There we were, my roommate and I, in the little dining corner of our mostly barren living room, sitting at the only table in the whole condo, playing Pokemon cards, the entire place smelling like cigarette smoke and purple kush.
“That’s cheap as fuck,” Kyle said, taking a drag off his cigarette.
I had just played another Eevee and evolved it into a Flareon. “When you play this card, search your deck for an Eevee evolution and attach it to this card.” That made three fully evolved Eevees on the field. It was cheap as fuck indeed, and in hindsight, it was an illegal deck, as it had like six Eevees in it when the official rules only allowed four of the same card. I didn’t know that at the time, of course, but even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have cared. I didn't care about much back then.
The year was 2009. I was fresh out of high school. I lived in a rented condo with two other people, Kyle and Megan. Kyle was my good friend from high school. Megan was my ex-girlfriend. She and I didn’t get along very well. She said I didn't care about her, that I spent all my time playing video games instead of paying attention to her. I told her, “If you love me, you should accept me for who I am, flaws and all.” This didn't fly too well. We would get into such heated arguments that, one time, after I had locked myself in the spare bedroom, she kicked the door down. We never did get it repaired. Instead, I hung a sheet up. That sheet ended up being my bedroom door because she cheated on me a few days later, and we broke up, meaning I was kicked out of the master bedroom. Out of all the lessons I could have learned from this, the one I learned was, never room with someone you’ve only dated for a few months, otherwise you're in for a world of hurt.
The condo itself was paid for by my mom, who lived about 300 miles away. “I’ll pay for the place until you find a job, then you’re on your own,” is what she told me, without any sort of real deadline, so, in my view, I wasn’t really incentivized to find a job at all. That meant I spent most days playing video games, drinking Mountain Dew, getting high, watching YouTube, and chain-smoking Marlboro Lights in my bedroom, all while my mother thought I was out there putting in applications. Like I would ever let some fat cat exploit my labor. “The job market around here is really terrible,” I would tell her over the phone.
This was also the year that my sister’s boyfriend died. He was a drug addict and a liar, but he was one of those very charismatic drug addict liars, someone you just couldn't help being drawn to for some reason. He had a sort of devilish charm going on. One time, my savings of $400, which I kept in a desk in my bedroom, went missing, and I knew it was him because, like an idiot, I had shown him where it was, and the money went missing only a day after I had shown him. But I couldn’t prove it, so I didn’t even bother calling him out on it. He was always such a nice guy, so it seemed almost cruel to accuse him of something like that, especially since he would act deeply offended by any sort of accusation. “Who, me? You really think I would do something like that? Who got you a Mountain Dew from the gas station the other day? Who fed your cats while you were out of town?” Another time, he took a bunch of Xanax, went out driving, and crashed into a school bus, injuring like four kids. Somehow, he got off with the minimum amount of community service possible. It was like he was immune to serious consequences or something. That was his superpower, I guess, dodging big trouble. But this superpower couldn’t save him from the biggest trouble of all. He died in his parents’ bathroom, surrounded by vomit and syringes. His name was Brandon. He was 26 years old.
As you can imagine, my sister didn’t take it well. Actually, she went sort of crazy. First, it was the spirit stuff. She would pay some self-proclaimed “spirit medium” hundreds of dollars a week to quote-unquote “channel” Brandon’s spirit so that she could commune with him or whatever. The first time she told me about this, I laughed in her face. I told her all that shit was bogus, that death is the end and there’s nothing afterward, only darkness. I also told her that her sadness was being exploited and that she was falling for it hook, line, and sinker. But she didn’t care. She truly believed she was communicating with Brandon. I didn’t respect it at all. Then she got into crystals. She thought certain crystals could channel Brandon’s spirit, make him “flow through” her. I laughed at this too, told her there was no scientific evidence for any of that shit. “The only way to get over Brandon’s death is to face reality and move on. He’s not coming back,” is what I told her. And she would reply with, “There’s more to life than just science. There’s something else. There has to be. Otherwise, what’s the point? You should open your mind a little.” And I would tell her, “I do have an open mind. If I saw convincing evidence that spirits were real or that crystals could open portals to the underworld, I’d believe it. Problem is, there’s no fucking evidence.” And then she’d say, “Well, I’ve seen it happen, that’s my evidence. So why do you care? It’s helping me.” And then I’d think to myself, “Yeah, whatever, we’ll see how long that lasts.”
