Can Love Wait?



  Can Love Wait?

  Mike Carselle

  ~~~

  Copyright Text © Mike Carselle 2014

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: The Breakdown

  Chapter 2: Zoe’s Empassioned Return

  Chapter 3: Feeling the Call

  Chapter 4: The Question

  Chapter 5: Maggie Marie’s Testimony

  Chapter 6: The ‘Spirited’ Debate

  Chapter 7: The Assignment

  Chapter 8: A Matter of Trust

  Chapter 9: Pierce’s Return

  Chapter 10: A Simple yet Elegant Celebration

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1: The Breakdown

  The dewdrops glistened on the wild rose hips as the dawn began to rise over the dunes...and after an entire night of silent contemplation, I finally had the insight I had been looking for. I knew what I was going to do next.

  It was the single hardest decision I'd had to make up until that point in my life. Everything I'd been taught about God and duty and life told me one thing -- but my heart wanted something different, in the purest way...but I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start at the beginning.

  ________________________________________________________________________

  April, 1996: Manistique, Michigan: Big Boy Diner

  "I met her in Journalism class," I told my parents over a double bacon cheeseburger. I was a sophomore just starting my third quarter of high school. I lived way out of town, on the shores of Lake Michigan in a tiny community called Gulliver, but I went to school in Manistique -- which is still smaller than wherever you're from, I'm sure. But I digress. I was talking to my parents about the girl that had caught my eye.

  "Her name is Zoe Danfield,” I said through a mouthful of too much burger, "and she's a senior."

  My mom was instantly on the alert. "She's older than you?"

  I nodded. "She's super smart, too -- she happened by my desk while I was sneaking time on my Algebra II homework, and she caught like three mistakes I had made just on the way past."

  "And she's not a member?" My dad. He was the bishop of the local ward of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints -- and a dentist, not that anyone ever cared about that part. When people heard that he was a Mormon "leader", though, that was all they ever asked about. (He's not really even a leader -- the title of 'bishop' really just means 'the middle management has picked you to be the abuse-taker for the next year or few'. It's not like he personally has anything at all to do with what the Church says or does.)

  I shook my head, knowing that it was going to be a bone of contention...and I was validated instantly as my father gave his patented Disapproving Sigh™. "Pierce, I can't condone you asking out a girl that isn't a member of the Church," he said gently.

  I stared fixedly at my root beer. I'd tried to talk to him about this before. There just weren't any cute girls my age at Church. There were only about fourteen families in Church, and only two of them had girls my age in them. One was a total stuck-up twit, and the other was...well, to be blunt, ugly. The last time I tried to bring this point up, though, my father suggested that maybe I should look in some of the other nearby branches. Like I'm going to try to hang out with some girl from Escanaba -- I don't even have a car!

  Of course, saying anything at this point was just asking for more disapproval. There was no point in ruining dinner over it. I knew it was wrong to lie to my parents...but until I actually got up the guts to talk to her, I wasn't lying, right?

  May, 1996: Manistique, Michigan: Manistique High School

  "Are you sure you don't mind staying after to help me?" I asked. It turns out that while I'm pretty proficient with a PC, the Macintosh that they used to arrange the layouts for the school paper were beyond my ability. Zoe, however, was entirely competent, and apparently didn't have anywhere to be after class today. I knew she usually had some sort of after-school engagement -- some sort of music lesson, I assumed, because she was always singing softly to herself and she had an amazing voice.

  "Yeah, sure, Pierce," she said absentmindedly. I was a little surprised -- she was usually a very here-and-now kind of person, so for her to be distracted by something was a little odd.

  She showed me a bunch of commands and how to work them, and helped me arrange a few pages. I chatted about my usual after-school activities (Boy Scouts, basketball), and finally asked her why she was willing and able to stay after with me today when she was usually so prompt about exiting school when the bell rang.

  ...and she started to cry.

