by Laura Stone
“Hey. Hey, Adam, it’s not a big deal. Really. It’s not to me, I mean. I don’t mind. I mean, I don’t care.”
Adam pulled his arm from where it covered his eyes. Brandon’s face showed concern, but there was something else, too. He told himself it was just sleep; his companion looked sleepy. Something in that look made Adam’s insides writhe; it was something he’d hoped he’d been seeing in Brandon’s face for a while now, something that had begun in the reflection of the mirror when they’d cut each other’s hair. Maybe even before that.
“But we’re not supposed…” he trailed off weakly. Brandon’s thumb made small circles on Adam’s hip bone, and it was as if every nerve ending in his body was connected to that one spot.
“Yeah, well, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?” It was the standard Mormon joke, pulled out for every occasion from silly infractions like drinking caffeine to, Adam knew, grave sins some of his teammates had committed with girls.
“I don’t think you need to, though,” Brandon said, startling Adam out of his spiraling thoughts.
“Don’t what?”
“Ask forgiveness. It’s totally normal. You,” he said squeezing Adam’s hip before pushing back to his feet, “you are total normal. Okay?”
Adam nodded, staring up at the darkened ceiling.
“Look, I know some of the leaders get really strict about that,” Brandon said. “My dad always told us boys that it was actually healthy to do it, gave us medical studies and everything as proof. I know the Handbook says it’s a sin, but… I really don’t think it is. If your body does it on its own, you know? How sinful can that be? I… I think the leaders got that one wrong.”
Adam didn’t know what to think. He bounced between mortification and guilt, worried that he was choosing to believe it wasn’t a grave sin because he didn’t want it to be. That wasn’t how sin worked. Also, the idea that the leaders had made an error left him shaky. If they’d gotten that wrong, at what else had they erred? He remembered a conversation weeks before when Brandon had wondered the same thing: “Why does God seem to change His mind so much?”
Brandon settled back into his bed with a whispered, “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay. Goodnight.”
For a long time, Adam lay wondering what could have happened if he’d caught Brandon’s hand and held it, had kept him there. It was better to think about that than to consider what the Church could have gotten wrong.
* * *
The next morning was just like every other morning. The sky didn’t fall, the Mission President didn’t call to tell Adam to pack his things for a dishonorable discharge and the world apparently kept on turning, even though Adam Young had dirty thoughts and, yes, deeds, while serving a mission.
After they dressed and ate, Brandon leaned back in his chair and said, “Let’s do something different today.”
Adam stared at him, gaping. “But…”
“Nope. I think you’re about to freak out on me, so as your trainer,” he said, grinning obnoxiously, “I’m making the call that we walk down by the beach. It’s cloudy, and it’s Wednesday. No one will be there, so you don’t have to worry about seeing boobs.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Adam said, huffing out a laugh.
“I know, just joshing you. Still. I think a break—just an hour or so, okay?—but I think a break will be good for you.”
They went to Llevant Beach, the closest beach to their apartment. Brandon was right; few people were there midweek when the weather wasn’t warm and sunny, as could happen mid-spring. A mother had brought two little boys, who were kicking around a soccer ball and shrieking and having fun on the expansive, pebble-strewn beach, obviously trying to keep the ball away from the water’s edge. An older woman walked a dog, the kind that Adam’s father called a “Heinz-57” because it showed qualities of so many different breeds. The woman threw a wet, sandy tennis ball, which her black and brown dog caught, then dropped at her feet with a bark and tail wag until, with a tool, she scooped it up and flung it far down the beach. The dog’s tongue lolled happily as it raced back and forth; it cut deep channels in the sand as it skidded to make the catch.
They walked along the promenade, quietly taking in the steady sounds of the ocean waves and the dog barking happily every time its owner praised it. The two children with their mother began begging and pointing at one of the many open-air cafes farther up the beach near the hotels that dotted the shore, the air heavy with their varied aromas. The small family packed their things and left.
