BEFORE
"Matt," Adam said one day, while they were lying on a small field of grass. "Why don't you believe in God?"
Matt's head turned to look at him in surprise. It was odd that Adam should ask such a question, given that religion and spirituality had remained something of a taboo topic between them ever since Matt had, some years ago, told him that religion was for a bunch of idiots who couldn't tell the difference between fact and fiction. Adam, being his non-confrontational self, had not responded to him. It was his silence that made Matt – for the first time in his life – feel bad about criticizing religion.
"Well," Matt said. "My dad doesn't believe in God. He kind of influenced me."
"I find that hard to believe," Adam laughed. "No one can influence Matthew Wesley but himself."
At that, Matt couldn't help but smile.
"But seriously," Adam continued. "Why does God – what's that word again – repulse you."
"Nice use of vocab, mate."
"Answer my question, mate." Adam gave him a serious look.
Matt sighed, shifting on his back uncomfortably. "It's sort of hard to explain," he began, choosing his words carefully. "I know most Atheists use that whole 'Evil and Suffering' thing to justify their disbelief but, for me, it's a lot more complicated. My mum's a Christian, you know that." He paused. "She used to help me with my prayers when I was little. Believe it or not, I can reel off the whole of Genesis." Adam chuckled at that. "I believed in God when I was little, I really did. Then one day I came home from school after some arsehole stole my snickers and I thought, 'God isn't real'. And that was it, really. The beginning of the end."
"Wait a second!" Adam looked incredulous. "Are you telling me you stopped believing in God because some six year old nicked your chocolate?"
"Snickers," Matt gasped in mock-seriousness. "They're so much more than chocolate."
Adam fell on his stomach and guffawed.
"Oh Lord." He snorted. "And here I was expecting a long and complicated sob story."
"Well I'm glad I didn't give it to you, then." It was now Matt's turn to look serious. "Why do you believe in God?"
"Hard to shake God off when He's been around in my life for so long." Adam gave Matt a crooked smile. "Don't go scoffing on me just yet. Hear me out." He looked up at the clear, blue sky. Why couldn't days just be like this all the time?
"It sounds better in my head," Adam continued, "but the whole idea of Him fascinates me. I don't care how childish this sounds but it makes me feel safe. Knowing that there's something bigger and better than us, out there, looking out for us. It's scary to some people. Beautiful to me, though."
"How do you know?" Matt asked, trying his best not to sound too condescending. "How do you know he—anything—is out there? Seeing is believing isn't it?"
"Not always," Adam replied kindly. "If seeing really is believing, then nobody would believe in love. I think that's how it kind of works with God as well."
"Are you saying love isn't obvious?" Matt asked sceptically.
"No, actually," Adam said and Matt noticed his voice quiver with an emotion he couldn't quite place. "Yeah, sure, someone could bring you flowers everyday and, sure, that could be love. But you can't know that for certain, can you? For all you know, that person might be doing it for their own personal gain. Love is so complex, even when you know someone has feelings for you. It's not like it's happily ever after from there on out, you know?"
"So," Matt hesitated. "What's your point?"
"My point," Adam explained, "is that why do you think people still bother wasting their time on love, knowing how difficult it can be, knowing there's a possibility that the love might be false? Why do you think a mother puts up with her screaming, bratty kid who won't give her the time of day? Why does a divorcee still continue to date after a terrible marriage?" He paused. "Because it's instinctual. Because we still believe in it. It's inside of us. We don't need to see love, or have ever experienced it, to trust that it's out there somewhere. I think it's the same with God. I believe in Him because I trust that He's out there, even if it isn't physically obvious."
After that, Matt could hear nothing but the sound of the soft September breeze tickling his ears. The silence was awkward for him but for some reason, he knew Adam couldn't feel it, his thoughts now probably a million miles away.
"Well." Matt cleared his throat eventually. "Love's for wussies anyway."
Adam started to laugh. "Keep telling yourself that, Wesley."
"Oi!" Matt prodded his best friend. "What're you implying? That I'm some wanker who prances around in a field of roses writing love poems?"
"That is exactly what I'm implying!" Adam scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Though I don't think our town has a field of roses."
He yelped in surprise as Matt suddenly tackled him with a plethora of punches, though they were pitiful, but it wasn't long before Adam had the other boy in a headlock. Matt tried, but miserably failed, to release himself from the tight grip.
"Admit it!" Adam chuckled, cheeks flushed from their play-fight. "You're a wanker who prances around in a field of roses writing love poems."
Matt who was now feebly trying to scratch Adam's arm, gasped in protest. "No I won't!"
"Fine by me." Adam smirked, tightening his hold on Matt who squealed in response.
"Okay, okay!" He groaned, cringing at what he was about to say next: "I am a wanker who prances around in a field of roses writing love poems."
"Figured as much," Adam laughed, finally releasing Matt. "Now if only I'd recorded that."
"I'd take you to court for bullying," Matt grumbled while massaging his sore neck.
"And I'd go to jail," Adam sang. "And you'd be miserable without me."
Matt caught the blonde's eye and his lips almost instinctively crooked upwards into a defeated smile. "That I would."
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