Calvin by Martine Leavitt Page B

and who I was. Hobbes growled a lot. For a long time we didn’t talk. We were stuck in that place between hating to move and not having any other option.
    Susie checked the compass often.
    Susie: What does S stand for again?
    Me: It’s a direction.
    Susie: What’s a direction?
    Directions didn’t mean much in the middle of a white-lake nothing.
    Orvil was right when he said the lake was a leftover ocean. People who only looked at her from shore, from solid ground, never really knew anything about the vastness of her. She was an immortal being. Immortal beings don’t understand mortals. They don’t understand what it feels like to know that any given minute might be your last. The lake didn’t know what it felt like to be hungry, when your stomach started digesting its own protective lining and your intestines were collapsing in on themselves and your liver and pancreas were puzzled and on standby and all your cellular functions had nothing to function with.
    Later in the day the sky was white-blue and the ice was blue-white and it felt like we were in a sensory deprivation cell. We weren’t even casting shadows. It was warmer than the day before, a lot warmer, in fact, but the wind never let up, and it sucked the heat and water right out of us. We took sips of water, and I made Susie drink the last bit. I started talking all over the place to keep our minds off it.
    Susie: You’re scared, aren’t you.
    Me: Why do you say that?
    Susie: Because you’re talking a lot. You’re trying to keep my mind off things.
    Me: Things like what?
    Susie: Like I can’t feel my feet anymore.
    Me: Did you know it is possible to find two snowflakes exactly alike?
    Susie: No. It’s not.
    Me: Yes, it is. Of course, the odds of finding twin snowflakes is one in 10 158 , which is greater than the number of atoms in the universe.
    Susie: It’s cool to think that odds can be bigger than the universe.
    Hobbes: The odds of you making it home alive are bigger than the universe.
    Me: Susie, do you believe in God?
    Susie: You asked me that before.
    Me: Yeah, but that was when I thought he gave us a car.
    Susie: You can’t believe only when you get stuff.
    Me: So are you saying you do?
    Susie: Yes.
    Me: You do? Really?
    Susie: Yes.
    Me: Why?
    Susie: Don’t act like it’s so strange—me and three billion other people in the world.
    Me: So you believe so you can be part of a club? What about evolution?
    Susie: Evolution—maybe that’s the way God does it. Maybe God came down every so often and said, Hey Life, Get Complex!
    Hobbes: And then he created the tiger and rested from his labors.
    Me: There’s no God.
    Susie: Prove it.
    Me: Haven’t you heard of Russell’s teapot?
    Susie: Huh?
    Me: This philosopher guy, Bertrand Russell—he said, if I say there’s a teapot orbiting the sun somewhere, it’s up to me to prove it, not up to the other guy to disprove it.
    Susie: So?
    Me: So? The teapot? You prove it.
    Susie: Of course there’s a teapot.
    Me:
    Susie: Quantum physics, anyone? Infinite number of universes? In one of those universes is a teapot in space.
    Me: Is there tea in it?
    Susie: Warm, with sugar.
    Me: Are there crumpets?
    Susie: What’s a crumpet?
    Me: Something that goes with tea.
    Susie: Then there shall be crumpets.
    Me: So why doesn’t God show himself?
    Susie: I don’t know—maybe I don’t believe enough. Half of me yes, half of me no, but I always speak for the yes side. And I mean, if there is a God, it’s probably a good idea to believe in him. But if there isn’t a God, then we’re just an accident of nature, a virus, pond scum gone berserk, and it won’t matter one way or another if I believe or not because who cares?
    Me:
    Susie: And so if it doesn’t matter, then I choose to believe. There’s something mindful about it, about the universe having a heart, us being watched over, maybe life