A brisk, ocean breeze blew in, momentarily ridding the air of grease and spice. Adam could almost pretend he was down near the Salt Flats the way the Pyrenees Mountains ringed the vista in the distance—if not for the steady movement of the water… well, except for the palm trees… and the bougainvilleas whose dazzlingly rich pink color lined the walk.
Brandon stopped to lean against the safety rail where the promenade met the beach; he smiled and laughed softly when the dog became distracted by some seagulls.
“Is that like your dog?” Adam asked, nodding his chin at it.
“Oh, no. Sally was a German shepherd. That dog there is probably half her size. Who knows what kind of dog that is… Looks like a terrier mix. Cute though.” He laughed again when the dog feinted down on its front legs with its tail high and wagging as if it thought it could get the seagulls to play with it.
Brandon cleared his throat. “I don’t want to belabor the point. I promise this will be the only time I bring it up.”
Adam felt a chill run down his spine.
“But I’ve noticed that you get really… intense about things. And I don’t mean it’s a bad thing,” he rushed, chancing a look at Adam, who resolutely kept his eyes forward, watching the dog race back and forth. “It’s not. And I get it, why you’re like that. Maybe more than you realize…” He hesitated, then shifted his feet and dropped his weight onto his elbows while keeping his eyes on the water. “I’m worried about you, Adam. I’m afraid you’re going to burn out if you keep going so hardcore.”
“I don’t… I’m not trying to be weird about—”
“Adam, stop.” Brandon gripped Adam’s forearm, giving it a squeeze. “You’re not being weird. But I want you to think about this. We’re taught to have perfect obedience, right?”
“Right,” Adam replied, his stomach sinking.
“Stop that. I’m not getting on to you, for crying out…” Brandon closed his eyes as if gathering up strength. “Listen to me, okay?”
Adam nodded.
“What have you always heard as an answer when anyone challenges the Church or its leaders?”
Adam didn’t respond.
“That they’re not perfect.” Brandon pressed on. “They’re just men. They made mistakes and said and did stuff, some things that we don’t agree with anymore. They’re not perfect and neither are you.”
“Yeah, but we’re supposed to… I’m supposed to be better. I know better, so I’m supposed to be better.”
Brandon sighed. “Yeah. I know. I’ve been to that Fireside, heard that lecture, too. There is no try. Do or do not.”
Adam couldn’t help but laugh at the abysmal Yoda impression.
“There he is,” Brandon said, chucking Adam on the arm. “No one is perfect. No one. You have to quit being so hard on yourself, Adam. It’s eating you up.”
Adam slumped against the barrier. His weight was heavy on his forearms where they pressed into the railing.
“You know, you got here that first day and looked scared half to death.”
Adam snorted. “That’s because I was.”
“Yeah, I know.” Brandon watched the woman with the dog, then continued. “I meant what I said. You’re normal. It’s normal. I trust what my dad said on this one.” He chewed on his bottom lip, then dropped his hand on Adam’s, holding it firmly.
“Just… Dude. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, you know?”
And suddenly, Adam couldn’t take it. His eyes stung with the hot itch of unshed tears, and his stomach lurched as he wrenched his hand away because it was a mountain. It was insurmountable, this wrong, abnormal thing in him, all the questioning and sinful thoughts, this overwhelming need for something indefinable from Brandon, and all of this happening at the worst time possible.
He could barely find the breath to gasp out, “There’s something about… I’m not right. There’s something wrong about me, okay?”
“Hey, no,” Brandon said, stepping in front of Adam as if sensing Adam was two seconds away from taking off. “No, there’s not.”
Adam nodded, eyes cast down, because there was. He couldn’t look in Brandon’s face, sure that Brandon would see, would know how much Adam wanted him, wanted something he could never have, something he wasn’t even supposed to want.
“Adam.” Brandon pinched Adam’s tie-tack—Moroni with his trumpet calling forth the Saints, the golden symbol on every temple—between his finger, then gave Adam’s tie a tug. “There isn’t. I get it, okay? I think I know what you’re trying to tell me.” Brandon held Adam’s shoulders and dipped down to catch Adam’s gaze. “Feeling… feeling that way isn’t wrong, okay?”
