by Joseph Grady
“Wait, wait, wait,” Lucy interrupted. “You were running?”
“Lucy, please don’t interrupt me,” said Brian. “And yes, I used to be trimmer than you, before that weekend. Afterwards I stopped running and put on a little weight.”
Lucy looked back at him with skepticism.
“Okay, a lot of weight.”
“We need to talk about this when you’re finished.”
“There will be no discussion when I finish. Can I keep going?”
“Please.”
“As I was saying...”
They spent the next half hour running through the spring desert. Lisa kept quickening the pace and Brian had a growing awareness of the increasing amount of perspiration seeping through his shirt, in relation to the decreasing amount of time between his impending encounter with Lisa’s parents. Yet this was not enough to prevent his pride from keeping up every time the pace quickened, even to the point that, when the green Prius became visible, the two broke out into a dead sprint. Lisa fell back, giving Brian the lead, so that when he passed the car and raised his arms in triumph, he did not expect to be shoved straight into a pile of dirt.
“Hey! Damnit, Lisa!” yelled Brian, crawling up and dusting himself off. “Really, what's the deal? I'm meeting your parents, in like, a couple hours! Really, this is not okay!”
Lisa was already on her way to the car’s trunk where she pretended to hear nothing, producing a shovel and a piece of paper. She paced off a few distances between a number of cacti, muttered numbers to herself, and eventually settled on an empty patch of dirt. Brian was again left speechless, torn between laughter and utter confusion, hoping that this was all some sort of joke, though not seeing the humor in it.
His thoughts were interrupted by a dull thud announcing that the shovel had found its intended target. Successive thuds, dings, and scrapes revealed a large wooden chest buried a few inches beneath the surface.
“What’s all this?” Brian asked.
Lisa continued as though she had heard nothing, and Brian remembered oh yeah, no questions. The chest showed itself to contain heaps of unorganized dirty clothing. Lisa immediately began to select a variety of items and set them outside of the trunk. She stood up, and for the first time since they had gotten out of the car, acknowledged Brian’s presence.
She took a deep breath, looked him in the eye, and, as seriously as could be mustered, said, “Okay, I need you to put these on.”
“No way. What on earth are those?”
“It's some clothes I need you to wear.”
Brian approached the garments and examined them more closely. “I guess you could call them clothes.”
They were a pair of worn-out man-pris, a t-shirt with an Om symbol on it, a bandana, some hemp bracelets, a pair of Birkenstocks, and a bright wool sweater. The color drained from Brian’s face as everything became clear: the protest at the haircut, the disappearance of his electric shaver that morning, the run, the sweat, the dirt, and finally the clothing.
“You're trying to dress me as a hippie.”
“Please just do this for me. Listen, I told you my parents weren't the most mainstream people there ever were. Just trust me on this.”
“No way, I am not wearing this crap.”
Lisa fought to control her expressions as her face became redder with anger, and let out a stream of not so intelligible words. Lisa (unlike Lucy) had always been one of the most chill and laid back girls Brian had ever known. His eventual compliance was not so much a result of the force of her anger, but rather, Brian’s fascination at this previously unknown side of her personality, which had in it something mysterious, and, although he wouldn't admit it to himself later on, very attractive. The only complaint offered when he took the clothes was a snotty, “What are you, my sister?”
All the clothing that they had brought from college for the weekend was hidden in the wooden chest and a few odds and ends were placed back in the hybrid.
“Wait, Lisa, what about our church clothes? I thought you said your parents were Mormon.”
“Well, they sort of are – you won't need to worry about church clothes – definitely best if you don’t bring a tie, unless you’re gonna use it as a bandana or something like that.”
Before leaving the place with the underground chest, Lisa had put on similar crunchy-people attire, messed up her dirty blonde hair, hung all sorts of beads and dangly things in the car's interior, poured mud all over the exterior, and covered the seats in those uncomfortable wooden bead seat covers. The whole makeover was crowned by a smattering of bumper stickers placed unceremoniously at various angles on the back.
The next hour of the journey was spent in silence. They continued deeper and deeper along the dirt road into what seemed to be a more and more desolate flat expanse of desert, followed by increasing rockiness until the car immersed itself in a wide canyon of rich colors that played against the rays of a sun growing closer to the horizon. Since they left the wooden chest under the ground, nothing discernibly human was encountered until they drove under a large stone arch with the words I sorta am where I am these days inscribed upon it.
At a high point in the canyon floor, Lisa stopped the car and motioned for Brian to get out with her. Two goats stood nearby chewing junk from a box of trash, observing the couple with casual detachment.
“Well, here it is,” said Lisa, opening her arms out to the canyon.
“Here is what?” Brian saw only red rocks in the sunset.
“Here's where I grew up.”
“Out here in the middle of nowhere? What, were you raised by wolves?”
“Well, sort of. They're a little hidden, but look at all the houses.”
At first Brian thought about laughing, thinking she was joking, but upon looking closer, scattered around in all directions, there were small bumps of junk and adobe.
“Those are houses?”
“Sort of, they're actually called ‘earth-ships’. Try not to call them houses.”
“But you told me you grew up in a small town outside of Moab.”
