He turned to me and said there was no such thing as magic. I hit him in the back of the head when he turned away and walked over to the refrigerator to get more juice.
Over my shoulder: “Are you crazy? There’s plenty of magic in this world. What about acid and pcp and shrooms and peyote?”
“What about Jesus and eternal salvation and the tooth fairy and Bigfoot?” He bit into his apple and squirt juice all down his shirt. He cussed under his breath and tried to suck it off.
“Exactly. People believe in a bunch of shit and it works for them so who are you to say they’re all wrong?”
“They all believe in a thousand different things and most of them change their minds not just a few times. Not even they believe what they believe. Its all a load of bull to make people feel like they have a purpose, like their suffering isn’t just for the universe’s amusement and to say something nice to little kids when their goldfishes die.”
“And there’s something wrong with that? With wanting to think your life has meaning?”
“Only when it leads to misattributing facts to some imaginary voice in the clouds.”
“Can I get you anything?” I threw a Nesquick at him before he could answer.
“Got any cheese?”
“It’s not for us.”
He punched the straw through his drink and finished it before he sucked in a noisy gulp of air.
“These things don’t hold enough.”
“What are you complaining to me for? I can’t do anything about it.”
“I was just saying.”
I sat back down almost on top of him, my weight making the beanbag punch him up and misplace his balance and somehow he landed back on top of me. Figures.