------------------------------------------------------ NOTE: While this story is fictional, it draws on my actual experience as a former LDS missionary. (There's a story there, of course, but it's not the story you're about to read.)
For conscience's sake, I should say that my decision to submit this story to the Nifty Archive does not necessarily mean that I approve of the content of other stories in the archive. However, I applaud the archive's goal of collecting "the diverse hopes, dreams, aspirations, fantasies, and experiences of the Queer Community." Gay Mormon experience--and fantasy-- is one piece of that diversity. ------------------------------------------------------
FAREWELL PARTY
On Elder Lowe's last night in the mission field, the Las Palmas ward threw a farewell party for him. He had been a popular missionary: good-looking, hard-working, friendly with the young people, though not too familiar with the young women, polite to the older members of the ward, deferential to the local leaders, skilled at making everyone in the ward feel he knew and valued them. Ward members were happy to introduce him to their relatives and neighbors, instead of hedging as they usually did when the missionaries asked for referrals. The young men of the ward wanted to be like him. Mothers secretly hoped that he might come back to marry their daughters.
They opened up the partition that separated two of the Sunday School classrooms, the way they did when they needed to accommodate larger numbers of people for baptismal services. The Relief Society brought refreshments; the Young Women created paper floral arrangements and hung up streamers; the boys in the Aaronic priesthood agreed to be in charge of clean-up afterwards (though no one took that commitment too seriously). The elders quorum president brought a boombox shipped to him by a relative in the States. Since he didn't own any tapes or CDs, he kept the radio tuned to a station that played merengue, salsa, and cumbia. After every song, the elders quorum president and the bishop would hunker down with the volume turned low to be sure that the next song was appropriate--no blatant sexual innuendoes or references to drugs--before turning the volume back up for the rest of the ward to dance to.
Elder Lowe didn't dance. No one expected him to; dancing was against mission rules. It was strange, Aracelis thought, watching from the kitchen, where she was helping to ladle punch into wax paper cups. There had never been any question in the minds of ward members that if they were going to throw a party, there needed to be dancing, even though that meant the guest of honor could only stand at the sidelines and watch.
Elder Lowe didn't appear to mind. Through the opening in the wall that allowed communication between the kitchen and the party, Aracelis could see Elder Lowe working the room, laughing with ward members, dutifully taking down the addresses of people who wanted him to write to them, responding with grace and warmth when one elderly woman teared up. Elder Lowe's companion camped out near the refreshments, joking around with a little cluster of young men who still hadn't found the courage to ask any of the young women to dance.
Next to Aracelis, sixteen-year-old Paulina leaned against the counter, also watching Elder Lowe. "He is so handsome," she murmured dreamily.
Aracelis was Young Women's leader for the ward, though she was only a few years older than her charges. There wasn't a young woman in the ward who hadn't had a crush on Elder Lowe. Not long after he arrived, Aracelis had felt compelled to give a special Young Women's lesson on the importance of not distracting the elders from their work. She frowned at Paulina. "He's still a missionary."
Paulina shrugged, unconcerned. "Not after tomorrow. Maybe he'll come back to marry someone, like that other missionary a few years ago."
"You're being silly," Aracelis said firmly. "If you let yourself dream like that, you only set yourself up to be disappointed."
Her eye was caught by a motion near the window that looked out from the kitchen to the parking lot. She turned in time to see two white shirts pass by outside the window, moving down the sidewalk towards the door of the church. Two more missionaries, it would seem, coming to the party. Aracelis thought she had recognized one of them.
She told Paulina to take over at the punch bowl and went out into the church's central hallway. Looking left, she saw the two missionaries just coming in the east door. Sure enough, one of them was Elder Jacobsen. The other was a fat, sullen-looking missionary she didn't recognize. Aracelis could tell from Elder Jacobsen's body language that he was the senior companion in the pair. He came down the hall with a determined stride, his companion lagging a little behind.
"Elder Jacobsen," Aracelis said. She let her voice express her surprise and pleasure at seeing him, but she stayed subdued, because she remembered he wasn't a very effusive person. Elder Jacobsen had served briefly in the Las Palmas ward a few months earlier as a junior companion. He'd been too introverted to be popular, though the ward had appreciated his ability to play the keyboard that otherwise sat in the bishop's office, collecting dust. For the few weeks Elder Jacobsen had been with them, the ward had had "real music" during their worship services; they'd had to go back to singing a cappella as soon as Elder Jacobsen was transferred.
