It is the first thing Kevin notices upon entering the dorm.
“Awe, man,” Arnold complains, tossing his backpack onto the bed closest to the window. “This kind of sucks, huh?”
Kevin ignores him in favor of standing in the center of the room, arms outstretched as he calculates the distance. The tips of his fingers fall short of each mattress; even when he leans to the side, he cannot reach.
“Boy,” he says, eventually, meeting Arnold’s gaze. “I’ll say.”
*
When he and Arnold would sit on their beds in Uganda, their knees would touch.
Always sleep in the same room as your companion, but not in the same bed. Kevin used to think whoever wrote that rule, never served a mission in Uganda. Or, maybe they’d just never been in love. Because what started out as knees touching, turned into touching-touching and an eventual pleading for more.
They pushed their beds together.
*
These beds are bolted to the floor.
Kevin tries to pull one across the room, anyway, to Arnold’s great amusement. His laugh echoes off the cement block walls, permeating Kevin’s concentration. He drops his arms; kicks the leg of his bed just alittle too hard.
“Fuck,” he hisses, hopping on one foot. Arnold’s laugh only gets louder.
“It’s not a big deal, buddy.” He rustles Kevin’s hair, grinning when his hand gets slapped away. “We can always, like, meet in the middle, sometimes, yaknow?”
But sometimes isn’t good enough. Not for Kevin, who can never do anything in half-measures. Always, is better. So, their mattresses end up on the floor, between their beds, with blankets draped across the room in a makeshift tent.
“Is this stupid?” Kevin asks, sitting cross-legged and across from Arnold. The top of his head grazes one of the blankets. “This is stupid, huh?”
“Are you nuts?” Arnold leans forward, poking Kevin’s nose. “This is awesome! I used to build blanket forts as a kid all the time, but it’s kinda lame doing it all by yourself. This is way better.” His hands lower to Kevin’s thighs and squeeze; “Like – way, way better.”
Kevin grins; “Oh yeah?” It’s hot beneath their blankets, and the slightest bit humid. Arnold’s glasses are partially fogged and Kevin’s hair has started to fall. “Why’s that?”
Arnold opens his mouth to reply, but chooses to show him, instead. They end up tangled in each other and their blankets, clothes and shoes strewn across the floor.
Kevin is kept quiet with a hand over his mouth; Arnold, by swallowing him down.
It is over much too soon.
“Remind me to thank the mission president for pairing us together,” Kevin says, breathless. He slides an arm around Arnold’s shoulders, ignoring the slick feel of sweat. “He really knew what he was doing.”
Arnold snorts, rolls over and rests his head on Kevin’s chest. It pushes his glasses askew. “Dear Mission President,” he mocks; “Thanks for the sex.”
“That makes it sound like you had sex with the MP.” Kevin yawns, closing his eyes. “Gross, pal.”
“That guy looks like your dad.” Arnold grins when Kevin cracks open an eye to glare at him; “Like, really looks like him.”
“Like I said: gross.” Kevin turns onto his side, facing Arnold. “Can we please sleep, now? You sucked the life outta me. Literally.”
Arnold laughs, right in Kevin’s face. “Yeah, of course.” He clears his throat; “Goodnight, best friend.”
Kevin smiles, tiredly. Their knees are touching. “Goodnight, pal.”
It is a feeling he has never felt in its entirety, before, regardless that he lives by the gospel. That, his father always says, is the only path to happiness; yet Kevin forgot to pray before breakfast, just this morning, and cannot keep the grin off his face. It is hard to say why, exactly, since he knows better than to rejoice in material things; but this is the first time his father has taken them somewhere other than church or Temple Square, so Kevin knows this trip is special. He commits it, and this feeling, to memory.
I never want to forget this, he tells his mother when she reaches for his hand. Ever.
“I’m at a gay bar,” he shouts, over the noise of the place. “I’m at a gay bar, and I’m gay.”
Arnold nods, laughs, and pulls Kevin closer. He smells like sweat and cheap Vodka. Svedka, because Arnold couldn’t see the point in spending three times as much for Crystal Head when they’ll get drunk the same either way. “Feels good to say that out loud, huh?”
“It feels incredible.” Kevin beams, circling a finger around the rim of his glass. The perspiration is cool against his skin. “You wanna dance?”
“Uh, well, I suppose that depends,” Arnold says, finishing the last of his drink. “On whether or not you’ve actually learned how.”
Kevin laughs in Arnold’s face, takes his hand, then drags him out to the luminescent floor. It’s hot and sticky and Kevin’s shirt is adhered to his skin. People press and rub up against him as they work their way through the crowd, to the center, where everyone can see them.
“I’m having so much fun!” Kevin shouts, raising his arms as he starts to dance. Rhythm has never been Kevin’s strong suit, but the gin helps, and the music helps and Arnold really helps. He grabs onto Kevin’s belt, pulling him close as his other arm drapes over Kevin’s shoulder. Their hips press together. It is almost embarrassing how quickly Kevin gets an erection.
