“I take it you do believe in God?” asked Bernie.
Billy smiled, looked down. “Well . . . I don’t know, really. I hear what you mean about how silly the whole cosmic vending machine thing is. But — well, this is going to sound kinda strange, but what the hell. I just have this feeling, that there’s something out there, up there. I’ve felt that way since . . . remember back at the Moore School, at the end of recess when we’d all get in line to go back to class?”
“Yeah. They had the youngest ones, the third graders, line up against the wall. Fourth and fifth graders lined up along the edge of the basketball court, and try to pelt the third graders with snowballs or rocks when the teachers weren’t looking.”
“Right. Well one day I was leaning up against the brick wall, waiting to get into Miss Guthrie’s class with everyone else, and the teachers were actually paying attention this day, that was right after Jimmy Jordan got that cut over his eye. Anyway, we’re all lined up, and everyone’s being quite because the teacher’s aren’t taking any guff that day, and all of a sudden, as I’m leaning against the wall, staring down at the ground — I felt something. Literally, felt it. Some kind of existence, a being, something that was singular but part of everything at the same time, something I couldn’t touch, or speak to, but — there.”
“No, it wasn’t like that, wasn’t scary, it wasn’t like it was calling to me, it was just letting me know that it was — there. It was a comforting feeling, made me feel that I wasn’t alone in the world, no matter where I was. It was kinda cool, really.
“Then all of a sudden I heard Skinner call my name, and all the fourth graders were laughing at me, so I ran into school.”
“So that’s what made you believe in God?”
“Don’t know about God. But I believe in something.”