"Hello, Aracelis," Elder Jacobsen replied in his gringo-accented Spanish. She was pleased he knew her by name. He'd had difficulty remembering people's names back when he'd served in the ward. Probably, she surmised, she stood out in his memory because she'd asked him to provide keyboard accompaniment for a special Young Women's musical number one Sunday.
"Where are you serving now?" she asked him.
"Bolivar."
"You came here all the way from Bolivar?" Bolivar was a sector on the other side of the city. To get from Bolivar to Las Palmas, Elder Jacobsen and his companion would have had to change buses or public cars five or six times.
Elder Jacobsen's Spanish had improved considerably since he'd transferred out of Las Palmas, but he still made mistakes. "I listened that the ward was going to have a farewell party for Elder Lowe. I needed to speak with him before that he goes home."
Aracelis gestured with her head towards the next room. "The party's there," she said, though it was perfectly obvious that's where the party was.
Elder Jacobsen's companion was grumpy. "I'm going in," he told Elder Jacobsen in English. He did not acknowledge Aracelis. No doubt he was unhappy at having been dragged across the city.
"Fine," Elder Jacobsen replied, also in English. He sounded at once testy and apologetic. "We won't be here long. I just need to talk to Elder Lowe for a few minutes and then we can head back."
Aracelis sensed that Elder Jacobsen was eager to go in to the party as well but felt an obligation to socialize more with Aracelis first. This showed he was mastering the local cultural mores. "How does it go with your plans for attending BYU?" he asked. He'd reverted to Spanish now that he was no longer speaking with his companion.
Again, she was pleased he had remembered. "I just received my TOEFL results."
"And?"
She replied in careful English. "I scored five hundred eighty-three out of a possible six hundred seventy- seven."
"Is that score high enough to get you into BYU?" he asked, also in English.
"Yes. BYU requires a minimum score of only five hundred."
"Congratulations then."
"Thank you."
"So have you submitted your application?"
"Yes. I submitted everything last week. Now I am waiting to see if I will be accepted."
"Well, good luck." He shifted back into Spanish to excuse himself. "I need to speak with Elder Lowe."
"It was a pleasure to see you," she said in Spanish.
"Equally."
He went in to the party. She stood in the open doorway, watching. Elder Jacobsen's companion had joined Elder Lowe's companion at the refreshments table. Some of the young men from the ward who had been hanging out near the refreshments were now on the dance floor. Aracelis wondered if they had asked the young women, or if the young women had asked them.
Elder Jacobsen came up behind Elder Lowe and spoke to him. Elder Lowe turned around, beaming. The two missionaries embraced. It was not, Aracelis observed, the quick, back-slapping hug that missionaries usually exchanged. It was a close, warm embrace. After a few moments, Elder Lowe patted Elder Jacobsen on the back, and they separated, though Elder Lowe kept a hand on Elder Jacobsen's shoulder.
Elder Jacobsen's back was to Aracelis, but she could tell he was talking to Elder Lowe. Elder Lowe's face took on an expression that suggested he was troubled by what Elder Jacobsen was saying--would rather not be hearing it, even--but was determined to be helpful. "Let's go outside and talk," Aracelis heard Elder Lowe say in English. He turned to excuse himself to the ward members he'd been talking with when Elder Jacobsen approached him.
Aracelis stepped into the room and stood aside so the elders could pass through the doorway. Elder Jacobsen was visibly upset but trying to conceal that fact. Elder Lowe still had a hand on Elder Jacobsen's shoulder as he followed Elder Jacobsen into the hallway. They walked down the hall, past the kitchen, towards the same door Elder Jacobsen and his companion had used to enter the church.
"Follow them," Aracelis heard a voice say.
She turned to see who had spoken to her. There were two women seated close by, but they were engrossed in conversation with each other. She looked around the room; no one was trying to get her attention. She tried to think whose voice it had sounded like, only to realize that she could remember nothing about the quality of the voice. She couldn't remember if the voice had sounded male or female. Come to think of it, she couldn't even remember if the voice had spoken in Spanish or in English.