“Hey, Kev?” Arnold keeps his gaze down between them. “I actually really have to go to the bathroom. Wanna come with me?”
The implication is not lost on Kevin, who nods and takes Arnold’s hand, allowing himself to be led. This is not the first time Arnold has brought him into a bathroom for sex, he realizes, wondering if they’ll ever find themselves in a bed.
“This is pretty sleazy,” Kevin comments, once they are stuffed into a stall. There is writing on the tile: say perhaps to drugs. He starts to undo his belt; “Even for us.”
Arnold snorts, then turns Kevin around so he’s facing the door. “I’m not going to fuck you in here, buddy. I really gotta go, I just didn’t want anyone else to dance with you.”
Kevin grins; “You’re selfish.”
“And you’re, like, way too hot for your own good.”
Being told he’s hot is nothing new for Kevin but being told he’s hot by Arnold is. It feels good; and like something he’s been waiting to hear for a very long time. They were always bad at being honest. There was always some trepidation surrounding how they felt, because they had so much to lose, but they don’t anymore. And it is almost more freeing than coming out of the closet, he thinks, knowing the world will not collapse if you kiss another boy or want another boy or –
“I love you,” Kevin says, turning his back to the door. “Um.”
He is staring at the curve of Arnold’s back, at the sweat that has darkened his shirt. The toilet flushes and Arnold turns around, watching him pensively for a moment, before bringing a hand up to cup Kevin’s cheek. He strokes it with a thumb, leaning in a bit clumsy to kiss Kevin’s forehead.
“I know,” Arnold says, pushing his fingers into Kevin’s matted hair. “I love you, too.”
Kevin sits on the ground with his back against the wall, knees drawn upwards towards his chest. He hugs them, blinking sweat from his eyes as he stares into the fire. There’s rabbit cooking, and goat, and it hits him all at once this is the last meal he will eat here.
The first meal he ate was more-or-less the same: posho with beans and rabbit. He remembers staring down into his bowl, missing Kraft macaroni and cheese more than he missed his own mother - and now, in two days, he will get to have both. But he will no longer get to have this. Kevin still is not sure how he feels about that.
His heart and his head are conflicted. He both loves it here and hates it; and will miss far more than he is glad to be rid of. But he cannot be happy here, and Kevin wants to be happy. He needs to remember what that feels like.
“Elder Price, I have been looking all over for you.” Nabulungi ducks her head as she steps into the kitchen, waving the smoke away with both of her hands. “What are you doing in here? It is impossible to breathe.” She sits down beside him, legs outstretched; she is barefoot, unlike Kevin.
“I wouldn’t say it’s impossible,” he says, placing an arm around her shoulders. She moves in closer; rests her head against his chest. “Otherwise, we’d both be dead.”
She laughs and smacks his thigh. “You are foolish,” she teases. “You also did not answer my question.”
“Only because I know you’re gonna laugh at me,” Kevin admits.
“Try me.” She lifts her head and smiles, and Kevin quickly commits it to memory because he knows there is no one in Utah with a smile quite like hers.
“I want all of this,” he says, waving towards the food and all the smoke; “to get into my clothes, so they smell like this place. I don’t want to forget much, and I think it’ll help.”
Nabulungi hums, leaning in to press their noses together; “See, I am not laughing.”
But then she does laugh because Kevin starts to tickle her. It is easier than explaining the why and who for. They end up rolling around in the dirt, laughing so hard they both cry.
“That was not fair,” she says, breathless. “You made me laugh, so you could say I told you so like you always do.”
“Not true,” Kevin says, propping himself up on his elbows. He shrugs; “Maybe I just like the sound of it.”
Nabulungi beams, sitting on her knees. “Then I will keep laughing, just for you,” she says, offering Kevin a hand. He grabs it, allowing her to help him sit up. “It will not be hard to do since Elder Cunningham is staying.”
“Yeah.” Kevin feels his smile fade, the moment she reminds him.
“You are going to miss him,” she says. “Arnold.”
“Of course, I am.” Kevin presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and tells himself it is because the smoke is starting to irritate them. “He’s my best friend. He’s-” everything, Kevin thinks to himself. My whole, entire life.
“You do not have to worry about him.” Nabulungi leans in closer, hooking a finger beneath Kevin’s chin so he has to look up. “I will take care of him for you. I will make sure he is alright.”
It is exactly what Kevin is afraid of; but she does not know that, and he does not want to tell her. “Do you promise?” Kevin asks, holding up a pinkie. “’Cause I really don’t think he can take care of himself.”
She stares at it, confused, for a moment, until Kevin hooks it around one of her own. “This’ll show me that you promise,” he explains, offering the most genuine smile he can muster. “You do, right?”
“Of course, I do.” Nabulungi tightens the grip around his finger, before pulling Kevin into a hug he only somewhat wants. “I swear it.”
Kevin is sitting on his bed, back up against the wall and knees drawn up to his chest. He’s restless, but does his best to hide it after his roommate casts one too many suspicious looks in his direction over the book he is reading. The Incomparable Jesus. It is hard, sometimes, for Kevin to believe he is here.
