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Show 221 III You wore a funny kind of underwear after going through the endowment ceremonies in the temple. They were in one piece; the legs came down nearly to your knees, the back split open to accommodate bodily functions, the sleeves hung loose, exposing your armpits, the neck was scooped low. They offered no support. They had symbolic marks in the stitching over your nipples and belly button. They were called temple garments, or garments for short, and Lorin had dreaded the day when he would have to wear them. They made it especially important, he reflected one morning after he and his companion had been nearly run down by a fat lady in curlers while crossing a busy intersection in Ypsilanti, that you not be in an accident that would send you to the hospital where strangers would undress you. They were one of the things that, thirteen months into his new life, he had not gotten used to. Another was wearing a dark suit that itched every day. Another was opening someone's gate, walking through someone's front yard up to a door, feeling watched from behind the curtains, and knocking on it. Another was not drinking coffee, the lack of which had given him blinding headaches for the first several weeks. The sweaty dreams were a nuisance too, but those might have been from living in a part of the country he wasn't used to. The first night in a strange bed did that to him too. They would not know him now, those enemies and betrayers in Los Angeles. If he appeared in their midst they would not blink at his transformation, because they would not recognize him for the same person. s He had no beard. He wore dark suits and neckties. He carried an attache |