She had heard and read stories about people who received communications from the Spirit in the form of an audible voice. But she had never had such an experience herself.
She went out into the hall. The hall ran straight down the middle of the church, from east to west. The party was being held in the Sunday School classrooms on the north side of the church. If the elders wanted to talk in private, they would probably walk around to the south side of the building. They had gone out the door at the east end of the hall; Aracelis exited the church through the door at the west end.
Outside, it was twilight. Aracelis walked to the corner formed by the church's west and south walls. An episode from the Book of Mormon flashed into her mind: Nephi being led by the Spirit along the walls of Jerusalem as he sought to enter the city secretly to obtain the brass plates. She thought she ought to feel nervous or guilty, but she didn't. She took a half step beyond the corner so that she could turn her head and look down the length of the south wall without being conspicuous but without sneaking, either.
Elders Lowe and Jacobsen were seated on a kind of curb that separated the sidewalk running around the church from the flowerbed at the base of the church wall. Because they were seated forward of the wall, while she was standing at the level of the wall, they couldn't see her without turning around. Elder Lowe had one arm around Elder Jacobsen's shoulders. Elder Jacobsen was in the midst of an intense monologue, shaking his head and gesturing frantically with his hands. Aracelis could tell he was speaking in English, but she couldn't make out what he was saying, partly because of the distance and partly because of how quickly he was speaking.
Now Elder Lowe was speaking, quietly and reassuringly. He squeezed Elder Jacobsen's shoulder as if to say, "You're going to be fine." Elder Jacobsen stared at the ground, looking forlorn, nodding occasionally in response to something Elder Lowe said.
When Elder Lowe finished, both elders were silent for a while. Elder Lowe still had his arm around Elder Jacobsen's shoulders. Hesitantly, Elder Jacobsen reached up to put his own arm around Elder Lowe. Then he looked Elder Lowe in the eye and said something in a husky voice. There was a brief pause. Then Aracelis heard Elder Lowe say, "I love you too, Elder Jacobsen."
Another silence followed, after which Elder Lowe spoke for a minute or so in a low voice. "I know," Elder Jacobsen replied. "It's just..." He trailed off. Elder Lowe spoke again. Elder Jacobsen looked at the ground while Elder Lowe spoke to him. When Elder Lowe finished, Elder Jacobsen said, "Thanks," in an embarrassed voice.
Elder Jacobsen took an envelope out of his pocket and gave it to Elder Lowe. Elder Lowe asked something. Elder Jacobsen made a reply of which Aracelis caught only the words "no" and "later." Elder Lowe put the letter in his own breast pocket. Then he stood up. Elder Jacobsen did likewise. They embraced again, the way they had earlier, but even longer this time. Then Elder Lowe pulled back and said something while gesturing towards the church--presumably telling Elder Jacobsen it was time to go back inside to the party. Elder Jacobsen shook his head. Elder Lowe walked back alone towards the east door.
Once Elder Lowe had passed around the corner out of sight, Elder Jacobsen sat back down on the curb. He hugged his knees to his chest. For a while, he just sat there. Then his body began to jerk in small spasms. Aracelis realized he was crying. He took off his glasses and put his fists up against his eyes. Now she could hear the sound of his crying--an unnerving, choking sound.
She walked towards him. He heard her coming, looked up panic-stricken, hurried to put on his glasses, fumbled in his back pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his face with.
"You trapped me," he said. He seemed to be making a joke, but what he'd said made no sense. She suspected he was trying to translate an English idiom directly into Spanish.
She sat down next to him, smoothing her skirt modestly down to her ankles as she did so. He looked uncomfortable. "We should not be here...outside... alone," he said. He seemed to be struggling to concentrate well enough to speak intelligible Spanish.
"You loved him," she observed in English.
She hadn't thought about saying it; the words had simply come out. Elder Jacobsen looked down at the ground between his feet. "Very much," he said, also in English. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath to keep himself from crying again.
She wanted to put her arm around him, but she was afraid of how he might react: missionaries were supposed to keep members of the opposite sex at arm's length. Instead, she leaned closer to him, so that her leg touched his. He seemed to understand that she meant to be comforting, not flirtatious. He opened his eyes, wiped his nose with his handkerchief. "It gives me shame that you see me like this," he said in Spanish. He forced a laugh.
