The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance: A Memoir (22 page)

Taking out some of Tina’s bread, I made us grilled cheese sandwiches. I don’t eat things like grilled cheese, or bread, but I decided,
Whatever, I’m just going to act like a normal person for one day and then forget about it.

We put on
The Usual Suspects.
I sat down on the couch next to him. We ate lunch together; it felt really normal.

It didn’t make sense that I’d be there—I mean these guys were hard-core hijackers
, Kevin Spacey was saying.
But there I was.

We watched the movie for another fifteen minutes. Or Matt watched the movie and I debated the best position in which to sit.
Do I lounge with my legs on top of him? Do I shift so he’s pushed into the corner, or does he really just want to pay attention and should I sit calmly by his side?
I tried to read his face for clues. Unfortunately, he caught me staring at him.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“You’re shivering.”

“Oh . . .” I hadn’t noticed it, but yes, I was. My shirt wasn’t completely dry and now that we were inside with the AC on, I was freezing.

“Yeah.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I should probably change.” I stood up, accidentally blocking the screen. Matt moved his head so that he could see around me. I walked into my bedroom and shut the door.

Alone, I felt a particular kind of freedom; I could make any face and ask any question that I wanted to. So I did. I flung my hands from side to side, stretched my facial muscles into an expression that most closely resembled a sad clown, and quietly sighed.
Why is he changing his mind?

Relax, you’re overanalyzing everything.
I pulled off my T-shirt and tossed it onto the bed. It landed on top of the nineteen other shirts I’d tried on earlier.
No you’re not; he’s clearly over you.
I opened my dresser drawer and rifled through my clothes.
How do you get a person to stay when they know all the reasons they should leave?
I wondered. My hand touched something smooth, silky; it felt cold against my fingers. I looked down—the blue slip.

You can’t wear that! It’s like the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday . . .
I laughed nervously and took my hand off the slip. When I did this, the fabric slinked forward, as though it were moving of its own accord.
But Elna,
I reconsidered,
you own that, and you’ve never worn it.

I stepped on one sock and then the other, yanking them off. I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down. I unclasped my bra and tossed it onto to the floor—a race against my conscience.

It caught up quickly.
What are you doing?
It asked me in a panic.
Are you going to have sex?

I pulled the slip over my head and turned to see my reflection in the mirror. Avoiding my eyes, I looked at my body. It still fit, I was still sexy.
I’m a woman
, I thought.
A woman with long arms, pale skin, pronounced collarbones, a waist, hips, and toes.
I stood tall, defiant,
and I’m capable of choosing my own life.
I dangled my right arm behind my head, the sexiest move I could conjure. “Yes.”

And then I thought about this word and why I love it so:
When you say yes everything can change—I want to change.

I walked over to the bedroom door, took a deep breath, and pushed it forward. It swung open with a loud
whoosh
, and smacked into the wall. It was unnecessarily dramatic. I cringed.

I could hear Matt moving in the other room.
You can do this.
I took a step forward and poked my head out from behind the door. By flinging it open, and then hesitating, I’d effectively gotten his attention. The movie was on pause, and he was sitting up in his seat, waiting for my entrance. I figured it’d be best to ease him into the idea that I was suddenly wearing lingerie. I rotated slightly—one shoulder visible—and watched him process the thin strap on my bare arm.

“What are you doing?”

I stepped out from behind the door into the empty, open space.

Matt just stared at me.

All of a sudden, I felt naked.
I’m completely visible—the lights are on, there’s nothing to hide behind—it’s just me, my body, me.
It’s terrifying to let someone else look at you. But the look on Matt’s face, it was good. I stood up tall
. I am what I am.

“Why are you trying to torture me?” Matt said.

I pressed one finger against my lips. “Shhhh. . . .” I walked over to the couch and slid the light switch down until it was so dim it was practically off. And then I knelt in front of Matt and put my hands on his knees.

He didn’t move. He just sat there, looking out of place. Like a giant in a child’s chair, or a boy in a giant’s chair, I couldn’t tell which.
I will never meet anyone like you again.
I leaned forward and kissed him—for a moment it felt like he was thinking,
Don’t touch the stripper; they throw you out if you touch the stripper.

I ran my fingers through his hair. “It’s okay.”

I felt him relax.
“God, I missed you.”
He sighed.

“I missed you, too.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that I’ve been an asshole, but it was just so hard to . . .”

“Shhhh,” I stopped him.

He put his hand on my cheek. I turned my head and rested it in his palm.

“I really like your face,” he said. I almost started to cry.

From there he kissed my neck, my collarbones; it tickled. I lifted up his shirt and kissed his stomach, his chest, his left shoulder. There were so many places on him I’d never gotten to show how much I liked. I went from one to another, but there was just more skin, more ground to cover. Kissing him, I felt a familiar pull; the momentum was even stronger this time.
What is this?
It felt like the light was shifting, or the air had changed. And then Matt was on top of me, kissing me back, and I was holding him as close as I could. And then it happened . . . With my arms around his back, I leaned into his ear and I heard myself say . . .

“You need to pray and find out if God exists.”