And I guess it didn’t last very long because, shortly after her stint with the paranormal, she took an abrupt turn and started going to church every Sunday. But this wasn’t any old normal church, this was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She became very involved with the Mormon religion. She started carrying around a copy of The Book of Mormon. Sometimes she’d even quote from it. “Fools mock, but they shall mourn,” is something she told me once, after I laughed in her face about her sudden religious epiphany. I remember telling her, “That’s ironic, considering the only reason you’re a Mormon now is because you’re in mourning. I’m going to start calling you the Mourning Mormon.” After I said that, she kicked me out of her apartment and wouldn’t talk to me for like a week. But she eventually got over it. We had a mutual understanding. She knew what I was like, and I knew what she was like, and we accepted each other.
Or, at least, I thought we did.
The next time I saw her, Kyle and I were sitting at the only table in our barren condo, smoking cigarettes, taking big fat weed hits, and playing Pokemon cards.
“MORMONS ARE HERE,” Megan yelled from down the hall before vanishing into her bedroom. Her bedroom, which was my old bedroom, was right off the entrance, so she always heard the door before anyone else.
This was the second time Mormons had come to our place within the last few weeks. I was starting to suspect that my sister had tipped them off, like she had called the Mormon police on me or something. “I know a seriously lost soul who needs saving,” is what I imagined she told them. The Mormons that showed up the first time were both in their early 20s, Brother Rigby and Brother Graf. They were both really tan, probably because they spent 11 hours a day walking from door to door, proselytizing. They wore tucked-in white collared shirts, ties, and small messenger bags at their hips, and they were always clutching a Book of Mormon by their side. Rigby was the taller of the two, and he wore a crew cut. Graf, who was shorter, also wore a crew cut. They both looked eerily similar, as if they had been grown in a lab or something. The first time they came over, they started cleaning our kitchen without even asking, which irked me for some reason. I thought they were trying to subtly manipulate me with fake kindness, hoping it would convert me or something, so I kindly asked them to stop, at which point they started asking Kyle and me about our “faiths.” Kyle told them that he used to be a Christian, and so they had a lengthy discussion about some Biblical stories and their meanings, which is one way to lead on a Mormon, I guess. But I preferred to just fuck with them. I got a kick out of it. That’s why I made it a point to smoke in front of them. What were they going to do about it? Damn me to Hell? And I told them I was an atheist, that I didn’t believe in fairy tales, at which point they started with all the sermonizing. The first time they tried quoting from the Book of Mormon, I stopped them short and said, “If you’re going to convert me, you’ll need more than some flowery words from a book.”
Brother Graf just smiled at me and said, “We’re not here to convert you, we just want to get to know you.” And, trying to sound all smart, I said, “Who can ever truly know someone else?” Brother Graf then opened his Book of Mormon and leafed through the golden pages. He paused, placed his finger on a passage, then said, “Yea, and he looketh down upon all the children of men; and he knows all the thoughts and intents of the heart; for by his hand were they all created from the beginning.” So I said, “So, you’re saying God knows all things?” And Brother Graf said, “Well, that’s how it is written, yes.” So I said, “And you believe that?” And he said, “I do.” So I said, “What about free will, then, is that just an illusion or something?” At that, Brother Graf paused, then leafed through his book once more, stopping on another passage. “Cheer up your hearts, and remember that ye are free to act for yourselves, to choose the way of everlasting death or the way of everlasting life.” Brother Graf was obviously new to this whole proselytizing thing, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have had to look up so many passages. So, to make him feel uncomfortable, I said to Graf, “Can you talk to me like a normal human being, instead of just reading things at me?” At which point Graf’s smile sort of shook with a sigh, which pleased me greatly. I then added, “Look, even if a God did exist, how do I know which one it is? How would I know it’s the Christian God and not, like, Thor?” And that’s when Brother Rigby stepped in and responded with a story about Joseph Smith, the founder of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and how Smith had translated some Golden Plates through quote-unquote “divine inspiration,” to which I said something like, “Cool story bro.”
