Chapter Text
Connor had always had a knack for ballet. He had good rhythm, and was certainly flexible, but more importantly, he had an innate sense of calmness that only seemed to come out when his hands brushed the gleaming silver bar in front of him and he counted ‘one, two, three, four’. He had started it because of his admiration for the ballet dancers in his older brother Elijah’s school musical, but now did it more because it was so much fun. His life dream had been to do pirouettes and plies, elegantly leaping across the stage to proclaim his love for dance. That’s all he ever wanted, to dance. The ginger had firmly decided that this would be his future when he was a whole nine years and five months, proudly marching up to his father and declaring that he, Connor McKinley, wanted to be a ballerina. Upon reflecting on his past, he thinks that this was where it began. ‘It’, to be quite frank, is the matter of which we will be discussing today, or the case of Connor McKinley, to put it rather simply. He quit ballet a year later, put his worn out but well-kept shoes tucked in a little red box, and turned off that part of his life forever, a part that rolled with the crescendo of music, To the singing of choirs and the cacophony of chaotic, yet organised applause.
When he was eleven, he became friends with a Steven Glade. He had curly brown hair, large glasses and ever so bright green eyes. Dimples that showed when he smiled and pastel pink lips, the colour you would see on the other dancers’ tutus. He had sleepovers with Connor every single week since he only lived a block away. The two walked home everyday, even when Steve was doing detention for talking back to a teacher, or playing some cruel prank that had backfired, or had been caught swearing at one of those kids who seemed to make it their mission to hurt Connor. Connor, who dances weirdly, who knows all the lyrics to every Billy Elliot song. (He had found the story relatable, cathartic almost. He wouldn’t tell anyone that fact though.)
More importantly, he was the boy who brushed hands with Steve one too many times, the kid who was just always sitting a little too close, the one who hugged him a little too much. This gave the kids words to hurt, words to kill. Words to describe and tell the truth.
It’s hard to examine all the factors that ended that relationship, so Connor mostly just skips over that part now.
His world slowly stopped spinning the right way around after a messy and especially bad fight with his best friend. What was once a promising future in D Major was more turning into a messy melodic minor. He became obsessed with his church, since it became the only thing he found solace in. His only friends were the ones that quoted Bible passages after school, the ones who refused to break any of the Ten Commandments their Heavenly Father had set for them. He threw himself into his work, reciting whole verses by heart and joining every program the Church offered. He became district leader. And he was dedicated to maintaining a perfect image. He did an amazing job at it, too. It came as a shock to the others then, (and to himself, though he’d never admit it,) when Elder Thomas was woken up at 3am to a blood-curdling scream from the pristine dull blue bed next to him.
This was embarrassing to Elder McKinley for two reasons. One, he was the district leader, also known as the symbol for the unachievable concept one knows of as perfection. He wasn’t meant to be someone who dreamt of licks of flame crowding him and demons mocking him every night. Two, he had gained an array of pity from the other elders, who’d share sympathetic looks amongst each other in the morning when he appeared at the table with dark bags under his eyes, who’d pat him on the shoulder when he came out of the toilet after dry-heaving for over an hour. His rituals after he had another Hell Dream were always extremely painful, but it was nothing compared to the whispers he’d spot out of the corner of his eye once he left the toilet, sick and dizzy. He was a regular visitor to the house of sin, visits that always seemed to take the form of him curling up into a ball on the couch as he cries his eyes out and prayed so furiously he can’t remember a thing after, until his knees were shaky and his voice was hoarse and his chest was tired from hyperventilating for hours on end. Sometimes, another elder would join him, and they’d sit in silence, neither acknowledging or ignoring the other’s presence. Mostly, he’d just be alone.
“McKinley! I know you’re our leader and all that, but can you help us for once?”
Connor’s mouth twitches into a frown as James hands him some makeshift gloves.
“I think Poptarts is having some trouble with the dirt. He’s all ‘Oh! I’m not scared of anything!’, but I’ve had to reassure him over three times that no, there are no bugs in the ground.”
He laughs at Connor’s confused face.
“Uh… sure! Just give me a second.” The ginger says, quickly plastering on a smile and bouncing over to Chris, or Poptarts as he and James call him. Elder Price and Elder Cunningham are digging up the soil in the distance, stopping to make the occasional banter, Elder Price’s top two buttons undone and his tie off. The ginger feels a traitorous blush creep around his face, which is quickly washed over with the dirty feeling of guilt he knows all too well. It’s indecent to be dressed like this, no matter how hot it is, he thinks. He forced himself to look back to Poptarts, who seems to be struggling with the concept of a shovel.
