“There is simply no way that a creature like Champ could exist and survive and thrive on this Earth. What that woman saw—or thought she saw, rather—was most likely a trick of sunlight, or a dead tree branch skimming the water. Lake monsters are a myth. They are not real.” I glance over at the television idly (MonsterQuest on the History Channel!) and study the strained, arrogantly incredulous expression on the speaker’s face and it occurs to me that there are two distinct types of people in this world: believers and nonbelievers. I fall in the prior category by an extremely large margin.
Case in point: Often, I wake up in the middle of the night with a start and in my half-asleep, semi-coherent state, I’m torn between my real, waking life and the other one in which he’s still there; talking, living, breathing, so real I can touch him, feel his skin giving way underneath my fingertips, run my hands across his forehead and smooth his hair back away from his face, kiss his eyelids, and run the tip of my tongue along his full bottom lip. After a few minutes, the confused unsteadiness wears off and he’s gone again, but funnily enough, the dream world is the one that seems more real to me. Vivid dreams are a hallmark of mine—I remember them for days as if the implausible events had actually occurred. And everytime I have one, I choose to think that it means something, that there must have been a reason for it. I believe in dreams. Among other things.
If you tell me that you’ve seen a ghost, I will most likely believe you. And if you tell me that you love me, I’ll believe you against all odds. I think everyone can agree with the fact that love, in all it’s myriad forms, is a slippery slope to climb. So when you do happen upon it, the last thing you want to do is let go, even when all signs point to “over.” I believe in love.
Other cases in point: the Montauk Monster, Edward and Bella, E.T., the Lochness Monster. And Love.
I believe in love. I’ve never lived with it, I’ve never seen it up close, I have no hard proof that it’s real. For all intents and purposes, love should not be in my repertoire of faiths. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the overly optimistic belief that it has to be out there just waiting to be stumbled upon, unearthed.
I believe in monsters—soft and fuzzy or scaly and mean, they exist just under the surface of our consciousness. Because if they don’t, if all we have to believe in are the cold, hard facts of life, then what do we have left to be hopeful for? Where will all the magic go? Will the mysteries just disappear?
So yes, I believe that it’s worth it to suspend your disbelief.
I believe in dreams and ghosts and vampires and fairytales. I believe in love. I believe in Champ.
