Conversation

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"Things tend not toward edification."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Hope snapped her head around and stared at her brother. He stared back at her, and Hope’s hand unconsciously crept up to her head, her finger twirling a strand of her mousy brown hair. She hated that habit. She thought it made her look childish.

"Everything is nothing," Daven intoned. Then he stuck his tongue out at her.

"I hate it when you start spouting all this mysticism crap," muttered Hope. "Or is it Buddhism this week?"

"I am not a Buddhist," said Daven. "Mysticism is completely different from . . ." "Whatever," said Hope. "You’ve made me listen to this way too many times before."

"Maybe if you actually attempted to understand what I’m trying to say, then you might rethink your position."

"The only thing I understand," said Hope, "is that you were a perfectly decent older brother when you left for college, and now you’ve turned all religious." She started for the kitchen. "I’m getting some juice."

"There is a difference between being spiritual and being religious," said Daven, following her to the kitchen. "I’m with you. I hate organized religion. People should worship God in their own way, without having somebody tell them how to do it."

"See? What’s this about God? There’s no God. Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"God is in everything," said Daven. "It’s in you, me, mom and dad, those trees outside in our front yard. It’s a presence that is everywhere."

"Bull."

"Then what do you think?"

Hope opened the refrigerator and surveyed the contents. There was no juice to be found. Just some milk and a two liter bottle of Coke. She took out the Coke bottle and shook it disgustedly, watching the tiny amount of liquid left in the bottom swirl around. "Did you do this?" she demanded of Daven. "Why can’t you just finish the whole bottle?"

"You didn’t answer my question."

"I don’t believe anything, okay?" said Hope as she tossed the Coke bottle into the trash. "I don’t believe in God, I don’t believe in a mystical presence. I believe in cold, hard facts."

Daven shrugged. "I find it hard to believe you can live believing that existence is so uncaring."

"Existence is uncaring. People only made up religion because they can’t deal with the real world."

"And yet, who’s the one who can’t deal?" asked Daven, pointing to Hope’s arm. She angrily covered up the scars on her wrist. "Quit it, Daven. That was a bad time in my life, and I made some mistakes. You can’t keep throwing that shit back in my face."

"You’ll see," said Daven. "You’ll see when you get to college this fall. Things are really different."

"You just think you’re cool because you’ve just graduated," said Hope. "You think you know everything."

"I know nothing. That is part of the essence of mysticism."

"What a wonderful thought. Are you sure you’re not being blasphemous? What would a real mystic say if he heard you?"

"You’re not getting the point, Hope. I am a real mystic. Mysticism is only the belief that everything is unified, and all of our assumptions about the physical world are shallow. Unity supersedes all else. A philosophy can’t be blasphemous, and mysticism is simply a philosophy. Blasphemy is a concept invented by organized religion."

"It’s all a concept invented by organized religion," said Hope, now opening and shutting cabinets. Maybe there were Kool-aid packets somewhere. Hopefully strawberry. She liked strawberry.

"I don’t know why I continue to argue with you," sighed Daven. "I just wish you would respect me a little more."

"I have very little respect for religious people," said Hope, banging the last cabinet door. "And I know that sounds completely intolerant. But they don’t have respect for me and my beliefs, so why should I have any for theirs?"

Daven rolled his eyes. "I thought you had no beliefs?" When she didn’t answer, he looked at his watch. "I should be getting over to Brad’s," he said.

"Damn," Hope muttered. No Kool-aid. She peeked under the sink. Sometimes her mom put cases of juice cans underneath there. Still nothing. "Why are you going to Brad’s again?"

"There’s a concert tonight," said Daven. "Brad had an extra ticket, and he called me to go with him."

"Great," sighed Hope. She didn’t like Brad. He was a college friend of Daven’s who lived in a nearby town, and the two of them were just alike. Always babbling about spirituality.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Whatever," sighed Hope. She remembered back when the two of them were younger, before Daven had gone away to college and been brainwashed. The children of two extremely Christian parents, the siblings had endured years of Sunday and Wednesday church before finally declaring themselves atheist. It had been Daven’s idea, really. He had been fifteen, fresh out of their parochial middle school. The world of public high school was different, he’d always told Hope. People didn’t believe in the same religion as everyone else, and some didn’t believe in it at all. He had to explain to Hope, who was eleven and naïve, what atheism even was. The two had launched a protest against attending church that finally worked.

