship theory with Holly?”
“Ouch, that hurt,” I said sarcastically. “No, I mean like you and your stupid curse.”
“It’s real,” Brent sulked. “At least I’m not just going to run a girl off because I’m so sure it’s not going to work out.”
“Will you just let it go?” I grated out irritably. Holly was one of the last things I wanted to talk about right then.
“Right, right,” he said, looking at his feet. “Sorry. But really, c’mon, tell me what you think about God.”
I sighed. “Why?”
Brent frowned. “Well, honestly, I’ve just been thinking a lot about life lately. You know, what’s the point, why am I here, all that…” He trailed off.
“And why your relationship with Amy fell apart and why you haven’t dated anyone since?” I suggested.
Brent flushed. “Not necessarily.”
“Sure you weren’t,” I said dryly.
“I wasn’t,” Brent said angrily. “But seriously; don’t you ever wonder about God, and if there’s any meaning to any of this? Or if he just likes pissing you off?”
“If there is an omnipotent, all powerful being,” I said, “I doubt he’d give a shit whether or not you’re mad at him.”
“Sometimes I wonder.”
“Why?”
“You have to ask?” Brent spat. “Look at my life!”
“Which part?” I asked with a grin.
“Very funny,” Brent answered. “I mean, seriously, look at me. I did everything Amy could have wanted, tried to give her space, was the perfect boyfriend, and she left me.” With a sigh, he let his head drop to the table. “God, it just seems like there was nothing I could do about it. Like it just had to happen.”
Weird definition of ‘perfect.’ I thought. “There you go again.”
Brent sat up and glared at me. “You mean talking about my curse?”
“More like your self-fulfilling delusion, specifically concerning girls.”
“It’s real, whether you want…” Brent trailed off when he realized where the conversation had led itself.
“My point. Like I said: God’s just a convenient segue.”
Brent opened his mouth, uncertain of what to say. Finally, he growled out. “That’s not fair. You led me there.”
“Whatever.”
“Look,” he said seriously, “I really want to talk about this: Do you believe in God?”
I massaged my temples. “Look, I’m not going to talk to you about this.”
“Why not?” Brent demanded.
“Because we’ve talked about this before. Twice.”
He looked at me dumbfounded. “No we haven’t.”
“Yes, we have.”
“When?”
“That first night we went out drinking. And the night Amy broke up with you.”
Brent flinched at the reminder, but looked completely confused. “I don’t remember that happening.”
“Of course not,” I said. “You get shit-faced every time I tell you.”
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