But then Brother Graf said, “There were 11 witnesses, and it was reported on in the press,” and I said, “So?” And then Brother Graf handed me a copy of the press clipping, which he had in his messenger bag for some reason, and said, “Can any other religion claim such concrete eyewitness testimony?” And I said, “I guess not, but that doesn’t prove anything. They could have all been in cahoots, how should I know?” At which point Brother Rigby said, “I understand your doubt, Nathan. Tell me, what do you believe?” And I said, “Nothing.” And he said, “Nothing? Surely there is something.” And he said this while looking around, as if illustrating that there was indeed something in our general vicinity. So I said, “Well, I mean, I guess there’s something, but I don’t believe in it, I don’t have to, it’s science. It’s the observable universe. It’s just true. No belief necessary, that’s the beauty of it.” And then Brother Rigby said, “How do you know it to be true?” And I said, “Because it’s observable and testable and, c’mon, is this a trick question?” And then he paused for a moment before saying, “You place a lot of faith in science.” And that's when I figured out that Brother Rigby was a lot smarter than he appeared to be, and that annoyed me to no end.
Which is why, after that first visit, I did some homework on Mormonism. I wasn’t going to let Brother Rigby play games with me anymore. My research basically consisted of getting high, then watching a bunch of YouTube videos and reading Wikipedia articles. I read all about Joseph Smith, how he was considered a prophet called by God, how he had multiple wives, some of whom were teenagers, how he had been accused of financial fraud by multiple people, and how he ran for president in 1844 but, while campaigning, had been arrested and then murdered by a lynch mob because he pissed off so many people. I also read all about the Golden Plates, and about how Smith had put some sort of crystal ball in his hat, stuck his face in the hat, and then, using this magical hat trick, translated the hieroglyphics on the plates, which ended up making up the majority of the text in The Book of Mormon. I also learned how the whole thing had happened in 1827, and how several of the supposed witnesses later became estranged from Joseph Smith for one reason or another, mostly because he was always doing shady shit with money. I also learned that these plates were supposedly returned to the angel Moroni after being translated, meaning there was no physical evidence that the plates had even existed. I also knew that Mormons believed God was a physical being who looked like a human, hence “made in his image,” and that, according to Mormons, God lived on a planet called Kolob, where one day was equivalent to 1,000 years of Earth time, which the Mormons called “Lord’s Time.” I also learned how Mormons preferred to be called “members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” because the word “Mormon” had negative connotations or something, which of course meant that I would keep calling them Mormons, to get on their nerves. And, according to one YouTube video I watched, Mormons also wore magical underwear, never taking it off, as a physical reminder of their commitments to God or something, which was knowledge that I immediately put into my repertoire of anti-Mormon talking points because it was just too fucking funny not to.
I thought their whole religion was a farce, an absurd fairy tale, which wasn’t so different from how I viewed all religions back then. To me, Mormonism was no more ridiculous than any other Christian sect. It was all unscientific, unverifiable nonsense. But Mormons annoyed me more than other Christians because Mormons were just so damn nice. I found it offensive. I thought they were putting on airs. I thought they were trying to trick people with faux niceness and then, once they had lured them into that niceness trap and converted them to Mormonism, I suspected they would drop the facade, bear the fangs, so to speak, and bite down with the condescension and judgement. So, not only did I want to win arguments with them and make them look foolish, I also wanted to piss them off. I wanted to break down their facade. I wanted to reveal them to be the angry, judgmental, condescending people I believed them to be under their masks. I wanted to force them to reveal their true colors. I wanted to turn their constant smiles into persistent frowns. And, after my high-as-a-kite research sessions, I felt like I had the knowledge to do just that, to destroy the Mormons, piss them off. Especially that self-righteous prick, Brother Rigby, who wouldn't stop smiling and thought he was just so damn smart with all his “faith” shit.