They used to have fun, she and Daven. When he got a car for his sixteenth birthday the first thing they did, even before they went for the first ride, was paste a dozen anti-Christian bumper stickers on it. They used to talk about filing complaints against the church across the street that played bells every hour for violating the city noise ordinance. Daven had even stopped working at his restaurant job on Sundays. When his boss asked him if it was for religious reasons, Daven replied, "Yeah. I can’t stand the church people who come in here after services on Sundays. They’re rude and they don’t tip." It was his opinion that it was a lifetime of church that made them so crabby all the time.

"Why do you think we’re here? I mean, why do you think people are on Earth? Do you truly believe we’re some random fluke of evolution?" The look in Daven’s eyes almost killed Hope. He looked so sad, so emotional, so worried. She hated pity even more than religion.

"Yeah," she replied. "I think that’s why we’re here."

"So we serve no purpose?"

"No. And why should we? People really aren’t that special. We just think we are."

"So everything is meaningless," said Daven.

The sadness in his voice was driving Hope crazy. Why did he have to get like this? "Everything," she said firmly. How ironic this was. Once she’d looked up to him, hung on his every word, took all of his advice. Now she was the one who knew better.

"I guess we should all just go and kill ourselves," he continued.

"Why? We don’t need a purpose to live. You don’t see cats and dogs stressing over the meaning of life. They just want to live."

"I need a purpose to live, Hope," said Daven, "and you do, too. You’ve already proven that."

Hope seethed. She’d hurt him deeply by attempting suicide that one time, she knew. He’d told her so. But did he have to hurt her over and over, bringing it up in every conversation they had? Hadn’t she been punished enough?

"Don’t you remember how it used to be?" she whispered. "Back when we had so much fun, before you went away?"

"Back when I was filled with hate?" said Daven. "Yeah, I remember that. I can’t seem to forget."

"Forget! That was the best time of our lives, Daven! Everything was perfect."

Daven shook his head. "It wasn’t," he said. "I didn’t realize it until I took philosophy in college. Then I began to understand how wrong I was. I want the same to happen to you."

"How can you say who’s wrong and who’s right?" asked Hope, her lip quivering in anger. "How can you say anything about what I think, or judge what I believe?"

He’d left her. He’d gone away to college just as she was starting high school. She lost her friends and her first boyfriend. Her family was already distant. Her parents were concerned, but the only thing they knew to do was pray for her. It was worse when Daven had discovered this stupid mysticism thing. Then there was no one left who understood her viewpoint. She’d written all of it down in a flurry one afternoon, and found herself turning it in as her autobiography project in her sophomore English class Perhaps it was the strange looks her English teacher gave her after that assignment, or the way her parents constantly harped on her about reaccepting her church, or how smug Hope’s former best friend looked with Hope’s former boyfriend, but it finally got to the point where she no longer cared. One day she found herself slitting her wrists.

She didn’t remember much after that. A hospital room, her scared family around her. The ugly red scars that marred her arm. She had cried some. Moans of, "Why did you do it?" echoed in her ears. Her family had been gathered around her, Daven in front of them all. They had pretended to care then.

"Why did you do it?"

This voice came from outside the memories. She blinked and looked at her brother sitting at the kitchen table in jeans and a blue tee shirt. His frame seemed all balanced on his left big toe as he leaned forward in the chair. His gray eyes stared at her from behind his rimless glasses, and she waited for him to fall out of the chair. When he didn’t, she sighed.

"You don’t know what it’s like," she said. "No one understood me. No one does now. You were the only one, and you left. You changed."

"For the better."

"Says who?" asked Hope. "And why? Because of some dumb philosophy class? Isn’t taking things at face value something you’re against?"

Daven looked hurt, and for a moment, unsure. "It’s not that simple," he said slowly. "It wasn’t just philosophy class. It was the conversations I had with people, and the things I read. It made sense to me."

"But why should it make sense to me?"

"I just want you to be happy, Hope. You know I worry about you. I do understand how you feel, because I went through the same thing. Happiness is hard. We get comfortable in our misery, and we don’t know how to leave it." He made a face. "If that makes sense. It’s difficult to explain in words. It’s something your heart has to feel and believe."