Adam was struck mute with horror. Brandon knew? Brandon knew that Adam had… well, the Church called it same-sex— He couldn’t finish thinking it. A man was his thoughts.
“Feeling it is like thinking it, and that’s the same as acting on it, and I know that that is wrong.”
“Well— Not… Dude, you need to breathe.” Brandon clutched Adam’s shoulders. “Hey, whoa.”
Adam thought his legs might give out. So close to saying it, he was so close to actually saying it…
“Adam. Adam. Seriously, are you okay? You’re freaking me out, here.”
Brandon made to put his arm around Adam, but Adam pushed put of Brandon’s grip and scrubbed a hand in frustration over his chest, wishing his lungs would work properly. He wanted to disappear, to walk into the ocean and cease to be.
“Look. Why don’t you let me buy you an ice cream? There’s a stand right up the beach.” After a moment, Brandon nudged Adam, who was now taking shuddery breaths, and cajoled, “Come on. My treat.” His voice softer, he pleaded, “Please, Adam. Let me.”
Brandon wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t saying they needed to pray about it. He wasn’t even hinting that they needed to call President Jensen. Adam looked into his companion’s face and found only worry, not disgust or anger.
“Yeah, all right.”
“You can get an extra scoop and everything,” Brandon said, slinging his arm around Adam’s neck before genially pushing him on. If Brandon knew, if he suspected Adam had those thoughts about him and didn’t mind touching Adam, could bear it… Maybe this could still work out. Maybe he could figure out how to fix himself and manage to keep Brandon as a friend.
They didn’t speak after that, except to order their ice cream, and settled at a cafe table at the sand’s edge where they could watch the water, calm at this time of the day.
Brandon scooped the last bite from his paper cup and stared into its emptiness. “So,” he said, clearing his throat. “That, uh, problem you think you have?”
Adam didn’t respond. A painful lump lodged in his throat and threatened to choke him.
“Um. So, yeah. Me, too.” Brandon dropped the cup on the table with a sigh and looked up; his expression was resolute. “But you figured that out, didn’t you?”
Adam stared back; his palms bloomed with sweat. Brandon meant the masturbation thing. It couldn’t be… There was no way that Adam’s companion was like him like that. Adam was confused, that was all.
“And that means,” Brandon said as he grabbed Adam’s empty container, “if you’re wrong, then I guess I am, too. But the thing is?” He tossed the trash into the receptacle and stood. “I don’t think I am. I don’t think you are, either.”
He stood there, the picture of calm, with his handsome, boyish face shining in the midday sun. “Well, that’s the cat out of the bag. Ready to go talk to the masses about Jesus Christ?”
“N-no?”
Brandon’s body rocked with laughter. “Me, neither. But we should. We’re supposed to. Story of our life, huh?”
Adam watched the water, then said, “Your dad really said it’s okay?”
“My dad? I don’t think he—” Brandon shook his head, then his confused expression cleared. “Oh. Right. You mean about the… He always told us it was totally normal and not to worry too much about it.”
The thing was, Brandon’s parents were devout. His dad was Stake President in California. His mom had been the Relief Society President. They were active and seemed to really know their stuff. All of Brandon’s family was active, all of his older siblings had served on missions, too. Wouldn’t they know?
“Ready?” Brandon asked holding out Adam’s messenger bag.
Adam took it and was immediately pulled into a tight hug. Brandon pressed his mouth right by Adam’s ear and said fervently, “You’re okay, Adam. It’s okay.”
Adam shivered, trembling in Brandon’s hold, until finally he nodded. Brandon held him tighter. Adam responded by sagging into his companion’s arms, giving in to the sensation of safety and momentary acceptance. After a while, Brandon pulled away and cupped a hand behind Adam’s neck.
“Okay?”