“This is a small town outside of Moab.”
In the fading light, it was nearly impossible to tell that there was a town around them at all. The buildings were all slightly underground, built into the sides of the canyon, sheltered from view and the weather by poplars and pines. Once you knew what to look for, it was easy to see houses, windows, and more geometric shapes in the canyons. However, at many times, it was a tough call to know whether something was an interesting rock formation, or something man-made, or where a house began and the earth stopped. Behind the two, a lantern approached and a strong baritone voice called out in joy, “Earth be with you!”
To which Lisa rolled her eyes, took a deep breath and called back, “And with your spirit!” then in a softer voice, explained to Brian, “That's how we greet each other here.”
The voice with the lantern called out, “Arbie!”
Lisa leaned to Brian and said, “Oh, that's what my parents call me, it's short for tree.”
Brian braced himself for a weekend that he was now expecting to be filled with Lisa constantly leaning in to whisper explanations. Lisa turned to the lantern, smiled, and called back, “Papa!” before skipping off to the shape now emerging out of the shadows.
Lisa jumped into the imposing figure and was twirled around in the air a few times. The surroundings reverberated with a deep laugh and the faces of nearby goats shifted from casual detachment to annoyance. Brian approached with caution. Lisa's father was a large man with long gray hair past his neck and a short grey beard. He wore small, completely round glasses, a flowing blue shirt revealing a significant amount of chest hair, Birkenstocks, and, of course, lots of crunchy dangly things. Beaming with a large smile he approached and called out, “You must be Brian!”
Brian extended his right arm for a handshake but was intercepted by a great back popping bear hug. Lisa's father released Brian and held his shoulders at arm’s length. Looking st
raight into Brian’s eyes, he slowly intoned, “It's wonderful to meet you, son. Call me papa.”
For the first of many times, something that Lisa's father said puzzled Brian. He knew Lisa’s father’s name was Fred, but why would he ask Brian to call him ‘Papa’? Did Papa just have some eccentricity of calling relationships more than what they were, or had Lisa miscommunicated the seriousness of their relationship? Or rather, even though they were still rather young, they were actually talking about marriage, but they had decided not to tell anybody about it. Had Lisa told him?
“Welcome to our town. This is your first time here, right?”
“It is.”
“Well it is good that you have come. I have found that there are few places on earth where the Chi is as deeply right as this place.” Papa closed his eyes, spread his arms to gesture towards the valley floor – with a sparse number of lights now illuminating the valley – and filled his whole chest and gut with air, releasing very slowly, “There, do you feel that?”
Lisa nodded her head at Brian and mouthed the words yes, you do.
“Oh yeah, um, yeah that's great,” said Brian, taking in a corresponding deep breath and wondering what Chi was.
“Alright, well, let's get down to the ship. Beth couldn't come up to greet you. She's busy relocating a fly. Come on, this way.”
They collected the small number of things that Lisa had allowed them to bring from the car and walked around a path down to the other side of the high point on which they had been standing. A good portion of the high point turned out to be the house. The whole south-facing side was covered in angled windows with a garden out in the front. Brian later discovered that the parts of the house that weren’t already part of nature were made entirely out of old tires, dirt and adobe – which was why most of the walls were three feet thick. Passing through the sheet metal door, they came upon a woman in a long dress and shawl with a small green box in hand, who was slowly prowling towards a large planter. She was intensely focused on a small fly near the planter until, without warning, the woman's hands flew swiftly together, sharply closing the box.
She delighted in her catch and was startled at Lisa's greeting, “Earth be with you, Beth.”
Beth very slowly came towards Lisa giving a firm maternal embrace, “Oh, and with your spirit, my dear Lisa.”
“Brian, this is my mom, Beth.”
Beth – who, although she was Lisa's mother, insisted she be called ‘Beth’ – slowly pulled Brian into a rigid hug and then ceremonially kissed both of his cheeks. She tilted her head and considered Brian for an uncomfortable amount of time, finally saying, “Hmmm ... I am, indeed, always fascinated by people whose names begin with the letter B. I feel our energies shall correspond nicely.”
Emily Post would have been shocked if she had taken part in that particular dinner. Although the quality and amount of the foods and the courses may have called for three plates, three forks, two knives, a spoon, and two glasses, they were all absent. The family preferred to use as few dishes as possible, so food was set out directly onto the table and eaten with hands. (More dishes require more wastewater.) If the explicit rules of dining were all violated, the unwritten rules of dinner conversation were even more severely violated. While other people, at all costs, avoid talking about religion, sex and politics, Lisa's parents acted as though they were the first items on the agenda. Coached again by Lisa, Brian deeply sympathized with Papa when he expressed his sentiments of betrayal at how terribly conservative the Obama administration had been.
Trying to avoid the subject, Brian piped in, “Certainly true. However, I must admit, I am mostly apolitical in my thinking.” This was at least somewhat true.
Papa could only respond with a nodding of the head and, “Hey man, that's cool. No pressure at all to you, man.”
When Brian mentioned his mother's first name, Papa chuckled and wondered aloud to himself, “Was it ’87 or ’88 when I slept with a woman of that name?”