  I had no idea how to react. Here was this incredible girl with the poise of a ballerina and the smile of an angel, and she just burst into tears because I wanted to know what she did after school.

  "Uhh...Zoe? Ummm..." I tried to figure out what my father would do in this situation. He was always the compassionate, level-headed one when it came to anyone except his own son. After a moment, I hesitantly tried to give her a hug.

  "Don't touch me!" Zoe screamed, and bolted from the room.

  My brain spun all over again. I was imagining the worst -- what kind of abuse did she suffer, at whose hands, to make her break down like this? Not sure exactly what I was going to do, I ran after her...straight into the women's bathroom.

  Ugh. My mother had told me stories about how girls' bathrooms were always grosser than the guys', which had always surprised me. This one, however, was pretty standard for high school. Feeling like I was throwing away my chances of ever making it into the Celestial Kingdom for invading decidedly non-gender-neutral territory, I gingerly called out. "Zoe?"

  "You can't come in here!" she said from the furthest stall. I had to admit, she kind of had me there -- so I walked out. I knew where she was, and I would wait for her right outside the bathroom door. No matter how compassionate I was trying to be, some rules are too inviolate to be broken, and bathroom sanctity was totally one of them.

  I don't know how long I was standing there, but I started to hear the pissh of the second bus' breaks as they pulled away, taking the elementary school students and high schoolers with detention home. I had just missed my ride...my parents would be pissed. But it didn't matter -- I had to know what was wrong with the girl I had been crushing on for the past month.

  I had enough change for the city bus. It'd be OK, as long as I was home by dinnertime.

  Finally, the door opened, and Zoe came out, dry-eyed and fresh-faced -- until she saw me waiting for her. "Pierce," she said, and I had visions of her professing her passion for me on the spot. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  Uh...

  "I...I want to know what I did wrong," I said. She looked like she had just walked into an invisible wall.

  "What you did wrong?" she said, stunned. "You...you didn't do anything wrong, Pierce." She reached up and brushed her hair out of her face, looking away and almost blushing. "I'm just...weird right now. My boyfriend..." she trailed off. I did my best to not look disappointed -- I suspected she had a boyfriend (how could she not?), but she'd never mentioned him before.

  Zoe shook her head somewhat violently. "None of your business," she snipped pertly. "I've gotta get...home."

  "Is that where you went? Home?"

  "I said it's none of your business. Why are you so nosy today? You're usually so sweet." She caught herself a second too late, and then decided to own it rather than take it back. "What's up with you?"

  I couldn't keep the smile off of my face. 'Sweet' I could live with. "What's up with me? What's up with you? I've never had someone just have a breakdown like that right in front of me, especially when all I did was ask about your extracurricular activities. It may not be my business, but you have to expect me to be curious...especiall
y when..." Unlike her, I couldn't bring myself to own up to what I was about to say, so I just shut my mouth, somewhat hard. My teeth clacking actually echoed in the empty hallway.

  Zoe tilted her head, and then slowly she nodded. "I see."

  I had no idea what to make of that. And when she walked away, I was too cowardly to follow her. I had pressed the issue hard enough. Anything else I had to say would either be redundant or destructive.

  Chapter 2: Zoe’s Empassioned Return

  June, 1998: Gulliver, Michigan: Salvation Army

  Here I am, folding this stack of other people's sweatpants for about the eleventeenth time, because the manager insists on having it right on the edge of the shelf so everyone with a real, human stomach will knock it over as they try to slip between the rack of trucker hats and the sweatpants to get through to where the kitchen stuff is. It smells like rancid sweat and human misery in here.

  I hate my life! The only cool girl in town went off to college in Indiana, my father insists that I spend what should be my valuable capitalist work time volunteering for no pay instead, and I'm the only soon-to-be senior in school that--

  Wait. Is that Zoe?