Closing his eyes and nodding, Adam allowed himself to grip Brandon’s jacket lapels to hold him in place a little longer. Brandon squeezed his hands and said in a low tone, “Come on. Let’s get going, huh?”
Adam nodded and followed.
They wandered the city. They helped a young mother jostling her grocery sacks and small child cross the street safely, but she turned out not to be interested in speaking with them about her eternal future. Some middle school-aged kids asked them who they were and what their name tags were about (“Are you American government employees?”) until a teacher shooed them back to the school.
All afternoon, Christensen seemed to want to say something, but stopped. He didn’t stop leaning against Adam when they sat down to give their feet a break, nor did he shy away from the little touches he usually doled out to Adam and the other elders: a hand to the shoulder or back, fist bumps, and once, holding Adam’s hand when Adam sighed heavily.
“We’ll keep trying. Don’t give up.”
Adam could only nod. His tongue had tied itself into knots at the sight of his hand held in Brandon’s while they walked the city streets.
Each seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, even through dinner. They didn’t share space as they usually did for evening prayers. Adam needed the privacy, begging Heavenly Father to take these sinful thoughts from him, or if they weren’t sinful, to help him understand why he hadn’t been able to gain control and master his body.
When he finished with an “amen,” he couldn’t help but glance across the darkened room at his companion, still kneeling, still praying. He couldn’t help how much he wanted to join him, hold him, lie next to him and connect not only on a physical level, but on a spiritual one as well, even more than they already had. He couldn’t fight back frustration he felt when he imagined what he was supposed to want—a wife, a temple marriage, an eternal companion—with what he truly did: Brandon. He covered his face, pressing his bicep into his eyes so hard that stars swam behind his eyelids.
“Adam.”
Adam couldn’t help the pained whimper that slipped out. He could hear Brandon shifting on his side of the room.
“This is what you can’t keep doing,” Brandon said. “You’ve got to stop beating yourself up for being human.”
“It’s not that,” Adam said, moving his arm so he could clench the bedding near his hip. “I can’t stop thinking—” He shut that down. He�
��d almost told Brandon that he couldn’t stop thinking of him.
Brandon crossed the room in two steps and sank down on Adam’s bed near his hip so his leg pressed against Adam’s hand. Silk and leg hair brushed along the backs of Adam’s fingers. He moved his hand in the tiniest of motions to feel the dichotomy of the two more fully and pinched his fingers together to trap a few hairs from just above Brandon’s knee. He wished he was bold enough to slide his hand under the fabric and feel the hot, solid heat of Brandon’s body against the palm of his hand. Brandon’s breathing stuttered. Adam stilled his hand, but before he could pull it away, Brandon pressed his leg more fully into it, sagging his body closer.
“You know I do it, don’t you.” Brandon made it a statement, not a question.
Adam didn’t say anything. His pulse raced, and his breath came short. His fingers gave an involuntary twitch, and, when Brandon didn’t move away, Adam allowed himself to draw the back of his index finger in a slow arc along the bared skin of Brandon’s thigh. His eyes closed.
“Adam…” Brandon sighed. “I—I’m pretty sure you’ve watched, listened to me do it to myself, at least.” His gaze darted away, cheeks flushed with color. “You can’t help it. I mean, I can’t seem to help it, that is. Touching myself.” Brandon took a deep breath and seemed to make a decision. He looked back at Adam and tentatively traced the waistband of Adam’s pajamas at his hip. “You know, I didn’t have this problem before.”
Adam’s head was in a fog. Brandon leaned closer; his fingers made small circles into the exposed thick diagonal muscle at Adam’s hip. Adam tried to form a coherent thought and asked, “Before? Before w-what?”
“Well…” Brandon paused, a sheepish grin on his face. “Before you.” Brandon’s other hand came to rest on his knee, mere centimeters from where Adam still lightly caressed Brandon’s thigh with the backs of his fingers. “I tried to get you to understand before, but…” He took a deep breath. “You’re like me, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I— Well, not really. You’re a better man than I’ll ever be.”