He believes in things I don't. He believes, for instance, that a bar of Savon de Marseille between the bed sheets prevents cramps. I told him he should try eating bananas, for the potassium. He gave me a queer look. As though my suggestion was somehow stranger than his was. When I asked him how the soap worked, he got cross.
He believes that some people have special hands that can cure a fever with a touch. He believes that brown birthmarks are caused by a mother's craving for chocolate. (The red ones mean she craved cherries, or strawberries). I asked him how it was possible. He got cross.
He believes in "Power Balance" bracelets because they wear them in extreme sports videos.
He doesn't believe that they're just a scam. I explained and argued until my face was blue. He swore blue was black.
He believes that having a Y chromosome means that you are naturally better at everything.
Tongue in cheek, I hope.
He believes that we have a soul.
I don't.
You don't believe in anything, he said.
I believe in people, I said. I believe in the things people tell me, even if they're lying. I believe in our strength and our weakness and our secrets and our sadness. I believe in life. I believe in you, and me, and us.
That's nothing to do with soap, he said.
I am going to write a story of some variety, long or short, fictitious or factual, every single day for a year. Wish me luck.
No comments:
Post a Comment