19. Levi
nineteen
Spending time with Thea was so easy. We could talk about almost anything. We could laugh, tease, and then get serious and thoughtful two seconds later. Even our silences felt good and natural. The four-hour drive from Arches to Durango ended too quickly. I hated the sight of Thea’s little gray house when we pulled up.
“Don’t leave yet.” She smiled and gripped my hand. “Come inside. I’m a shitty cook, but I’ll make you some food.”
We exited my car, and I grabbed her bags from my trunk. Thea opened her mouth to protest but then sighed and let me help. That felt huge to me. She was letting me in a little more each day.
Once inside her house, Thea headed to the kitchen for food, and I stood in her living room, staring at the art on her walls. I paused in front of her demon self-portrait and brushed my fingers against her face like I did the first time I saw this painting. Thea’s raw talent blew my mind.
A new painting hung on the wall opposite her portrait, and I crossed the room to check it out. A pair of brown eyes filled the canvas — my eyes. They held a searching and excited expression like they were on the verge of discovering something incredible.
“Well, shit.” Thea’s voice came from the kitchen. “That’s embarrassing.”
I turned to grin at her. “Thea, whoa. You have a huge crush on me! How long has this been going on?”
She laughed as she pulled a frying pan down from its hanging rack. “Shut up. You had a crush on me first.”
I nodded and walked into the kitchen, leaning against the wall beside her. “I did. Mine started the night I met you.”
Thea rolled her eyes. “Mine started right before you left in September.” She looked thoughtful for a second while she buttered slices of bread. “I wonder what would have happened if we’d communicated like mature adults and gotten over our insecurities way back then.”
“Yeah, that would have made things easier, but I like how our story is unfolding.”
Thea set the bread down. “Okay, no more talking. Kiss me.”
Saying goodbye to that woman an hour later felt like hell.
March in Utah couldn’t decide if it wanted to be winter or spring. One day, the sun shone, and tulips bloomed, and the next, it snowed, killing everything. It felt like maybe Utah was slowly killing me, too.
I couldn’t drive past one of the many chapels without flooding with a feeling of wrongness. I knew exactly how they looked inside, how they smelled, the hymns sung, and the conversations that took place in the hallways between Sunday School and Sacrament Meeting. I knew what the speakers were saying and the sense of belonging that filled the building. I knew it all so well. Mormonism was in my blood and etched into my bones. It would always be a part of my history whether I liked it or not.
But it no longer belonged to me nor I to it. It had no place in my present or future.
Things with my family didn’t improve in the slightest, either. My mom still texted me on Sundays. It was usually some derivative of, “We love you. The Savior loves you. We’re praying for you.” I never replied. I also didn’t show up for Easter dinner, which warranted another angry communication from my father about how ungrateful and hardhearted I’d been. He compared me to Alma the Younger, a wicked character from the Book of Mormon who caused much anguish to his righteous father.
I wanted to laugh about it, but their messages made my chest feel tight. They filled me with anger, hurt, and profound loneliness. Then I’d cycle around to guilt followed by intense shame. I was a grown-ass man. Their bullshit shouldn’t affect me as much as it did.
The first weekend in April showed clear signs of a spring that meant to stick around. I almost felt excited when I cracked open the window in my living room to let the fresh air inside. Then, an old man’s droning yet singsong voice drifted through my open window. “My dear brothers and sisters, how wonderful it is to be alive during this time, to be members of the Lord’s one true church on this earth, to have the fullness of the gospel in our hearts.”
I groaned inwardly and closed the window. How could I have forgotten that it was General Conference weekend? Twice a year, Mormons gathered in downtown Salt Lake City to listen to the prophet and apostles speak for about ten hours. If they weren’t elite enough to score tickets for a session at the Tabernacle, they all tuned in on their TVs to listen. Some particularly fantastic Mormons would blast these conference sessions as loud as possible in hopes that some wayward soul would hear it and join the fold.
Last April, Gina and I were still married. She turned conference on at full volume, even though I’d respectfully asked not to watch that year. I sat in our bedroom with my earbuds in, trying to block out the words that threatened to drown me. I still heard them and knew exactly what thoughts ran through Gina’s head as speaker after speaker addressed apostates like me. I knew I’d instantly lost any ground I’d won in my battle to be respected and accepted.
Did these old white men have any idea of the damage they caused with their words?
This April, I wouldn’t be sticking around. I hopped in my car and headed to Snow Canyon for a day of hiking. The otherworldly swirls of orange rock and red dunes were the only redeeming thing about my hometown.
On the drive, I called Thea. She answered almost immediately. “What’s up, sexy?”
I grinned, and my chest loosened like it always did when I heard her voice. “What pet name should I call you? If I remember correctly, you hate ‘baby,’ and you’re not a ‘sweetheart’ or a ‘honey.’”
Thea laughed. “You don’t think I’m sweet?”
“I think you’re very sweet.”
“You’re correct, though. I don’t like pet names. Lenny is the only one allowed to call me sweetie or honey. She’s earned the right to call me whatever she wants.”
“But you call me sexy.”
Thea let out a long, irritated sigh. “Yeah, because someone needs to tell you! I swear you have no idea that you’re hot as fuck. It’s cute but also frustrating because, like, honestly, Levi, if you knew how sexy you are, you’d be rocking the confidence of a god.”
“So I’m sexy but under-confident?” I smiled as I drove down the almost deserted freeway.
I could picture Thea shrugging. “Meh. We’re all under-confident.” Her voice changed from her I-don’t-give-a-fuck tone to her soft, serious one. “I know you have some trauma that’s holding you back and keeping you from loving yourself. I so badly want you to feel good.”
“I want that for you, too.”
“Ugh.” Thea groaned. “I think I just threw up in my mouth. You’re making me so sappy and emotional!”
I laughed out loud. “Thea, you were always sappy and emotional. Don’t blame me!”
“Whatever.” Thea sighed. “I’m going to say one more sappy thing, and then I might have to hang up.”
“Say it, but don’t hang up.”
Thea groaned again as if having feelings for me pained her. “I miss you like crazy, and I want your body.”
She hung up. Thea couldn’t be told what to do.
She wanted my body. Sex. Things I couldn’t give her yet. I had to fix this. I had to work through my anxiety and be everything she needed and deserved. I’d look up therapists when I got back home.
Home.
I didn’t belong in Cedar City, Utah. It became crystal clear with each passing day that I could not carve out an existence here.
My life waited for me in Durango, Colorado.