BYU used to be Kevin’s dream school, but the rooms are small and his walls are cement blocks painted white. It feels like a prison, both literally and metaphorically. He does not belong here. It does not matter that he sat before the disciplinary counsel and atoned for his mission; this is not him. He is not a good student; he is not a good son; he is not a good Mormon.
He is not a good friend, either. Arnold’s fifteenth letter sits on Kevin’s desk, unopened, as it has for over a week now. He stares at it, sometimes; at the smudge of red dirt by the stamps, and at his name, Kevin Price, written across the front in purple crayon. It is so juvenile, it almost makes him angry, and he has come close to tearing it up, flushing it down the toilet, as he’s done with all the others. But there is something different about this letter that keeps it intact. He cannot pin-point what that is, exactly. Maybe that it feels so final.
The only letter Kevin opened was Arnold’s first one. There was red dirt inside the envelope, that fell onto his desk and got onto his fingers. It evoked an emotion he still cannot put into words, but is somewhere on the spectrum of melancholy, he thinks. Something that is too raw, too painful, still; and he knows Arnold knows that, yet he still sends Kevin letters upon letters upon letters. That one was written on a half-sheet of paper, baring only four words: I miss you, buddy. They were just enough to hurt him. So, he’d ripped it up into pieces, smaller and smaller until it ceased to exist; but it did not stop the others from coming. Sometimes, Kevin thinks he should write back, but he has no idea what to say. I miss you, too does not seem like enough, regardless how true it is. He does miss Arnold; he misses him very much.
He misses everyone, really, even Neeley, who he did not say goodbye to; it is a regret, and one of many. But his biggest regret remains in a mud hut in Uganda, where he has a circle of friends who live and laugh and love with him.
Kevin lives vicariously through him - through the pictures Arnold posts on Instagram when he makes the rare trek to Kampala. Pathetic, maybe, but Kevin cannot even begin to imagine how to infiltrate himself back into any sort of life. Particularly Arnold’s. Saying I’m sorry seems just as futile as I miss you.
There is this picture on Arnold’s Instagram; one where Arnold is dancing, sweaty around a fire with Nabulungi. There are raffia palms, woven and wrapped around his head. He’s smiling. Nabulungi has an arm draped over Arnold’s shoulder and she is very, very close. Kevin has seen the look in Arnold’s eyes, before, in a pit latrine in Northern Uganda. It was for him, the first time, but the first time is not the only time that matters. The time when it means something is the time when it matters, and Kevin wants to believe he meant something to Arnold, once.
But Arnold deserves so much better, so much more, than Kevin. Especially this Kevin, who sits in a dorm at BYU, browsing Grindr on his phone with an erection.
1803 feet away there is someone named Andrew who is closeted and needs to be discreet. Kevin’s finger hovers over the speech bubble. His roommate has class in an hour.
K: Hello.
Andrew: hey. pics?
K: Of what?
Andrew: your dick
K: Oh. No.
Andrew: bummer
Andrew: what r u looking for?
Andrew: ???
Andrew: u there?
Andrew: u wanna hookup or no?
K: Yeah. Alright.
Kevin stares at his phone for a while after that; at the conversation he ended with directions to his dorm. He wonders if this will become just one more regret added to an ever-growing pile. It’s certainly possible. This is, after all, not how he envisioned his first time. It was supposed to be sweet and romantic with someone he loved; not with Andrew.
“Hey,” his roommate says. “Don’t forget we have a Church meeting, tonight.”
“Yeah.” Kevin nods, watching his roommate pack up his mailbag. It is olive green, with a BYU patch ironed on the flap. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”
He watches as his roommate leaves for class, locking the door behind him. There are maybe thirty minutes until Andrew shows up, and Kevin does not know what to do. He makes his bed, paces the room, and strips down to his garments. Standing in front of the closet mirror, he wonders if he should maybe take them off. There is no greater disrespect than this, surely; slow-stroking his erection, while waiting to get fucked.
A quiet tapping at the door pulls Kevin from thoughts, and he opens the door to find Andrew standing there with mussed hair and a partly open shirt. He is tall; with dirty-blonde hair and blue eyes.
Kevin looks up and down the hall before reaching for Andrew’s wrist and tugging him into the room. He closes the door with a soft click; one he prays no one can hear. With his back pressed against the door, Kevin shifts his weight; “So.”
Andrew looks down at him, seemingly deep in thought, before something suddenly snaps and Kevin is being pushed up against the door, hands pinned by the wrists as Andrew nudges a leg in-between Kevin’s.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” Andrew says, nosing along Kevin’s jaw. “You’re actually really hot.”
“No kissing,” Kevin says, suddenly, doing his best to nudge him back. “Anything else, just - not that.”
Andrew shrugs. His collarbone is bared temptingly by his open shirt, and Kevin latches onto it with his mouth, sucking until he hears little moans start to slip out gratifyingly above him. This might not be as hard as he thought. But then Andrew’s hands are in his hair, tugging Kevin’s head where he wants him. Kevin finds himself on his knees.
