OCR Text |
Show 113 gone on a mission when he was supposed to and he didn't go to church now, and his last year at school he had even quit sneaking down corridors to avoid other Mormon students he happened to know from the campus ward. Those things didn't necessarily define him, but they were among the things that kept him awake on nights when he picked over old mistakes and wondered if he would make them again if he had the chance. He turned over, forgetting for the moment that Yvonne was in the way. Their knees bumped and she sat up, her eyes wide and alarmed in the dim light from the street. Then she fell back down and turned over, dragging the covers over her shoulder. Lorin lay on his back with his chest exposed and put his hands behind his head and stared at the black mirror on the closet door across the room. Sometimes he liked to relive the interview with his bishop back home to see if he still felt guilty about that. You defined yourself by seeing what things still made you feel like a worm. The summer he turned twenty the bishop had called him into his office and asked him if he'd been thinking about a mission. He had been more than thinking about it; he had been having attacks of the runs every time it came up at home. He did not, however, tell the bishop that. He told the bishop he had been thinking very seriously about it and had decided that he wasn't entirely sure he was exactly ready yet in every respect altogether, if that made any sense. The bishop was an apple-cheeked bald-headed adman who made you comfortable when he looked happy. He looked grave and asked Lorin if he'd like to talk about it. It was hard to put into words, Lorin explained, feeling sweat gleam on his forehead. It wasn't that he didn't believe in the church. It was just that he'd begun to realize that belief was a more complicated thing than he'd thought it was when he was young and innocent, ha ha. He suspected that if he went on a mission right now he would just be going through motions. |