  "Hey, Zoe, welcome back home! You decided to come home for the summer, eh?" my manager is a huge, bearded, effusive gentleman named Abraham Geuss (a.k.a. "The Goose", behind his back), who looks like Abe Lincoln would have if he were a contestant on The Biggest Loser. His enthusiasm is infectious, and unconquerable by anything except the deep sadness that infuses every corner of the store he so blithely runs. Without him, this place would fall apart -- with him, it seems to constantly skirt the edge of disaster, but always manages to putter along.

  Of course, none of that matters anymore, because Zoe Danfield had returned...and she was looking for me.

  "Hi, Mr. Geuss," Zoe charmed, "...is Pierce here?"

  "Oh, sure, honey, I think he's folding pants or something. PIERCE!!" I showed up almost instantly. "The young lady wishes to speak with you. You wanna take your break early?"

  I nodded without hesitation, and took Zoe to the 'break room', such as it was; a card table set up in what was obviously once a second bathroom, but had utilized that plumbing for a huge plastic sink instead. Once we were on the other side of the door, Zoe kissed me quite passionately.

  Perhaps I should explain.

  Zoe eventually had explained to me what it was about her after-school activities had made her break down that day -- it was because her boyfriend, who had demanded her unwavering (and highly physical) attentions every day after school for months -- had suddenly just dropped her and walked away. She was devastated, and over the weeks after that bizarre encounter, I had managed to wheedle the truth out of her. We talked a lot, and I stayed after school for 'journalism help' almost every day for a few weeks until my father figured out what was going on: I was having a relationship!

  We both knew that Zoe was going to go off to college, and we both agreed that, no matter how good of friends we had become, there was to be absolutely no ridiculous long-distance relationship garbage, so we had best just avoid being more than just friends. The problem was, Zoe went off to college, and for nine months as I worked my way through my junior year, we kept right on as though we were right next to each other.

  We had never kissed before -- we just talked and goofed off -- and thanks to the magic of ICQ chat, we didn't have to stop when she left. We just talked via text whenever I had the opportunity to be online. Thanks to the school's determination to be on the forefront of technology, that meant that I was able to chat with Zoe for almost a couple of hours every day.

  She had 'tried on' some boyfriends at college, and decided that it wasn't working out for her -- she didn't tell me she was going to wait for me, she just did. I had no idea what she was about to do when I closed the break room door; I expected a hug and some updates on her life...but I can't say I was disappointed.

  Chapter 3: Feeling the Call

  January, 1999: Escanaba, Michigan: LDS Stake Center

  Dressed immaculately in my best shirt and tie, I sat in front of the LDS Stake President -- my father's "boss" in the church, as it were -- and I fidgeted. It was one of those interviews where they ask us teenagers how virtuous we've been and how closely we've adhered to the Commandments.

  I wasn't fidgeting because I was nervous, though. Or rather, I was nervous, but I wasn't guilty. I was a good kid -- straight As (Ok, so not in woodshop, but seriously, I'm not a manual-dexterity kind of person), no drugs, no R-rated movies...I hadn't even seen my girlfriend naked, and we'd had three long summer months to make it happen.

  My father, I was sure, had arranged this meeting because he had caught Zoe and I cuddling under a blanket as we watched a Christmas movie when she came home for Winter Break. He had nothing to worry about, though. I explained to Zoe that at the absolute minimum I was going to wait until I caught up with her in Indiana before I risked that level of my father's wrath, and she was OK with that.

  "Pierce Jonathan Evans," the Stake President said, "you have been called."

  My head snapped up. A calling wasn't an uncommon thing in the Church, but usually you had to be an adult. For me to get called meant...

  "When you have graduated from high school, but before you begin college, you will go on a two-year mission. Your father has been diligent in preparing you for this, and I'm confident that you will magnify your calling greatly. This is a great honor and opportunity for you to reach out to a number of families who have never heard the fulness of the Gospel, Pierce."

  I couldn't even swallow. My only comfort was that I still had all of Senior Year to try to convince my father that I had something more important to do after I graduated than go overseas...but I still felt like I was watching my future life with Zoe crumble around me. What were the chances that I would have the time and technology with me to keep chatting with her while I was Heaven-only-knows where? What were the chances that after already basically putting her love life on hold for two years for me already, she would be willing to do it for two more?