“Go on then,” Andrew says, rocking his hips forward. “I don’t have all night.”
Kevin fumbles his way into Andrew’s jeans with unsteady fingers, biting back a moan at the thick, full hardness he finds there. Andrew is bigger than Arnold, and it scares him a bit, because he does not know what to do with this. Swallowing thickly, he wraps a hand around Andrew and pumps him once, twice, then focuses all his attention on repeating that motion with his wrist.
“Fuck,” Andrew moans, rocking his hips into the pressure of Kevin’s hand. “Stop.”
Kevin does, because he does not know what else to do. He does not know if Andrew means it, or if he’s being facetious. Arnold said stop, once, but what he really meant was don’t stop.
“Can I fuck you?” Andrew hooks a finger underneath Kevin’s chin, tipping his head back so they are looking at one another. “I brought a condom.”
Kevin nods, shakily, and lets Andrew guide him down onto the floor.
“The bed’ll hit the wall,” he explains, tugging down Kevin’s garment bottoms. “You don’t want to get into trouble, do you?”
Shaking his head, Kevin drapes an arm over his face, deciding he does not want to be fully present for this.
There is a sound he does not recognize, and then Andrew’s finger is pressing against him, slick and cold. He does not go particularly fast, but he does not take his time with Kevin, either. It is only a couple of minutes until he’s removing his fingers to wipe them off on Kevin’s thigh.
“Hey, you alright? You’re shaking, man.”
Kevin nods, screwing his eyes shut beneath his arm as he listens to Andrew tear open the condom. He is a liar. He is not alright; he is scared and he is cold and he is sinning.
“If you say so.” Andrew crawls over Kevin’s body, pressing his mouth to Kevin’s shoulder as he lines their hips up, pulling Kevin’s thighs across his lap.
It is over nearly as soon as it begins. Andrew fumbles with one hand to grasp Kevin’s hip, holding Kevin in place while he fucks into him; slow at first, working his way in, and then a quick pace that wars between wanting to punish and satisfy. Kevin keeps his eyes shut, lowering his arm so he can bite against his fist. Tears form at the corners of his eyes; it hurts. But not so much as it does after, when Andrew leaves and Kevin is left sitting on the floor, alone.
There is a tied off condom beside his discarded garments. Kevin knows he will never wear those, again, because he has just broken his fidelity to God’s commandments in the worst possible way. He did not even come, but he did lose his erection, which is probably what he deserves.
“Fuck,” he says; and then again, a little louder.
The condom gets wrapped in his garments that get wrapped in a towel. He trudges to the communal bathroom in a robe and lime-green flip flops, earning himself a few looks. His hair is a mess, he’s a mess. He feels disgusting. More so when the condom gets flushed down the toilet, and his garments get pushed down into the trash. There is not enough soap and hot water in the world to make him clean; but he stands under the stream, anyway, letting it cleanse what it can.
He does not even realize he’s been crying, until someone knocks on the wall and asks if he’s okay, through the curtain. “I’m fine,” he lies, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Just perfect.”
[#bom10daychallenge - day3.]
There is a liquor store thirty-two miles outside of Provo that Kevin frequents every Thursday after class. He is on a first name basis with the cashier, who scribbles her number on all his receipts. He never calls, but she’s persistent. Eventually Kevin tells her he has a boyfriend, even though he doesn’t – technically.
Oh, wow, she says, and gives him his liquor for free. She feels bad for him. Kevin doesn’t blame her, because he feels bad for himself. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be parked at the furthest corner of Lot 38, drinking from a bottle of Tanqueray and Skyping with his ex-companion.
“I’m worried about you, buddy,” Arnold says. He is sitting on the rusted fire-escape of a motel in Kampala, drinking a plastic cup of waragi. He is wearing the beginnings of a proper bedhead and no shirt. There are scratches across his chest and a fading bruise against his neck. Kevin does not want to know why, though he’s sure he could guess. “You’re drinking booze out of the bottle in a BYU parking lot. If someone sees you, you’re totally expelled.”
Kevin shrugs. “I think maybe I want that.”
“Do you? ‘Cause no offense, Kev, I find that a little hard to believe.” Arnold reaches to adjust his laptop - a gift from his overly concerned mother when she learned he was in no rush to come home - and for a blessed second Kevin gets a detailed view of Arnold’s lap. He’s wearing very tight, very small boxers that sit low on his hips; Kevin can make out the trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. “You sat before a disciplinary council and restored your standing with the church, just so you could go there. I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure that wasn’t very fun for you. Considering.” He motions with a hand, sending a splash of gin over the lip of his cup. Arnold swears, and licks it off his arm. Kevin shifts in his seat.
“Considering what?” He frowns, propping his phone up on the dashboard. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
Arnold snorts, staring into what’s left of his drink. “Okay, sure, I believe that; but I also believe you didn’t tell them everything.”