“Shouldn’t we get the door?” Kyle said, reviewing the cards in his hand.
“They can wait a few minutes, fuck ’em,” I laughed, playing another Eevee, immediately evolving it into a Jolteon.
“Jesus dude, not again,” he said, sighing and smoking.
“YOUR SISTER’S HERE TOO,” Megan shouted before retreating into her bedroom again.
“My sister? Well, shit, I guess I should get the door then,” I said, putting my cards face down on the table, right next to a bowl packed with slightly charred greens. “This will probably be more fun than getting your ass beat by Eevees, though, right?”
“Whatever,” was all Kyle said, blowing smoke clouds.
When I got to the door, I looked through the peephole to catch a glimpse. It was Brother Rigby and Brother Graf, just as I had suspected. They still looked like they were grown in some sort of lab somewhere, maybe one on Kolob or whatever. My sister was standing behind them, looking kind of nervous, scratching her nose with a tattooed hand. She had a whole colorful sleeve, which was a big no-no for Mormons. Body is a temple and all that. But I suppose, her being new to the faith and all, they were willing to look the other way, for now.
Even from behind the door, the two Mormons had these big, toothy white smiles. It kind of pissed me off, to be honest, which only made me more eager to break down their fake-friendly personas and reveal them as the intolerant religious nuts I believed them to be. That’s why I thought it would be funny to offer them both a cigarette, to see what they’d do. I knew they couldn't drink coffee or tea or alcohol, and I knew they certainly couldn't smoke. So, of course, like Satan, I’d tempt them. This would be my first facade-shattering act.
So I dug a hand into my pocket and pulled out my pack, then I slid out three smokes, popped one into my mouth, and opened the door. “Brother Rigby, Brother Graf, nice to see you again,” I said, forcing a fake smile. “You boys want a cigarette?” I was holding the smokes out between my fingers.
Brother Rigby immediately responded with a big smile. “No thank you, Nathan.” Brother Graf was just standing there, smiling, but his eyes were kind of narrowed and shifty, like he was thinking real hard about something.
“Tee,” I said, holding a cigarette out to my sister, “how about you? You still smoke?”
Both brothers shifted their gaze toward Tee, still smiling but also watching her closely, which I took to mean they were judging her harshly, like a sort of “what you do next could decide the fate of your very soul” kind of thing.
But that’s when Tee stepped forward and said, “Nathan, I have to tell you something.”
“Wait, don’t tell me,” I said in an incredulous tone, “you’re converting to Mormonism?”
She didn’t laugh. She only looked down at the doormat that Megan had put there weeks ago, which was woven with the words, “ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE.”
Brother Rigby spoke up, “Don’t worry, Tee. It will be OK. Tell him.”
I was starting to get a little weirded out, so I said, “Tell me what?”
That’s when Tee looked up with tears in her eyes and said, “You know, when Brandon died…”
“How could I forget?” I said, blinking at her.
“You never called.”
“I was supposed to call?”
“And you never said sorry.”
“What do I have to be sorry for? It wasn’t my fault.”
She paused, looked down again, big frown on her face. The Brothers Mormon were watching her, smiling. Then she said, “And you never said anything nice, you never said anything like, ‘It’s OK, Tee, everything’s going to be alright. Things will get better.’ Not even once.”
“How am I supposed to know things will get better? How could I possibly know that?” I didn’t know what she was trying to get at.
“When I told you about the spirit mediums, you laughed at me.”
“Well, no offense, but it was stupid. I didn't want you to waste your money.” As I said this, I stepped out onto the mat and closed the door behind me. I lit my cigarette, took a long drag, and blew smoke.
“Do you mind?” Brother Graf said, eyeing the cigarette but still smiling.
“What?” I said, grinning and trying to act cool. “You want one?”
“No.” He paused, then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, “No, thank you.”
Tee continued, “And when I told you about the crystals, you laughed then, too.”
I sighed and blew more smoke. “Look, you know what I think about all that new-age stuff. I don’t know why you even tell me that crap.”