  Wasn't that important?

  Of course, I knew what they would say if I said anything. They would tell me that Heavenly Father has a plan for me, and that it's my duty to submit to His will -- if He thought that Zoe and I should be together, He would arrange it for us. If He disagreed, who was I to try to argue?

  I realized I had been sitting there, mute, for several minutes. I hoped that the fear I felt wasn't showing on my face. Finally, I nodded. "Yes...yes, sir." I faked my best fake smile at the Stake President. "It's a great honor."

  March, 1999: Gulliver, Michigan: The Evans Household

  I was super-psyched. My parents had, after almost a year of constant hinting and building their trust, decided that it was time for me to get my own computer. This meant that I could chat with Zoe from home, too! And even from the privacy of my own bedr--

  "Of course," my father interrupted my train of thought, "your computer will have to stay in the living room."

  What?

  "There are too many things on the Internet that could turn your mind away from your schoolwork and from God," he proceeded. He had been removed from the position of Bishop a couple of months ago -- these days he was in charge of something called Family History -- but it hadn't changed the emphasis he put on church duty. "Your computer is to be used for schoolwork and video games, and nothing more."

  Video games? That was a start. I couldn't help myself: "What about ICQ?"

  "I seek you? What is that?" Mom interjected.

  "It's a chat program. I can use it to keep in touch with...my friends." I smiled hopefully. It wasn't a lie; Zoe was a friend. She was just the only one that I happened to make out with from time to time.

  "We'll see," said my mother, who was deliberately cutting off my father's reactionary denial. "If it's useful and not too much of a distraction."

  Four days later, it became too much of a distraction. "Pierce, honey, will you gather your brother and sister and
come to the table, please?" Mom sang out from the kitchen.

  "Hold on, Mom! I'm saying goodbye to Zoe!"

  Oops. It occurred to me, stupidly, that dishonesty was by definition the second-best policy -- a fraction of a second too late. Mom played it cool. "Oh, really? Is Zoe on I seek you, too? That's wonderful, hon."

  My father, however, latched onto his immediate preconceptions like a bulldog. "Isn't Zoe in college?" he asked.

  "Yeah...that's why I can only talk to her on ICQ."

  "Pierce...you shouldn't be talking to college girls on the computer."

  "Dad! She's not 'a college girl'. She's my...friend!" That was stupid. Oh, dear, that was really stupid. Three months ago, we were under the blanket at Christmas, and now I went and admitted that I was still talking to her. I could see my father's concern lines deepening as he stared at me.

  I knew that he wanted what was best for me, but I also knew that I couldn't be what he wanted and what I wanted at the same time. For a very brief moment, I was stupidly jealous of all of those other boys my age who were out getting girls drunk and throwing firecrackers into toilets and here I was watching my father inhale for another Disappointed Sigh™ and preparing to lose…again.

  I always lose.

  Chapter 4: The Question

  July, 1999: Salt Lake City, Utah: Brigham Young University

  A month without a computer. It wasn't the worst thing in the world -- we were camping our way from Michigan to California and back again, visiting some family in San Jose. On the way back, we decided to stop in Salt Lake City -- the center of the Mormon Church -- and visit Brigham Young University, where Mormons come to get schooled.

  "I'd like you to apply to attend here next year," my father said seriously as we toured the enormous and awesome campus. Overawed as I was, I just nodded numbly. I hadn't talked to Zoe in three weeks, and the campus really was amazing...the thought that I had just agreed to something that wasn't in My Plan just didn't really occur to me.

  As we ate lunch in the BYU cafeteria -- seriously, Chicken Kiev and Salmon Chowder? -- I lost myself in daydreams of what I could do here. I'd had this strange idea in my head ever since Journalism class of being a writer for magazines, and they certainly had plenty of opportunity for that here.