“I would say it was ’88,” responded Beth.
Lisa stifled a groan and sank lower into her chair. Brian was so taken aback by this that he only returned to the conversation minutes later because of Papa's exhortation on the merits of not circumcising as infants – apparently he preferred the ancient Egyptian coming of age ritual at thirteen. When papa turned away, Lisa rolled her eyes at Brian and mouthed thank God I wasn't a boy. Eventually a rather personal question was addressed to Brian and Lisa, which both of them met with silence.
As the silence grew, so did the concern on Beth’s face, “but you mean you're not – ”
“Really, Arbie?” interrupted Papa with shocked surprise. “You're not feeling repressed at that Mormon school, are you?”
“No, Papa,” said Lisa sinking deeper into her chair quietly adding, “we just haven’t yet. Don’t worry, I’m sure we will soon enough.”
Papa and Beth then both turned at Brian with looks demanding an explanation, which was met only by Brian's deer-on-the-railroad-tracks face. At this, Lisa felt forced to sit up in his defense, “No, no, no! It's not him at all. I mean, no, that's not it. We just haven’t, okay.” And she tried to offer a token of good will to her parents, “We watched a movie the other day and made out. It’s not like we’re ... I don’t know... just ... let it be, okay.”
Beth skeptically accepted this, but added, “We're just concerned about your liberty is all. We want you to be well rounded, self-actualized people. If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask. You know we’ve got more than enough to help in our storage closet if you feel in the mood this weekend.”
“You're not very religious, are you?” Papa asked Brian, still seeking an answer.
“Not really. My Mom grew up Mormon, but sort of rebelled after college and left the Church. Having me out of wedlock sort of sealed the deal. So I grew up somewhat nominally Mormon, occasionally going to Church with the grandparents. But for the most part, I guess I just avoid the issue altogether.”
“Oh, we didn't know you had a Mormon background,” replied the father, now with a new interest, having forgotten the initial reason for the question. “Fascinating. Although, please do us a favor and don't tell us too much about Mormon beliefs.”
“Oh, don't worry, I'm not too familiar with them myself, so I'm really not one to be preaching to you anyways,” lied Brian.
“Oh no, Brian, normally we would be absolutely delighted to discover other spiritualities,” added Beth apologetically. “However, we happen to be anonymously Mormon ourselves, so we would prefer to know as little as possible. I do hope you understand.”
“Um, not really, what do you mean anonymously?”
“Well, haven't you read any Karl Rahner?”
“Karl who?”
“Rahner, Karl Rahner,” said Beth. “Papa and I first encountered him while living in a quaint commune near Innsbruck. He was a professor at the local university scene that we had a habit of frequenting. He's a theologian of the highest caliber, although certainly we disagree with so much of what he has to say. He proposed the idea of anonymous Christianity. That is to say, people who have never had the opportunity to reject the Christian message could still be Christians, although in an anonymous non-explicit way. So Papa and I, for a while, considered anonymous Christianity as a good way for us to embrace the faith of our dear ancestors. We were obviously quite disappointed to discover that we could not become anonymous Christians due to the fact that we had already been baptized in our infancy. So in an arbitrary fashion, we chose a religion that we knew very little of, and decided to take up the title of anonymous Mormons. So of course, you must understand why we take such great care to learn nothing whatsoever of the Mormon religion, otherwise we could no longer maintain our status as anonymous believers. I do hope you understand.”
“Oh certainly,” replied Brian nodding his head in feigned comprehension.
“However, the truly funny thing is, that since Papa and I converted to anonymous Mormonism, we no longer felt the need
to continue so much with the New Age practices in which we had previously participated. Something about them became rather banal, and we now spend most of our religious efforts in avoiding Mormons so as to remain blissfully ignorant – otherwise, you see, we would have to explicitly reject those beliefs. We used to be passively apathetic and knew very little about it, but now that we are intentionally apathetic, you would be surprised at how much more difficult it is to know so little.”
Based on the bottle of wine on the table, the coffee maker in the kitchen, Lisa's status as an only child, and the general feel of the town they lived in, Brian guessed they were doing a pretty good job.
“But anyways, enough about us, what about you guys?” said papa. “How did you two end up in our dining room?"
Brian waited for Lisa to begin and Lisa waited for Brian to begin. They both wagered different lengths of an empty hanging pause for the privilege of not having to tell the story, until Lisa finally folded and began, “Well... um, so I guess Brian and I are the only two BYU Classics majors who aren't Mormon, which gives us nothing to do on Sunday mornings. So we made a habit of spending the morning reading the only copy of the New York Times in Provo at the only Starbucks in Provo, the only thing open in Provo on Sunday mornings. And then Monday nights are family night for most Mormons, (At hearing this, both of Lisa's parents coughed and fidgeted pretending not to hear what she had said) so Brian and I started to hang out then. It's kind of funny because they don't allow co-ed housing, so we've had to lie and say we're siblings to get access to one another's apartments. So it's actually been fun having to hide our relationship from our roommates – sort of like a forbidden love type story. And then, eventually, I guess we stopped making excuses for reasons to hang out with one another and started to call our relationship what it was.”