Page 15 of Glad You're Here

Thea raised both eyebrows. “Seriously? All that trouble for a piece of art printed on your body?”

I nodded, staring down at my hands.

“I’m sorry.” Thea’s voice sounded softer than I’d ever heard it. “Look, Levi, you don’t have to get a tattoo because other people have them. You don’t have to do all of this stuff,” she gestured to my list, “in two weeks because I said so. You’re on your own timeline.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her softness disappeared. “But I mean, above all, it sounds like your family needs to back off. And maybe you need a new job. You said yourself that you don’t like accounting anyway.”

“You’re right. I do hate accounting. Also, I think I need a new everything in my life, but that is one daunting task.”

Thea nodded. “To wake up one day and realize that you don’t want the life you have can crush a person.” Thea’s expression looked as if she’d slipped behind a wall of ice.

“Or it can free a person,” I suggested. “Freedom can be a lot of work, but I hear it’s worth it in the end.”

“The end. What does that mean anyway?” Thea narrowed her eyes. “Does it mean when we die? Is it some afterlife? Is it the end of a phase?” She cleared her throat and laughed. “Ha! I’m not even high yet, and I’m getting all weird and philosophical.”

I smiled back at her. “I’m okay with weird and philosophical.”

She half-smiled and changed the subject. “So, music. Tell me your bands.”

I laughed, “If my mom asks, I only ever listened to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Janice Kapp Perry. But you know, when I was alone in my car, I blasted My Chemical Romance, The Used, Angels and Airwaves, Black Veil Brides, Anberlin, Taking Back Sunday, I Prevail, and maybe a little of the softer stuff like Dashboard Confessional, Simple Plan, and Yellowcard.”

Thea’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Don’t be a sexist asshole, though. We need to add Paramore to the list. Hayley Williams is a badass for breaking the glass ceiling in such a male-dominated genre.”

“Yes, Paramore deserves a spot on the list, obviously.”

“Misery Business is my favorite Paramore song.” Thea found the song on her phone and tapped play.

I listened and shrugged. “I don’t know this one. It must have come out while I was on my mission.”

Thea’s mouth dropped open, and she smacked my arm. “You promised you would tell me all about the mission! Is now that time?” She turned down the volume on her phone but left the music playing.

“You mean, you want to hear about the trauma and brainwashing that occurs on a Mormon mission?” I smiled, but it wasn’t a joke. I still had nightmares about my two years of service for the church in Honduras. They didn’t come often, but occasionally, I’d wake up in a panic. I never told Gina what the dreams were about when she’d wake up with me at night. I’d tell her they were about a strange place where no one could understand me, that I was trapped and abandoned. She would rub my back and comfort me like a good wife, and then we’d go back to sleep.

I could only imagine Gina’s reaction if I’d told her the strange place was Honduras or that my “best two years” were a nightmare.

Thea nodded and leaned forward. “I need this story tonight.”

“Okay, this story starts in Cedar City, Utah, on a beautiful summer night. Brigham Levi Thompson had recently turned nineteen and would be the third Thompson boy to receive his mission call from the Lord. His parents were filled with pride and joy for their righteous sons—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Thea stopped me. “Are we doing this whole story in the third person?”

“Thea, don’t interrupt.” I placed my finger against her full lips as she giggled. My finger may or may not have tingled a little when I removed it. Maybe the weed had already taken effect. I wasn’t so pathetic that touching women made me tingle.

I shook off the feeling and continued my story. “Brigham received his call to serve the Lord in Honduras and would report to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah in exactly six months.”

I paused for dramatic effect. “Nothing would ever be the same for young Brigham. He thought he knew his beloved church, but he was little prepared for the full immersion of doctrine. He wasn’t prepared to be sent to one of the world’s most dangerous cities to share the gospel in a language he didn’t know. But he had faith that the Lord would provide.”

I struggled to put into words what my mission did to me psychologically. I let out a deep breath and continued, “Brigham’s name changed to Elder Thompson, and he spent the next two years living, breathing, drinking in every word of Mormon doctrine, both the beautiful and the poisonous, in one gulp.

“He was cut off from the outside world, including family, friends, and any form of pop culture. He cried in his sleep when no one could understand him until, at long last, the Lord helped him learn the Spanish language. Then, Elder Thompson became a force to be reckoned with as the power of God flowed through him and touched the hearts of hundreds.”

Thea covered her mouth and snorted, shoulders shaking from her laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

I grinned at her. “About what exactly? The hundreds of people I regret baptizing?”

“No.” She shook her head, still laughing. “The power of God that flowed through you.”

“Ah, yes. Men in the church receive the priesthood, which is God’s actual power. You get your first taste of it at twelve, and I have to tell you, it’s intoxicating.” I tried to keep a straight face. “Thea,” I held my hands out to her, “Would you like to touch the hands that once held the power of God?”

Thea laughed even harder and smacked my hands away.

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