Matt froze.
“What?”
he said.

What did I just say?
“Nothing,” I reassured him. “I didn’t say anything.”

This explanation didn’t help. While Matt was still on top of me, I felt like he was somewhere else. I waited a moment and then I tried to kiss him again.
Pretend that didn’t happen.
I pressed my lips to his. He felt reluctant.
Just pretend it didn’t happen.
I kissed his neck.
Please?
I kissed his ear. I kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.
Go after me,
I wished. And then, all of a sudden, just like that, he did. He picked my body up, and pressed me down on the couch, and for a few seconds he was on top of me. And it was incredible. I had no idea that he was so much stronger than me—that he’d been exercising so much restraint. In the heat of the moment, I leaned forward for a second time, and pressed my lips against his ear. “How can you know that God doesn’t exist unless you at least ask?” I whispered.

“What?”
he said.

I clamped my hands over my mouth.
What is wrong with me?
I almost yelled,
I just want to have sex right now, and instead I have God Tourette’s syndrome?

Matt moved me off of him abruptly and sat up straight. I reached my arms out but he blocked them.

“Elna what are you trying to say?” he asked.

What am I trying to say?
I sat there for a moment with such a mixture of feelings.

When I finally spoke, my voice was so clear, I didn’t think I was the one speaking. “The only reason I believe in God,” I said, “is because I prayed and I asked. And how can you know for sure that something isn’t true unless you at least ask?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Do you want me to pray?” he said.

I took a deep breath. “Yes,” my voice cracked.

He looked directly into my eyes. “Okay,” he said, “I can do that. I can pray.”

“Really?” I said in disbelief.

“Yes.”

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to hold my breath, make a wish, or say a prayer of thanks.

Matt stood up and reached for his coat. “I should probably get going,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

The minute he was gone, I rushed over to the couch and knelt down. Folding my arms, I began:

I cleared my throat.

After I finished this prayer, I sort of made a mistake: I called Tina. I couldn’t help it; I have to tell Tina everything. I didn’t tell her the whole
I’m ready to have sex, oh, wait, no
part. I just told her about Matt agreeing to pray and how big of a deal it was because he was twenty-nine and he’d never prayed before. I also mentioned that I was praying for his prayer.

“I’ll pray for him, too,” Tina said earnestly.

A minute later I got a call from my parents. Apparently they’d just talked to Tina, and they wanted to let me know they were praying, too, and that they called my grandparents, and my grandparents were praying. Pretty soon a family tree across America would be praying for Matt to get an answer—it was Atheist Intervention Day.

I didn’t hear from him for another two weeks. When I did, we set up a meeting in Union Square, at our statue.

“Hi,” I said when I got there.

“Hi,” he answered.

When we set up the date over the phone, he asked me what I wanted to do.
See a movie, get dinner, or go to a museum?
I suggested we play it by ear. Now that I was there, in front him, I didn’t want to move.

“Movie?” he asked, “Or food?”

I sat down on a bench. “Let’s just talk for a minute,” I said.

“Okay.” He sat next to me.

We talked about the previous two weeks. About his job search, about the guests who’d come to Letterman, and about the books we’d been reading. I’d been reading classics. Not even because I wanted to, but on the off chance that Matt might ask, and I might get to impress him.

And yet, it didn’t matter how much I’d read, or whether he found me to be smart—what mattered was that I was a Mormon, and he wasn’t. The more we talked, the more I avoided the question I most wanted to ask.

Finally I decided,
It’s not something that just comes up tangentially, you actually have to bring it up
.

“Matt,” I interrupted him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Did you pray?” My voice sounded intense, filled with imperative.

He looked at me. It was as though he’d been expecting the question the entire time.

“Yes,” he said.

“You did!” I tried not to sound shocked, but a big part of me thought he wouldn’t do it. It was huge.

“And,” I stammered, “and what
happened?
”

“Well”—he choose his words with care—“I went into my room, shut the door, and I knelt down and I prayed and I asked God if he existed.”

“And . . .” I leaned forward.

“I listened, like you told me to. I sat in silence, for a long time, Elna and I listened.”

“And then what happened?”

“I listened and then I realized, even if I did get an answer, it would just be me telling myself I got an answer because I wanted to be with you, Elna.” He looked at me earnestly. “It wouldn’t be real.”

“And . . .” I said.
Please be more, please, God, cue the angel.

“And that was it,” he finished.

I was quiet for a minute.

“That was your answer,” I finally said, a sadness weighing my voice down.

“Yes,” he nodded.

There was another silence.

“But you’re not going to be with me, are you?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t that make you sad?” my voice cracked.

“Yes.” He looked at me. “Yes,” he repeated, “it does.”

“Didn’t you feel
this
?” I waved my hand back and forth, from his chest to mine, “Didn’t you feel like . . .” I wanted to say,
like we were meant to find each other, like it was all part of something? Like you were my soul mate, except you didn’t believe in souls . . . but I don’t need you to . . . and more than anything didn’t you feel like you could love me?
But I didn’t actually say anything at all. I just kept moving my hand back and forth, from him to me, and from me to him.