by Jack Weyland
“I’m grateful to my Father in Heaven and to his son Jesus Christ for sustaining me and strengthening me. They love us so much. I found that out for myself while I was in the hospital.”
She felt a rush of emotion. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t trust herself not to break down completely. She concluded by saying, “I know that Jesus Christ is my Savior, and that he loves me. I bear that testimony in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” And then she returned to her seat at the back of the chapel.
After announcing the closing hymn and prayer, Bishop Ingersol said a final word: “We all need to look out for Emily. We need to be careful that we don’t bump into her or pat her on the back too hard, and that we give her our love and support. And let’s continue our prayers in her behalf. She still has much to go through.”
* * * * *
On Tuesday of the next week, while on their way home from physical therapy at the burn center, Emily asked her mom, “What are you going to do after we get home?”
“I thought I’d go to the mall. Do you need me to pick up anything for you?”
“No, but I want to go with you.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you’re ready for that? People can be so cruel.”
“I know that, but I still want to do it.”
Her mother gave a troubled sigh. “Well, all right, if that’s what you want.”
“You don’t have to tag along with me. We can separate after we get to the mall and agree to meet up at a certain time.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Well . . . you know . . . if you’d be ashamed to be seen with me.”
“Emily! Do you really think I’d be ashamed to be seen with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s just that I wouldn’t want you to get hurt because of what someone says.”
“I can’t live my life being afraid of what people might say.”
“All right, we’ll go shopping. Do you need anything?”
“I need clothes.”
“What for?”
Although she hadn’t said anything about it, Emily had been thinking of it for days.
“For when I return to USU in the fall.”
Her mother quickly glanced at her. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“It’s much too early for you to even be thinking of that.”
“I can’t stay in my room like a good little burn victim. I want my life back.”
“Your life can’t be the way it was.”
“I know that, Mother, but at least I can be in college.”
“What about physical therapy? How are you going to get to the burn center from Logan?”
“There must be somebody in Logan who can do it.”
“What about the other operations you’ll need?” her mother asked.
“I’ll schedule them on holidays.”
“Why do you have to push yourself so hard?”
“Because I’m afraid that if I don’t get out soon, that after a while I’ll be content to stay at home and never go out.”
“I’m afraid of how you’ll be treated.”
“I’m scared to death about that, too, but I have to at least try.”
“I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“I know. But don’t worry. I’m the master of pain.”
After they got home, they agreed to leave for the mall in half an hour.
Emily lingered in the bathroom looking at her reflection in the mirror. I look like someone who’s been in a fire, she thought. I guess that’s okay, because that’s what I am—someone who’s been burned in a fire.
What will I do if somebody comes up and slaps me on the back? And how can I try on clothes if I can’t lift my arms above my head?
Am I really sure I want to do this? I don’t want people staring at me like I’m some kind of freak. All I want is for people to leave me alone.
Tears started to roll down her cheeks. She was eighteen years old. Everything she had grown accustomed to about her appearance had changed. It was as though she’d moved into someone else’s body, and that, too, a body she could no longer rely on—a body that required hours of care every day, a body that was scarred and tender and marked with redness.
This is like being at the burn center and having to work through my pain.
Going shopping is just something I have to do.
It was not a busy time in the mall. They walked slowly to their first destination. Some passersby stared at Emily, until she met their gaze, then they quickly looked away.
They entered their first store to look for clothes.
“May I help you?” a clerk asked Emily’s mother. He was in his midtwenties, a flashy dresser.
“We’re looking for some slacks.”
“Great. What size is your son?”
Emily turned away. I should never have come here.
“Actually, this is my daughter. She was in a fire.”
“Oh, I’m really sorry. I’ve been taking antihistamines for a sinus infection. I guess I’m not thinking too clearly. Let’s see, let’s look over here.”
They walked to a rack of pants. “What did you have in mind for her?”
“Well, something for college.”
“Any particular color?”
“You can talk to me,” Emily said.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.”
After pawing through the racks, Emily finally found a pair of tan slacks she liked.
“Would you like her to try them on?” the clerk asked her mother.
Emily grabbed the pair of slacks and headed for the changing room.
“You could try them on at home, Emily, and then just bring them back if they don’t fit.”
“I always try things on at the store,” she said, entering the changing room.
“I’d better go help her,” her mother said to the clerk.
Emily stuck her head out through the curtain. “I can do it myself.”
Five minutes passed.
“How are you doing in there?” her mother asked.
“I’m okay.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Would you mind if I went to the drugstore for a minute? I need to fill one of your prescriptions.”
“No, go ahead. I’ll be okay.”
After finally getting the slacks on, Emily looked at her reflection in the mirror in the changing booth. They were belted, but even cinched up tight, they were way too big. She took them off. She would have to go to at least one size smaller.
