Date: Tue, 19 Mar 2002 08:34:37 -0700
From: L
Subject: Farewell Party (no-sex)

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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.
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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.