“Well, yeah, I wasn’t there because of everything. I was there because of your stupid play.” The second he says that, Kevin feels bad. The play wasn’t stupid, it was beautiful; and helped him put a lot of things into perspective. Like how some things are just meant to be symbolic; a catalyst to push you towards greater purpose, and nothing more. Arnold’s play was that for Kevin. After, he no longer wanted to help people by baptizing them into the church, he wanted to help them by providing a sustainable solution to their problems. “I had no part in that, anyway, so it wasn’t exactly hard for me to apologize.”
“Uh huh, sure.” Arnold rolls his eyes. “I just don’t understand why you’d want to be a practicing Mormon, again.”
“Am I, though?” Kevin holds up the bottle of gin.
Arnold sighs; “Whatever, Kev.”
“Look, it’s really not that hard to understand. I love my family, pal. That’s all there is to it.” He thinks Arnold should have been able to figure that out on his own, considering he understands conditional love more than anyone. “Can we talk about something else?”
“I guess.” Arnold moves to sit cross legged, setting his drink down beside him. Kevin watches it tip over. “Why don’t we start with this: what are you wearing?” He offers Kevin an exaggerated wink, that Kevin rolls his eyes to.
“You can see me, Arnold.” Kevin waves a hand down the front of his shirt, which has BYU emblazoned across the front and a hole along the seam of the neckline.
“Not the bottom half.” Arnold lifts his laptop, tipping it so Kevin can see the outline of his dick. “There, you’ve seen mine, now let me see yours.”
“I thought you were worried about me getting expelled?” Reaching for his phone, Kevin complies. He is wearing jeans that leave everything to the imagination. He grins, as Arnold sighs in disappointment.
“Um, yeah, no – that’s not fair.” Arnold leans forward, tapping the screen. “Give me something to work with, Kev! I miss you, like, so fucking much; and we only get to do this once a month.”
This is news to Kevin, considering Arnold made no real effort to keep Kevin with him; and as far as Kevin knows, he still goes to bed with Nabulungi every night. Still, it’s flattering to know he still has this effect on Arnold. He thinks he’d like to keep it that way, even though he is not the only one. Tossing the phone onto the dashboard, Kevin unzips his jeans and tugs them down over his hips. He’s not wearing a single thing under them. Arnold better appreciate this.
“Uh, huh, yeah, that’s way better.” Arnold lifts a hand to his mouth; it is clear he is smiling behind it. His cheeks are flushed with something other than drink, and it brings Kevin back to Uganda, to the pit latrine where he gave his first blowjob. Arnold’s eyes had been so dark, they were almost unrecognizable; it has scared him and thrilled him all at once.
“Your turn,” Kevin says, wetting his lips. “Fair is fair.”
Arnold looks hesitant, glancing over his shoulder at the building right behind him. “I don’t wanna get arrested, Kevin.”
“And I don’t particularly want to get expelled. Just go inside, then, if you’re scared.” Kevin watches intently as Arnold shuffles to the far corner of the fire-escape, sliding a hand over the bulge between his legs. He’s always been up for a challenge. Kevin’s skin feels like it’s on fire. “Come on, come on, come on,” he urges. The windows of his sedan are fogging up.
“Were you always this impatient?” But Arnold complies, sitting up on his knees as he shoves his underwear over his hips and down his thighs. He’s already hard; Kevin is not far behind him. “’Cause, I’m pretty sure patience is a Mormon virtue or whatever.”
“You never gave me a chance to be,” Kevin says, sliding a hand down his stomach. Arnold watches intently as Kevin takes himself in hand. “You were always real eager.”
“Kevin.” Arnold whines, his eyes trained on Kevin’s hand. “Fuck.”
It does not take either of them very long; just a few strokes until Kevin is coming, head tipped back as he spills over his fist. Arnold swears, again, and follows soon thereafter. It gets on his screen.
“Gross,” Kevin laughs as Arnold tries to wipe it off, managing only to spread it around.
“Would you think so if it was on your face?” Arnold grins impishly, and waves before quickly logging off. Kevin wipes his hands on his jeans, once the call disconnects. He’s tired; from coming and just from being here, drunk in his car at BYU. He wishes he were anywhere else. He wishes he was with Arnold in Uganda, on that fire escape, even if they were just drinking gin and talking; because this once a month thing - it’s not enough.
I don’t know, he emails Arnold back, a few minutes later. Maybe we should find out?
There’s a trampoline in the middle of a papaya farm. Kevin has no idea how Arnold found it, but he did, and now the two of them are jumping on it - higher; higher.
He needs this. They both do. Life in Uganda is hard; harder than he thought it would be, and even harder now that they have no support. What money they have left is quickly dwindling, and the District is down to posho, beans, and what fruit they can scavenge from the landscape. Kevin has had to make two new notches on his belt, and Elder Cunningham can almost squeeze into Elder Neeley’s shirts.
Everyone is hungry. Everyone is tired. Everyone is homesick.
Which is why he and Arnold are here, jumping their problems into oblivion, fingers sticky with Papaya and sweat. It is the happiest Kevin has felt since he’s been here, and while he wishes Arnold had found this place sooner, he is just happy Arnold found it at all.