“That’s not the point,” she said, looking me straight in the eye.
“What’s the point then, Tee?” I said, starting to get a little annoyed. “Bring Mormons over here to lecture me? Tell me about the Plates again?”
“You called me the Mourning Mormon,” she added with a teary glare. Both brothers sort of squirmed when she said this.
“OK, maybe that was a little harsh, but c’mon, it was kind of funny, wasn’t it?”
“It was not funny, Nathan,” she said sternly, followed by a tense silence.
After a few seconds, she seemed to gather her courage because she went off. “Someone I loved died, and you laughed at me. You told me to get over it. You made me feel like shit. It’s not funny at all. You’ve never shown me any compassion, not even once. You never show compassion for anyone. You act like you're better than everyone else, like you know everything, but you just sit in your room all day playing Mario or whatever, mooching off Mom. You’re a negative influence, Nathan. You’re critical, you’re mean, you have no empathy, no perspective, and, frankly, I don’t want you in my life anymore.”
I narrowed my eyes, tapped some ash onto the cement below, and, trying to sound unfazed, said, “What is this, some kind of guilt trip? An intervention? Did the magical-underwear guys put you up to this?”
Brother Graf, no longer smiling, stepped forward, but Brother Rigby put his hand out, stopping him. Tee then shook her head and said, “No, I asked them to come, because I couldn’t do this by myself.”
“Then what, you just came here to tell me that you’re done with me? Isn't that a little dramatic? You're just cutting me out of your life, what, forever?”
“Yes,” she said, “unless you can apologize, and mean it.”
There was another tense silence. She was standing there, glaring at me, teary-eyed. I was standing there, an incredulous look on my face, occasionally taking drags off my cigarette. She was waiting for me to say something. And I knew what I had to say, but the contrarian spirit within me prevented me from saying it, so even if I had said it, it wouldn't have been genuine, at least not at that moment. And the Mormons were looking at me, too. Brother Rigby was still smiling, but Brother Graf had this stern expression on his face, like he had something to say, and his eyes were like little dark slits. I was starting to feel some serious pressure.
So, acting all cool, I took another drag and, without looking at my sister, I said, “Look, sorry for calling you the Mourning Mormon, that was out of line. You’re right. That other stuff, though, not sorry. Spirits aren’t real, crystals don’t do anything. I’m not going to apologize for just stating the facts.”
Tee shook her head. “You just don't get it,” she said softly. Then she turned and walked away. Brother Rigby followed her. Brother Graf, however, stayed behind. He was staring at me with those narrow eyes of his. His smile was gone. I blinked at him a few times, then opened the door and walked right through it without saying a word.
But just as I was about to close the door, Brother Graf raised his voice. He said, “You know what, Nathan? You’re a fucking asshole.”
This stopped me in my tracks, stunned me like a deer in holy headlights.
His grimace then softened into a smile. He watched me for a moment then said, “May God bless your soul.” Then he took his Book of Mormon out of his bag, placed it on the welcome mat, and walked away.
I stood there for a few seconds, staring at the Book of Mormon. Then I shook my head, closed the door, and thought to myself, “I did it. I got him to reveal his true nature. The facade has been shattered.”
But even though this was exactly what I had set out to do, there was no satisfaction. Something was wrong. This was not how I had wanted it to happen.
When I went back into the living room, Kyle said to me, “What took you so long? Where’re the Mormons?”
“The Mormons aren't coming in,” I said. “They broke the facade.”
“What do you mean?”
I thought about this for a moment, then I said, “I don’t know.”
We never did finish our game of cards. Instead, I retreated into my room for the rest of the afternoon. I lay on my bed. I stared up at the popcorn ceiling. I paced around. I was restless. My stomach was churning. I kept seeing that dumb Book of Mormon in my mind, lying out there on the welcome mat. ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE. And after what felt like a few hours, I knew what I had to do. I picked up the phone and called my sister.
But I can’t remember if she ever picked up.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tarlanx posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
c_ent
![[syndicated profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/feed.png){kind=small}