“Excuse me,” she called out.
No answer.
She looked out through the curtain. The clerk was at the counter, his back to her, talking to someone on the phone. Emily looked down at herself. Although she wasn’t wearing slacks, because of the compression shorts and shirt, she’d never been more covered up in her life.
What does it matter? Everyone thinks I’m a guy anyway. She walked out to the rack, picked out a smaller size, and returned to the dressing room.
The smaller size fit better but was still a little loose. I’ll be gaining weight someday, so I’d better get these.
She looked at the size. The last time she’d worn that size waist, she’d been in eighth grade.
A few minutes later she stepped out of the dressing room wearing her new slacks.
It was a moral victory.
* * * * *
The summer passed slowly for Emily. She couldn’t hold a job, and she had no social life. Besides going to physical therapy, she spent some time during each day taking care of her skin grafts—rubbing ointment on them in an effort to keep the grafted skin moist, supple, and healthy. The rest of the time, she mostly hung out in the house, watching television and killing time.
Every time she applied the ointment, she looked at her scars and the deformity of her body. She felt ugly, and her condition seemed like something shameful, som
ething to keep hidden from the world.
Wanting to prove she could take care of herself, Emily did her own laundry, washing her clothes in the washing machine but rinsing out her pressure garments by hand, rolling them in a towel to soak up the water, and hanging them on a clothesline on the back porch to dry. At first it scared her to use the stove, but she also began doing some of the cooking for the family.
In mid-July she got a letter from Utah State University confirming her class schedule for the fall term.
“Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” her mother asked.
“I am. I can’t stay in the house the rest of my life. I’ve talked about this with the staff at the burn center. They agree I should go.”
“It’s too soon,” her mother said.
“Are you waiting for the time when I’ll be exactly the same as I was before the fire? I don’t think that’s going to happen. Do you?”
They had a heated discussion. The more objections her parents put up, the more determined Emily was to prove them wrong, and the more certain she sounded that she could handle any problem that might come her way while at college.
Finally her parents gave their reluctant permission.
That night, alone in her room, her own doubts returned. She was haunted by every exaggerated claim she’d made to her parents.
What if they’re right? she thought. What if it is too soon?
In a barely audible voice, to try to get some courage, she sang the song that had helped her get through the burn center:
* * * * *
Be near me, Lord Jesus; I ask thee to stay
Close by me forever; and love me, I pray.
Bless all the dear children in thy tender care,
And fit us for heaven to live with thee there.
And then she picked up the letter from USU and looked once again at the classes she would be taking in the fall.
* * * * *
Austin and his companion were teaching a Vietnamese family of four: a husband, his wife, and two grade-school aged children. On the second discussion, Austin taught part of the lesson. Even though he struggled with the language, the family encouraged him with their smiles and nods. Austin understood about half of what they said, which was a great improvement over what it had been.
When he and his companion returned to their apartment that night, there were three letters waiting for him.
The first one was from Jeremy, Emily’s big brother. He told of his success in California and about serving as mission assistant. I’m happy for him, Austin thought. But at the same time it was hard not to compare himself with Jeremy.
It doesn’t matter, he thought. I’m serving to the best of my ability, in the place where the Lord called. Nothing else matters.
Jeremy also wrote: “I guess by now you’ve heard about Emily. After a month of being in the burn center, she’s finally home. She says she’s going to return to school in the fall, but my mom worries it’s too soon. I’m sure she’d appreciate hearing from you. I hope you’ll also include her in your prayers.”
Austin was stunned. He read the news about Emily over again. He hadn’t heard anything about her being burned. He would have thought his mother would have written him about it.
He vowed to buy a get-well card and send it to Emily.
The second letter was from his mom.
“Do you know your mission president’s birthday? If you can find it out, it might be a nice gesture to send him a birthday card. Doing something like that is always thoughtful. Your father always sends birthday greetings to his clients. Just a thought.
“You remember me telling you about Meredith Vance? Last Sunday she played her cello in sacrament meeting. She did an excellent job. Her mother told me Meredith plays first-chair in the BYU Symphony Orchestra.
“I had a chance to talk to Meredith after church. When I told her about you learning Vietnamese, she said she had spent a week in South Vietnam last summer, providing music for the BYU Folk Dance Ensemble. She said she found the people there very kind. She told me to say something to you in Vietnamese. I wish I could remember what it was. I’ll have to write it down the next time I see her.”
It made Austin angry to think that his mother would tell him about a girl he’d never met, and, at the same time, neglect to inform him that his best friend’s sister had spent a month in a hospital.
