Hope and Faith

FORTY-SEVEN: FAITH

The days passed quickly and slowly simultaneously. Sometimes the minutes would drag on for what seemed like hours, and she never knew how spend her time. Yet other days, Faith would glance at the clock, only to discover that it was already six p.m. and was left wondering where the day went.

She made conversation with her mother and brother, tried to ask them about their days, any small, personal details of their lives. It was a time-filler, you see. Filling the hours until three p.m. when Hope finished camp for the day.

Her mother started seeing the man again. His name was Tom and apparently he was a really good guy. Faith accepted this situation as something beyond her control, and reasoned with herself by saying that as long as her mother was happy, then that was all that mattered.

Mike didn't have a problem with it. Albeit, Mike didn't have a problem with many things. He was always so care-free and easy going with everything that happened in life. Nothing really bothered him – or excited him for that matter. He remained neutral and indifferent for the most part.

Wednesday night: Claudia and Tom were out on a date. Mike was working late. Faith and Hope sat in her kitchen, talking about the day's camp festivities and other profound topics that came to their minds.

Suddenly, Faith looked at her and said, "Do you want to get high?"
Hope gave Faith a look that she knew all too well. "Please tell me you're kidding."
"I'm not," Faith laughed. "Come on, everyone has to try it once in their life."
"Faith!" Hope gaped. "I'm not doing drugs!"
"Marijuana is not a drug. It's a herb. Besides, it can be quite medicinal."
"It is a drug. And I don't care. I vowed never to do it."
"You also vowed never to do many other things..."
"What do you expect me to do? Cave and say yes?"
"Yes."
"Well give up now, because I'm not going to."
"Oh, come on, Hope. Live a little."
"If you're idea of living is doing drugs, then I don't want to participate."
"You're so uptight all the time. Just try a little bit. I promise you'll be fine."
Hope stared at her and Faith couldn't tell whether she was contemplating it, or preparing to tell her off.
"Well...?" Faith said.
"Fine," she mumbled.
"What?"
"I said fine."
"Seriously!? You'll try it!?"
"I guess if I have to."
"Oh my God, this is going to be great." Faith stood up. "I'll go get the weed."
"I'm coming with you," Hope stood as well.
"Why?"
"We can't smoke in your kitchen..."
"Why not?"
"What if someone walks in?"
"No one's here."
Hope stared at her, pleading hazel eyes.
"Fine. We can smoke in my bedroom."
"Good," Hope said, then followed her up the stairs.

After carefully going over everything with Hope for a good ten minutes, Faith believed that she was ready. Faith went first, of course – to demonstrate – then handed the joint to Hope.

Hope inhaled too quickly and thus, a coughing fit began. Faith gave her a glass of water and rubbed her back until she could breathe again.

"That is horrible," Hope coughed once more. "I can't breathe. My lungs are stinging."
"It's normal for the first time," Faith said. "The stinging will go away."
"I'm not doing that again."
"You need at least one more hit to feel something. Or else all of that will have been for nothing."
"I don't care," Hope said. "It hurts too much."
"Come on. Give it a few minutes and you'll be fine."
Hope glared at her.
Faith took a sip from the glass, then sat back and took another drag. She blew the smoke into Hope's face and smirked at her.
After another ten minutes, Hope agreed to try it once more. And this time, it worked.

They were lying on the ground, feet in the air towards the ceiling. Faith's mind was at ease and she felt like she was floating. She could only imagine how Hope was feeling.

"Did your tattoo hurt?" Hope asked.
"Not really. It just feels like someone's carving into you with a knife."
"Sounds painful."
"Key word: sounds. It's not actually that painful."
Hope turned to face her.
"Would you ever get one?" Faith asked her.
"Oh, no."
"Why?"
"I'm not a fan of tattoos."
"But you like mine."
"Yeah, because yours has meaning."
"You could get one with meaning. Maybe get a little cross or something. That would be cute."
"I don't think so. Tattoos wouldn't suit me."
Faith turned her head so she was looking back at the ceiling. "What do you think happens after we die?"
"That's a subjective question."
"How so?"
"Everyone will have a different opinion. I guess it doesn't really matter though, does it? Because we'll be dead."
"True."
"What do you think happens?" Hope asked Faith.
"I don't really know. And I think that's what scares me. The uncertainty of it all. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of what comes after. The darkness. The nothingness."
"It's scary."
"What do you think?" Faith asked.
"You know what I think."
"Do I?"
"Yes. I believe that we all go somewhere based on how we spent our time on this earth. Heaven or Hell."
"What about purgatory?"
"Well, that too."
"Will I go to heaven, Hope?"
Hope turned to face her. "That depends. Have you been a good person?"
"No."
"Well, I think you have. And I think you will go to heaven."
"But I've sinned. I've sinned a lot."
"I thought you didn't believe in the concept of sinning?"
"I don't know," Faith said. "It's all so confusing. So many rules."
"Yeah."
"Will you go to heaven?" Faith asked.
"I hope so. I can only hope that I live a good life, and that when it's my time to go, I find my way to God."
"You know," Faith said, staring at the ceiling as the room spun. "Someone once told me that that's the most dangerous thing you can have."
"What is?"
Faith turned and looked at her. "Having hope."

_______

Somehow they ended up in the kitchen, high out of their minds, mixing cookie dough with their hands. It had been Faith's idea to make cookies. Hope was feeling the aftermath of the cannabis and her stomach was rumbling. Munchies, Faith had explained. We need cookies.

The oven beeped and Faith eagerly ran towards the stove and pulled out the tray. Half of the cookies were perfectly round and had risen evenly. The other half were misshaped and looked to be burning. It was obvious which cookies Hope had prepared, and which ones were Faith's.

"These are so good," Hope closed her eyes as she bit into another one. They were warm and the chocolate chips were perfectly melted.
"Needs milk," Faith said, opening up the fridge. She poured them each a glass.
"When will your mom be back?" Hope asked, dipping her cookie into the milk, then taking a sip.
"I don't know. Later I guess. She's on a date, you know."
"Yes, you said."
Faith bit into another cookie. "I'm happy for her."
"You are?"
"Mhm," Faith nodded, chewing. "Clearly she wasn't happy with my dad. It took a long time for me to accept that."
"Sometimes things don't always work out," Hope said. "She will find happiness again."
"I think she will."
They finished off the cookies and washed the dishes. Faith topped up their glasses with more milk and they returned to their seats at the table.
"I can't believe there's only twenty-four days until school starts," Hope said, fiddling with the glass between her palms.
"Twenty-four, huh."
"Yes. We start back September second."
"But why are you thinking about that right now?"
"Thinking about what?"
"School. Why are you always doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"Counting down," Faith said. "You're always counting down."
"What do you mean?"
"Crossing days off of calendars, ticking check marks on to-do lists," Faith explained. "It's always counting down for you. The books you read, the songs you write. The days, the moments – everything. You spend more time thinking about the future than actually living in the present. You can't keep doing that, living life like it's a checklist."
Hope stared at her for a long time and Faith wasn't sure if she was going to respond or not. "But that's the only way I know how to live."