Normally, he would divide all the missionaries to do different work. Elder Cunningham would work at the school, Michaels, Neely and Church on building a library (‘Education is the most important weapon against poverty!’ They’d say brightly whenever they were asked if they liked their job), and Poptarts and Price on the garden. He’d do administration and management regarding the other elders. However, there had been a food shortage recently, so Connor had decided to put together everyone’s efforts into building the garden. There had been many complaints, but it had paid off, for the garden was one third of the way towards completion. Elder Neely was wrong, he thinks smugly to himself.
“Hello..? Earth to Carrot-Cake? Elder Price is making me do work… Can you believe it?! I’m his superior!”
“Elder Thomas, who died and made you second-in-command?” Elder Price smirks, hitting Connor on the shoulder in an overtly obvious way to suggest he should say something.
“I’m going to eat all your S’mores flavored Poptarts if you don’t do some work.” Connor grins innocently as Elder Price’s smirk widens at the thought of his district leader teaming up with him.
“If you do that, and I say this with the most love possible Carrot-cake, I will kill you.”
“That’s against Boba Fett 2:18.” Arnold chimes in, shovel over his shoulder.
Arnold’s become rather— calmer isn’t the correct term for it, certainly not— mellow after the Mission President visit. He’s started keeping his lying in gear, thank Heavenly Father, but more major, he’s seemed to take away the chip on Elder Price’s shoulder, the ones that he’s so convinced he’s holding all alone all the time. More thoughtful, Connor decides. That’s the word. And, to be honest, Kevin seems to know it too, through that little “I’m-in-love-with-you” look that only best friends can give to each other. Connor contemplates for a second if he, James and Poptarts ever share that look. He concluded that he doesn’t have many looks that he shares with others; probably because looks can be misconstrued so easily, and Heavenly Father knows that’s the last thing the district leader needs.
Connor sighs. He knows that Poptarts got any say in it, he wouldn’t do any work involving gardening. Maybe even just asking him to interact with dirt was too much.
“Poptarts, you have five minutes. Go drink some water or something. I’ll cover you.” Connor knows fully well his former companion definitely won’t be back in five minutes, but he’s accepted that that’s just the way Chris is. He makes a list in his head to accomodate for the elders’ slowly failing morale.
Rearrange the work schedule, get less people on the garden
Buy more groceries— yam needed
Are we out of paper for the Book of Arnold?
Funds for mission?
He continues the list until he reaches point 57, and realises he can’t remember point one. He falls asleep trying to remember what the first point is, and lives in a dreamless existence that night— no Hell dreams. To be honest, he can’t tell if that’s a good thing anymore. Five years ago, he would have taken it as a symbol of his— of his condition’s improvement, but he isn’t sure if they’re even really about his syndrome anymore. No, maybe the faintly eerie echo of a dream slipping from his mind is worse, calls for something worse than a Hell Dream. Maybe he’s going insane. Maybe he shouldn’t care about himself so much, a part of his brain retorts. He listens to that part and— what was it that he used to say? Oh, right. Turn it off.
~•~•~
The missionaries scrape silently at their toast, trying to pick off all the mould that’s accumulated after months of bad storage.
“I’m doing something about our schedule.” Connor mutters, abruptly standing up.
“Elder Thomas and Elder Cunningham, you’re maintaining the food supply. Arnold, make sure Poptarts doesn’t spend all our money on sugary items. Elder Neely and Elder Michaels, you’re back onto the library. Elder Church, Elder Price, Elder Davis and I will work on the garden.” He pretends he can’t hear Elder Davis groaning. “This new schedule is non-negotiable and effective immediately.”
He sits back down with an air of self-assurance, one that might have come from Elder Price a long time ago, or maybe his older brother Elijah, but certainly not from Connor.
Poptarts, who nowadays sometimes seems to know Connor more than the district leader knows himself, approaches him after breakfast.
“Carrot-cake, I respect and love you and all that, but don’t you think you’re working a bit too hard on the garden? The food won’t go anywhere. You seem really tired and- and gosh Con, we’re concerned about you; me, James, shit, even Kevin looks worried when he sees you in the morning. Kevin! He worries about no one, Carrot-cake. Take a break, please.” He blurts out, then looks down as if he hadn’t meant to say that much. He’s always had a habit of speaking his emotions too clearly.