She still had the sense of being directed by something beyond herself. "Were you and Elder Lowe companions?" she asked in English.
He responded in English. "Back in La Caridad." He hesitated, then decided to tell the story. "He was my second companion. But I always thought of him as my trainer, because my first companion was such a b---" His mouth worked furiously to hold back a word he wanted to say but didn't feel he should. "Such a jerk," he finished finally. "He should never have been made a trainer. But he'd done a really good job of pulling the wool over the mission president's eyes. That's why he didn't like me: I wouldn't go along with all the crap he was used to pulling." Elder Jacobsen's mouth twitched again as he remembered. "He had a real talent for putting me down."
He shifted gears. "But then Elder Lowe became my companion, and everything was different. If it hadn't been for him, I would probably have gone home. He boosted me up and made me believe in myself." He laughed a little, not forced this time. "That sounds so corny." He fell silent. He seemed to be searching for the right words. At last he said, "It was just an incredible companionship. I've never felt that close to any other companion. To any other person, for that matter."
She had the feeling something wasn't being said that needed to be said, but she wasn't sure what it was. "Elder Lowe is a very supporting person," she said. She sensed that the English wasn't quite right, not that it really mattered right now.
"He's the only companion I've had who really cared about me," Elder Jacobsen said fiercely. "Everyone always says, 'Oh, I love my companion,' because they know they're supposed to. And most of my companions were decent. Not like Elder--" He stopped himself from saying the name. "Not like my first companion. But my other companions and I were never really friends. We just worked together. With Elder Lowe it was different. Even after I was transferred, whenever we'd meet, he'd take the time to talk. I mean, really talk, not just being polite."
Suddenly Elder Jacobsen was panicking, babbling so quickly she could hardly understand. "I can't do this, I can't do this, I need to know I can see him and talk to him, I can't get through the rest of my mission if he isn't here, oh God, oh God, help me, help me, please help me." He buried his face in his knees, his hands clenched.
She was frightened, but something inside her told her what she needed to do. She placed both her hands on his head, as if she were giving him a blessing. "Tranquilo," she said. "Tranquilo." Calm. Be still.
He lifted his head and looked at her as if he wasn't entirely sure where he was. She drew her hands back. He blinked hard, several times, and rubbed his face. For a while, he just sat there, staring ahead into the rapidly darkening twilight, getting himself under control again.
Out of nowhere, a realization dawned on Aracelis. She understood why Elder Jacobsen felt so intensely about his companionship with Elder Lowe. And she realized that what she had just come to understand about Elder Jacobsen was something he did not yet understand about himself--or, at most, was just beginning to become conscious of.
"Are you all right?" she asked in Spanish.
"Si," he replied. He didn't look at her. He was ashamed of having broken down in front of her. But he also wanted to be gracious. "Thank you for listening to me. Now I need to look for my companion and go."
She thought she ought to say something. But her mind was a blank. She no longer had the feeling of being guided in what to say or do. Perhaps, she thought, she had already done everything she was supposed to.
He stood to leave. She remained seated on the curb. He was just about to round the corner of the building and pass out of sight, when something occurred to her. "Elder Jacobsen," she said. He turned partly towards her but was still too ashamed to look her in the eye. She spoke in Spanish. "You're a good missionary, Elder Jacobsen. You work hard, and you want to do what's right." She felt an automatic inclination to assure him that he was going to be fine, but something held her back from saying it.
He waited, as if he thought she might say more. When it became clear that she was done, he nodded once, in gratitude, and disappeared around the corner.
She kept sitting. The twilight turned completely into darkness. She thought about what she had come to understand about Elder Jacobsen. She wondered what this would mean for him in the future. She began to feel a little angry, without being sure why.
After a long time, she returned to the party. Couples were still dancing in the middle of the room. Elder Jacobsen and his companion were gone. Elder Lowe's companion was in the hall roughhousing with a troop of children. Elder Lowe was sitting in a corner, watching the dancing couples, looking very happy. For the first time since the party began, no one was sitting next to him or talking with him.
She took the chair beside him. He nodded in greeting. "I want to talk with you about Elder Jacobsen," she said in English.