"My heart says there’s nothing to believe," said Hope. "I just can’t convince myself. I keep coming back to the same conclusion."

"What’s that?"

"That there’s nothing," Hope shrugged. "That everything we know means nothing and the real world is just a hoax. It’s a myth that people hang onto through their beliefs." She thought for a moment, and then continued. "Maybe . . . I kind of wish I had those beliefs."

Daven sat up a little straighter. "Why?"

"Don’t you have to go over to Brad’s?"

"Not right away. Don’t stop now, Hope, please." Daven shifted in the chair. "I want to know what you think."

"Are you some kind of shrink now?" Hope said. "Don’t bother. I’ve been through that. I’m cured. They said so."

"But you’re really not, because you haven’t changed any."

"Why should I change? If it was so easy, then I would have done it by now."

"That’s the point," said Daven. "Change is not easy. Happiness is not easy. You have to try . . ."

"No."

"Hope," said Daven, "I don’t see you very often anymore. But I see you enough to know that something needs to happen. You nearly lost it a couple years ago, and I’m afraid the same thing will happen again."

"I understand that you’re worried. But I think I can take care of myself. Never mind what I said before. I don’t want beliefs if they’re going to turn me into you."

"You said before that there was nothing," said Daven, giving up and finally sitting back in his chair.

"Nothing," she agreed. "No God, no purpose, no meaning."

Daven smiled.

"What are you grinning about?" asked Hope, getting up from her chair and resuming her search for some kind of beverage. Shit. Was there nothing to drink in this house?

"I’m thinking that if you’re right, then my journey has been completely pointless, and I could have been doing something worthwhile with my time these last few years."

She’d have to drink water. Ugh. "You mean your spiritual journey thing? Of course it’s a waste of time. I could have told you that long ago."

"But I don’t think that," said Daven, "because I’ve discovered so many new things about myself. I’ve learned things I would never have learned if I hadn’t started exploring the issue. Therefore, there’s a purpose in the journey."

"There’s a flaw in your logic somewhere. Give me a minute, and I’ll find it for you." Hope opened the cabinet that held the glasses, and to her dismay found that the cabinet was empty. "Where are all the glasses?"

"I had some friends over yesterday," said Daven. "I think we used them all up. Along with the Coke."

"And you didn’t do the dishes?" Hope didn’t wait for an answer. Opening up the automatic dishwasher, she searched for a glass that seemed fairly clean.

"It would do you some good to focus on your own journey, Hope."

"I’m not on any dumb spiritual journey," she replied, critically examining one of the glasses.

"Of course you are," said Daven. "Everyone is, in some form or another."

"Well, I didn’t ask to be on it, and I don’t want to be on it!"

"That’s mature."

"Look, Daven, I’m getting really sick of all this." Hope said this as she rinsed out the glass she had decided on. "You aren’t going to convince me of anything. There is nothing, and that’s all there is to it. You go on your spiritual journey, you put in the effort to preach your enlightenment to other people, and in the end you’ll end up in the same place as me."

"We know nothing, everything is false. Is that pretty much it?"

"Yeah."

"There’s a term for that kind of belief system, you know." Daven stood up. "I should be getting over to Brad’s, or he’ll leave for the concert without me." He started to walk toward the door, stopped, and turned back to Hope.

"I’m not enlightened, by the way," he said. "Someday I might be. I don’t know if I’m right. All I know is that I’m happy now, and I want you to feel the same way. You’re right about one thing, though. I should let you find your own philosophy."

"What is it?" Hope turned to him, the glass in her hand. She’d already taken a sip of water, but it tasted stale. She hated water.

"What is what? Your philosophy?"

"No, the term. You know, for my beliefs."

Daven picked up his car keys from their hook by the kitchen door. He smiled. "It’s called mysticism." He disappeared out the doorway.

Hope stared at her glass of water. The cup wasn’t as clean as she’d thought; there were little black spots floating around in it. Dumping the water out, she ran to the door. "Hey, Daven!" she called.

"Yeah?"

"Pick me up some juice while you’re out, okay? Maybe something flavored strawberry."

"Sure thing," said Daven, getting into his car.

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"Conversation" is copyright © K. B. Cunningham 2000

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