She’s trying to manipulate me again, grooming me for when I get back so I’ll fall in line and be the son she wants me to be. Just like in Scouts when she made sure I made Eagle.
The third letter was from the mission office. Austin didn’t think anything about it because the elders were always getting mailings from the staff. He was pretty sure he knew what it was about. He had ordered a large-print copy of the Book of Mormon in Vietnamese for an elderly woman who had been baptized just before he came into the area.
When he opened the envelope, though, he knew it wasn’t about the Book of Mormon. It was a letter written on mission stationery. He read the message quickly, then, out of shock, sat down.
He was being assigned to work in the mission office as a companion to Elder Lambert, the mission secretary, and would be managing the commissary. Austin’s first thought was, I’ll be working with Elder Hastings.
It was almost too much to take. Hastings is one of the most self-centered, arrogant people I’ve ever known. How will I ever be able to stand working with him?
* * * * *
Two days later, at the mission office, Austin was being trained in his duties by Elder Nichols, who would be going home the next day. “The only bad part is you have to be in the office with Elder Twinkle Toes.”
“With who?”
“Twinkle Toes. Hastings. He’s sort of an office joke around here.”
“How come?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Not really.”
“Everything good that happens in the mission, it’s because of him. Everything bad that happens, it’s somebody else’s fault. You’ll see.”
President Merrill, Elder Hastings, and his companion were out of town for the day. During lunch, the office elders made some more snide remarks about Elder Hastings. Austin joined in, doing an imitation of Elder Hastings giving a talk at zone conference. It was very funny, and everyone laughed.
For the rest of the afternoon, Austin kept to himself, doing an inventory of everything in the commissary. He felt guilty for making fun of Elder Hastings—not that the arrogant missionary didn’t deserve it.
He partially closed the door to the commissary and sat down behind a stack of books, in a position where he’d be out of sight of anyone walking by and looking in.
He closed his eyes and mouthed the words to a silent prayer. Father in Heaven, there must be a reason why you’ve called Elder Hastings as mission assistant. People here in the office make fun of him. I did it too, today at lunch. I don’t feel good about it now, though.
Father, in many ways, my mission has been a huge disappointment. At least compared to what I thought it was going to be. I thought I’d come here and have a lot of baptisms, but that hasn’t happened. And that I’d be a leader like my brothers. It seems like I go from one bad situation to another. And just when I’m starting to get on top of things, then I get transferred.
And now I’m in charge of the mission commissary. Who cares about that? All I’ll be doing is wrapping packages and sending out books and tapes the elders and sisters order. It’s not all that hard. Anyone could do it. I’m stuck here. At least that’s the way I feel now.
I probably shouldn’t have made fun of Elder Hastings behind his back. But he brings it on himself. I’ll try not to do it anymore. I’ll just keep my mouth shut when others are making fun of him. And I’ll do my best to do a good job in the commissary.
The next day Austin found that merely being quiet at lunch was not enough. Because his silence was interpreted as agreement, he excused himself, saying he needed to finish up an inventory of supplies, and ate the rest o
f his lunch alone, in the commissary.
While he was eating, he looked up the word backbiting in the index of his triple combination. The definition that meant the most to him he found in D&C 88:124–125: “Cease to find fault one with another. . . . And above all things, clothe yourselves with the bond of charity, as with a mantle, which is the bond of perfectness and peace.”
The door was partially open, and he could hear the elders talking. They were laughing, making fun again of something Elder Hastings had said.
This is like a small, exclusive club, he thought, and all you have to do to join is make fun of Elder Hastings, and then wink and grin at each other every time he tries to do his job. Well, it isn’t right, and I’m not going to do it while I’m here. I’ll do my job the best I can and stay out of everybody’s way.
Later that day Elder Hastings and his companion returned with President Merrill. The jokes ceased but there were secretive nods and winks among the office staff at things Elder Hastings said. Once again, Austin retreated to what was becoming his sanctuary.
The next morning President Merrill came into the commissary to see him. “How are you making out here, Elder?”
“Doing okay, thanks. I’ve taken an inventory of what we have here. And I’ve made up a new order form we could either mail or give out at zone conferences. Also, I’ve come up with a list of things we’re not carrying but that we ought to keep in stock. You might want to look at this and tell me what you think.”
He handed President Merrill a two-page list.
President Merrill went through it on the spot, putting a check on the items he approved. “You’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“I can always count on you to do a good job. That’s one of the things I appreciate about you. I’m looking forward to having you work with us here in the office.”
“Thank you, President.”
The room wasn’t very big, and Austin was uncomfortable being crowded in there with President Merrill. But the president made no move to leave.
“There’s something you should know,” President Merrill said, resting his hand on Austin’s shoulder. “Heavenly Father wanted you here in the office.”