As if by reflex, Elder Lowe touched his breast pocket, where the letter from Elder Jacobsen was. Aracelis could see that Elder Lowe had opened the envelope. "It made me very happy to see him," Elder Lowe said. Even though she'd spoken to him in English, he was replying in Spanish, presumably to avoid the gossip that might follow from their having a conversation no one else in the room could understand. "It surprised me that he came so far to say good-bye. But it touched me. We had a strong companionship."
It bothered her to hear him speak so casually. "You know that for him it was more than that," she said in English.
He looked at her with a suddenly wary expression. "What do you mean?" he asked. He, too, was speaking English now.
"He is in love with you," she said.
He glanced around to see if anyone was listening. When he spoke again, it was in a low voice. "Who told you that?"
"I do not need someone to tell me. I can see," she replied, annoyed. Then she realized what he was afraid of. "Nobody else knows," she assured him. "I never heard someone speaking about it, anyway."
"Please make sure it stays that way." There was a harsh edge to his voice. "There were missionaries who used to spread rumors about him until I shut them up. I don't want anyone to start again. He's having a hard enough time on his mission as it is."
She was impressed and a little chastened. She'd thought he was worried about his own reputation. "He believes he cannot finish his mission without you," she said. "We talked a little outside," she added by way of explanation.
"Did he tell you he was in love with me?"
She shook her head. "I do not think that he knows yet."
He blinked, gave a little laugh. "You're good if you picked that up in just one conversation." He was more relaxed now. She got the impression that he was beginning to enjoy finally being able to talk about this with someone, though he kept glancing around from time to time to make sure they weren't being overheard. "It was really uncomfortable for me at first, when we were companions, until I realized he wasn't really aware of what was going on...what he was feeling, I mean. Once I realized that, I was able to relax and just...be there for what he needed. I was always careful that we never crossed a line or anything. But he needed someone to...you know..." He fumbled, awkward, embarrassed. "Love him. So I did." He moved quickly to change the tone of the conversation. "His trainer was a total prick. I'd like to deck the guy if I ever get the chance."
There was a lull in the conversation. Aracelis broke the silence by asking, "What will happen to him?"
She meant in the long-term, after Elder Jacobsen's mission, though she hadn't clarified that. But Elder Lowe seemed to understand. "I don't know. I've heard there's some kind of therapy or something that's supposed to help." He didn't sound very convinced. "Anyway," Elder Lowe continued, more confidently, "he'll be fine as long as he stays close to the Spirit. The Spirit will tell him whatever it is he needs to do."
She had another flash of inspiration. "You should write him a letter to tell him that."
He didn't reply at first. He took the letter from Elder Jacobsen out of his breast pocket, hefted it, slapped it absently against his palm. She was curious to know what the letter said, but of course that wasn't any of her business. "You're right," Elder Lowe said at last. "I need to write him. Something that can help him get through the rest of his mission, anyway." He was a little defensive. "I thought of doing something like that before I left. But..." He shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea what to say."
"Tell him the things that you told him when you were companions. Or after you were companions, whenever you would talk to him. Tell him that you love him."
He squirmed. "I don't want to lead him on." She didn't understand the idiom. "I don't want him to think that I...feel something for him that I don't feel. I don't want him to depend on me, either. Get too attached."
"I understand." She thought about that for a while. "Write him a letter anyway." She quoted, in Spanish, a scripture she knew the missionaries often used: "In that very hour you shall be given what you should say."
She thought he might smile, recognizing the quotation. But he just nodded, looking down at the letter in his hands. After a while he put the letter back in his pocket. He leaned forward onto his knees and clasped his hands in front of his mouth. He sighed heavily through his nose.
She felt an urge to reach over and stroke Elder Lowe's back. She wondered if Elder Jacobsen had ever felt that same urge.
As if he could somehow read her thoughts, Elder Lowe looked over at her. He flashed the smile that had helped to make him so popular in the ward and so attractive to the Young Women. He stood, reached down, took her hands in his.
"Dance with me," he said in Spanish.
Everyone in the ward was surprised, of course, though since it was Elder Lowe's last night as a missionary, no one was scandalized, except the Young Women. Besides, it was more amusing than anything else to watch Elder Lowe's enthusiastic but clumsy attempts to dance merengue. Aracelis was struck with the absurdity of his having spent two years in the country without learning the local dances. But it was fun, and she tried to enjoy the moment without wondering where this might or might not lead in the future.