“Hey,” he says, after landing a back-flip; “– thanks, pal.”
Their hands come together and they continue to jump until Arnold fumbles his landing and they fall to the mat in fits. Kevin feels like a kid, again.
He feels nineteen, for the first time in his life.
(#bom10daychallenge - day 1 - I’m fine. Let me see your face.)
Kevin lingers in the aircraft, toying with the strap of Arnold’s backpack, until he is all but ushered out.
“Take care of yourself,” the attendant says, clasping her hands behind her back. Her name is Emily. Kevin knows, because she told him when he could not stop throwing up on the ascent. She had kneeled in the aisle beside him, soothingly rubbed his back, and told him everything would be just fine. He made her promise, and in doing so made her a liar.
“Yeah,” Kevin says, offering her a tired smile. “Alright.”
He wishes things could have been different. If they had been, perhaps he would be coming home a hero and not an abject failure, earning piteous looks as he trudges through the airport. Not that he can blame anyone. Kevin knows he looks disgraceful, because that is how he feels: exhausted and filthy and full of regret. Still, he walks with his shoulders squared and head held high. He has to be brave; it’s all he can do.
The airport is a myriad of joyful reunions and tear-filled goodbyes. Missionaries being hugged by their mothers; children being hugged by their parents; friends reunited after years and years apart. Their love is almost palpable, and Kevin finds himself wishing he could reach out and touch it, for just a moment, to remember what that feels like. It’s been so long since his parents have hugged him and said they were proud. One year and a handful of days. The memory is blurred at its edges, yet as he steps onto the escalator it all comes rushing back in a bouquet of abstract flowers.
His mother’s favorite perfume.
A sob escapes his throat at the realization that he’s home. He’s home, and his mother is here. She came for him. They all did.
“Kevin!” His sister runs to him, tears streaming down her cheeks regardless that she’s smiling. Kevin drops Arnold’s backpack and meets her halfway, hugging Debbie so tightly her feet lift from the ground. “I missed you, Kevin.”
“I missed you, more. The most.” It’s the truth, because she is the only one who wrote him. “Gosh, you’re heavy.”
She laughs, legs wrapping around his waist so Kevin cannot put her down. “I’m ten, now,” she says, proud of that fact. “I’m not so little, anymore.”
“Boy, I’ll say,” he says, leaning back so he can see her. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday.”
Debbie nods, but she grins as if she doesn’t care. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe his being here is enough; maybe it’s all that she wanted. The thought incites a genuine smile - his first in twenty-six hours.
“Hey,” he says, rubbing his nose against his sister’s. “Let me say go say hi to everybody else, then we can hug again right after.”
The rest of his family, sans Jack, stand just a few feet away. They do not seem as excited to see him as Debbie had been, but his mother dabs at her eyes with a tissue and his father rests a hand on Kevin’s shoulder once they’re close enough to touch. It’s more than he could have hoped for. “It’s good to see you, son,” he says. Kevin isn’t sure he believes him. “Boys, isn’t it nice to see Kevin?”
At their father’s unsubtle encouragement, Ben and Sean move to hug him.
“You smell bad,” Sean says, pulling away with a scowl.
“He doesn’t smell that bad.” Ben hugs Kevin a second longer, as though to prove this point. “Just kind-of bad.”
Kevin sighs, ruffling Ben’s hair before turning towards his mother. She is still dabbing at her eyes as she motions for him to come closer. He’s really missed her. For all his father’s countless shortcomings, his mother far more than makes up for them. She loves him, Kevin knows. Even now.
“I’m real hungry,” he says, once her arms are wrapped around him. The cotton of her sweater is soft against the sunburn of his cheeks. “Mom.”
“Well, we’ll get you some food on the way home, how does that sound? There’s a lot to talk about, but it can wait until tomorrow. Can’t it, Michael?”
Kevin has never heard his mother refer to their father that way, before. It was always husband or honey or something equally nauseating, but never his name. It makes him a little bit nervous.
“We can’t go anywhere with him looking like this, Katherine.” His father sweeps a hand towards Kevin, putting him on display. People are staring. Kevin feels his throat constrict; “McDonald’s is fine,” he interrupts, earning a pointed look from his father. “Just for tonight.”
“…Just for tonight,” his mother agrees. “Just this once.”
His siblings look excited. Sean thanks him for smelling bad.
*
They were never allowed to eat McDonald’s, because it isn’t real food or good food or anything Heavenly Father would want them to put into their bodies. The only time Kevin ever got to, was when he had his license and could go without anyone knowing. He brought his sister the day before he left for the Missionary Training Center. They had strawberry milkshakes and french fries and sat on the hood of his car at the airport watching all the planes take off. It was something special they shared; a secret between them she could keep once Kevin was gone.
Kevin orders three double cheeseburgers, two large fries and a diet Coke. The family’s entire order comes to over fifty dollars, and their father has a conniption as he pulls back onto the highway; and while that normally would have provoked an apology out of Kevin, it’s hard to care once a piping hot bag of actual food is placed upon his lap. And, see, Kevin knew he was hungry; he just didn’t realize how much, until the first, salty fry touches his lips. “Oh, gosh,” he says, in an almost obscene euphoria, before stuffing a handful into his mouth. His siblings watch in amusement, laughing at his pitiful display. Kevin is happy to entertain them, so long as it means he can eat.
His parents, however, are not so entertained. Kevin can see the disapproval in his father’s eyes as he casts the occasional glance in the rearview mirror and hear it in his mother’s voice as she scolds him about his lack of manners.
“I bet you ate this crap all the time in Africa,” Ben says, lifting his chin as though he isn’t enjoying it just as much. “Dad says you probably did all kinds of awful stuff once you shut out the Lord.”
“Yeah,” Sean agrees, licking ketchup from his fingers. “Like sin with girls.”
“Boys!” Mrs. Price reaches behind her to gently slap Sean’s knee. “We aren’t going to talk about Kevin’s mission,” she scolds. “We discussed this.”
Kevin supposes he ought to be glad they don’t want to talk about it, or else he’d be sat in an Olive Garden somewhere, feeling like he has to when Kevin really, really does not want to. He especially does not want to sit across from his parents and talk about Arnold, or the way he loves him, or how he did sin – a lot. Nor does he want to talk about the General; or Kimbay’s husband; or AIDS; or watching his friends die; or starve; or about any of the countless other horrible things he’s been witness to over the past year and a half. Kevin does not even want to think about it.
The guilt of that realization weighs heavy on him, and the food turns sour in his stomach. His father pulls over, so he can throw up outside.
“Well, then,” his father frowns, rolling down the window once Kevin’s heaves have subsided. “Are you quite finished?”
Kevin wishes he was; but this is not going to go away, just because the food is out of his stomach. In fact, the guilt over having just wasted food on the side of the road sticks to his ribs and makes it hard to breathe.
*
Immediately upon returning home, his parents send him upstairs to clean up.
There is a letter on his pillow from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Kevin is not surprised by its presence, only by how it has already arrived. He told his parents he wanted to leave Uganda four days ago and has only been back for one hour. His parents must have personally picked it up. Kevin would not be surprised if his father helped write it.
Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Kevin stares at the letter for almost an hour. He knows the second he picks it up, this in-between will be over. Kevin will need to make a choice: to stay, or leave, the church.
It was easy to turn his back on this life in Uganda, because his parents weren’t there and his college wasn’t there and the reality he was living, is not the one he’s living now. His mother said she loved him; his sister hugged him; his dad put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. It made him happy. He wants to be happy. Kevin reaches for the letter.
“Dear Elder Price,” he frowns at the sound of that name. “The stake presidency is considering formal disciplinary action in your behalf, including the possibility of disfellowshipment or excommunication, because you are reported to have participated in conduct unbecoming a member of the church, namely apostacy. You are invited to attend this disciplinary council to give your response and, if you wish, to provide witnesses and other evidence in your behalf.”
The council date is set for the day after tomorrow. Kevin wonders what evidence he can scrounge up in that time, before realizing he is evidence enough. Kevin is not an apostate. Priesthood holders have a responsibility to become like Christ and love as He loves and serve as He serves and Kevin did that. All the evidence he needs, he wears as scars and cuts and angry bruises. It would be inappropriate, perhaps, to open his shirt in front of the stake president, but Kevin will if that’s what it takes to prove what he did was in Heavenly Father’s example; and not because he wants to stay in the church, necessarily, but because he knows in his heart he did nothing wrong. None of them did, and for some reason, he needs the church to see that. He wants them to.
“Kevin?” Debbie lingers in his doorway, hair braided in a crown around her head.
“Hey, you.” Kevin tucks the letter beneath his pillow; “Let me get changed, then you can come in, alright?”
She closes the door, and Kevin stands from the bed. He stretches. Everything hurts, deep into his bones. If he was still in Uganda, Kevin is almost certain Arnold would rub his shoulders and his neck and his back, without even asking for a thing in return. Arnold is selfless. Kevin is not.
Pulling open his dresser drawers, he notices there is not much left in them. One pair of temple garments, and a pair of sweats from high school with Provo down one leg, and Bulldogs down the other. It seems like his parents culled his room while he was gone, as though they were not expecting him to come home, or just weren’t going to let him.
Clothes on, Kevin opens the door for his sister, who is holding a blanket and pillows. “Mom said I could stay in here tonight, if it’s okay with you?”
“You know it is,” he says, motioning for the blanket. She hands it over, watching as Kevin folds it once and sets it on Jack’s bed. “You can take mine. Mom say’s you’ve been sleeping in it, anyway.”
Debbie almost looks embarrassed, like she wants to lie and deny it, but she is a good Mormon, Kevin remembers, which is probably why she doesn’t. Instead, she climbs onto Jack’s bed, curling up beside her brother.
“What was Africa like?” she asks.
“Awful.” Kevin presses a finger to her nose, and Debbie smiles. “Wonderful.”
Debbie nods, as though she understands or can tell he does not want to get into it, beyond that. “Dad said you look sick,” she says, in a whisper. Kevin imagines she must have overheard this conversation. “You’re not, are you?”
“No way,” he says, offering her a tired smile. “Just tired. Dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Debbie’s eyes widen then, and Kevin presses a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell him I said that, though, okay? Promise?”
“Promise.”
A comfortable silence falls over them, then, and Kevin lets his eyes slip shut. It’s weird, being in this house, again. It’s warm and familiar. Same walls, same windows, same family he left behind.
The only thing different, is Kevin. And it must be more apparent in the daylight, he thinks, because his mother gasps when she sees him the next morning. She is standing by the kitchen window, exactly where Kevin left her over a year ago, holding the same chipped mug of orange juice.
“…Mom?”
“I’m fine,” she responds, almost automatically. Kevin wonders who’s been asking her. “Oh, Kevin,” she breathes, when she finally gathers herself. “You look absolutely dreadful. Come here, let me see your face”
“Gee. Thanks, mom.” He bites his tongue as she touches her hand to his forehead. She must think he’s sick, like Debbie said, but in a physical way. She couldn’t be more wrong, but Kevin doesn’t have the heart to tell her.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s true. I thought you said you were eating?”
“I was,” he admits, easing away from her worry. “Just - not a lot.”
“Clearly, Kevin!” She sighs, bringing a hand to her chest as she composes her thoughts. His mom looks older; more tired. “Thank God, Jack was called to Quebec.”
It is not just an expression when his mother says it. She means it, and Kevin finds he wants to mean it, too. Thank God, his brother is in Canada, and not some war-torn, impoverished, dangerous country. Thank God; thank God; thank God. He wonders if she thanked God when Kevin called to say he wanted to come home.
“Are you coming tomorrow?” Kevin asks, curious.
Mrs. Price shakes her head, turning back towards the window. “Your father’s bringing you,” she says, taking a sip of her juice. “He said it would be best if there weren’t any distractions.”
“You’re not a distraction, you’re my mom,” he points out, crossing his arms. “I want you there.”
“And we wanted you to succeed on your mission, Kevin,” she says, setting down her mug. “I just don’t understand what happened.” Mrs. Price turns back around, motioning for Kevin to come closer. He does, stepping right into her open arms. She smells like lavender soap. “But I need to trust that the Lord knows what He’s doing with you, and that He can accomplish it for your eternal good even though I can’t even begin to understand how He can do it, after all that’s happened. The stuff your Mission President told us, Kevin! I very nearly passed out. Your father had to hold me up.”
Kevin sighs, but does not doubt it. His mother has passed out for less; like when Ben came home from school with Saturday detention for kissing a girl behind the gym, during lunch. He was sixteen.
“It was one misstep, mom, and it wasn’t even mine. It was Elder Cunningham’s.” It feels weird placing sole blame on Arnold, like this, but Arnold isn’t here and Kevin is pretty sure he’d forgive him for it, anyway. “He thought he was doing the right thing, and you know what? He did, in the end. We really helped those people, mom. I really helped them.” Not enough, maybe, but the fact remains.
“I don’t doubt you think that, Kevin, but you’ve always been arrogant. Now, why don’t you help me make breakfast. I’m too upset to manage it on my own.”
__
After, regardless of the food that’s waiting for him downstairs, Kevin takes his time washing up. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and traces a finger from his bruises to his scrapes to his cuts. His body has become a roadmap of hard work and dedication, of pain and suffering, and of triumph – slight as it was. There are deep discolorations beneath both of his eyes, and dirt beneath his fingernails. He cannot get them clean, no matter how hard he tries; though, he must admit he doesn’t try much.
His mother will be displeased, he thinks, but so what? She already is, as is his father, who will probably want to talk before tomorrow. Kevin doesn’t want to talk.
What he wants, is to take a shower – and not a hot one, like he thought he might. In Uganda, he used to dream of them, but the second the bathroom fills with steam, he feels guilty. So, he turns it to freezing, instead; gets in, gets out, and feels better. He shaves, brushes his teeth, and pulls on his clothes without garments. Out of habit, he reaches for his name tag. It’s Elder Cunningham’s. Arnold’s. His best friend’s. His – everything.
It ends up in his pocket, the corner digging into his thigh while he sits at the table and pokes at his food. It’s nine-thirty. Three-thirty in Kampala. Arnold is probably digging in the dirt, planting crops, or laughing too loud or too much or…
It is a feeling he has never felt in its entirety, before, regardless that he lives by the gospel. That, his father always says, is the only path to happiness; yet Kevin forgot to pray before breakfast, just this morning, and cannot keep the grin off his face. It is hard to say why, exactly, since he knows better than to rejoice in material things; but this is the first time his father has taken them somewhere other than church or Temple Square, so Kevin knows this trip is special. He commits it, and this feeling, to memory.
I never want to forget this, he tells his mother when she reaches for his hand. Ever.