Connor frowns, putting his finger on his chin as if he’s thinking. He decides to play it calm.
“I assure you Elder, I’m fine. I understand and acknowledge your concern, but this project is certainly doable-“
“I’m not saying it isn’t doable, I’m saying you’re going to die from lack of sleep!”
“Elder, you don’t understand. We need this garden.” His voice is firm.
“At the price of your sanity? Gosh, you’re stupid sometimes. You overwork yourself and always, always leave others to pick up the mess.”
“That’s kind of funny,” He doesn’t think before he starts speaking again, because of course he doesn’t. “‘My sister died of cancer, so I don’t use phones and I do dumb things like refuse to learn a basic tap dance sequence.’” Connor says the last part in a falsetto, twirling his copper hair and giggling. He can see Elder Thomas’s eyes turning glassy, can see him rub his hand against his shoulder; and that’s when he knows he’s pushed too far.
“Remember Steve? And how you won’t even touch a guy anymore in fear of it seeming gay?”
Connor hesitates.
“My life was perfect, Chris. I was a perfect child. But then, you came along with your dumb phone and emotional backstory and ruined it.”
“You ruined yourself, Connor. You ruined yourself the moment you proclaimed ‘Turn It Off!’. You know that. You know the pain you caused me, the pain you caused all of us. You know, James is terrified of showing emotion now. You messed up, Connor. But you still live in that dumb fantasy of yours, thinking if you work harder everything will resolve itself. It doesn’t.”
“You storm in here, tell me how awful I am and expect me to suddenly be bawling at your feet and quit working? Wow, someone’s parents spoiled them.” They’re yelling now, and the noise is deafening, and they can tell that everyone’s listening, but they both don’t care. Connor’s mouth is saying things he never thought he could say. He isn’t particularly thinking, but instead trying desperately to stop. He knows he’s pushing too far. He knows he’s hurting someone he loves. The thing is, once you turn it on, you can’t really turn it off again.
“At least my parents didn’t send me to conversion therapy because I’m such a failure!”
“Elder, remember that trick we learned? Turning it off? It might suit you some good.” Connor’s voice is icy and accusatory.
“I thought we didn’t do that anymore.” Elder Thomas whispered, broken-hearted. His face instantly melts from the hardened resolve he had been wearing before.
“Maybe we should.” Connor mumbles as Elder Thomas walks out, head hung low and completely silent. Connor knows he’s struck a nerve, but he can’t bring himself to apologise.
Time seems to stop after the fight. They don’t really have any more fights, instead settling for a strange equilibrium. It hangs in the air and puts others on edge, but Connor, for perhaps the first time in his life, can’t find it in himself to care. His words echo around in his head, ‘maybe we should’, ‘maybe we should’, ‘maybe we should’, and, maybe as a result of this, maybe not, he finds himself staring down a ringing phone less than a week later. The sound is bright, a clear F sharp, he thinks to himself. He knows he shouldn’t pick it up, he shouldn’t care. He knows it’s going to be the same kind of thing he’s been hearing the past two weeks, he’ll never have his family back and picking up will only worsen the pain. His parents were the only ones that still called their child after the ‘visit’’, as the elders had resigned to calling it. Maybe that meant they still love him, thinks Connor. But he knows that parents don’t call their children’ failures’ or ‘tempted by Satan’ or ‘weak and pathetic’. But what if this is just a rough patch, and it’s better to keep in contact? What if he’s analysing their messages incorrectly? What if it’s something bad? Oh gosh, oh gosh.
Before he can think the better of it, he finds himself picking up the phone.
“Dad, I am not a failure. I’m still your child, and I love you. It wasn’t even my fault!”
“You were supposed to keep those missionaries in line. But you couldn’t. Elijah could do it, why couldn’t you? Elijah doesn’t have alternate thoughts. So, why do you have to be such a screw-up? Listen for once, gosh, I’ve made an official complaint to the church. You’ll all be formally excommunicated in a few weeks, I think. I’ve sent you a plane ticket home. If you don’t come back, expect a lack of funding.” He states it emotionlessly, factually.
Connor’s silent for a few seconds. “..What? Dad, no… Stop calling me that!” He takes a shaky breath. “Dad, I’m staying, and I don’t care what you think.” (Maybe he cares a little, but who would he be to admit that? That would make his statement a lie, and Mormons don’t lie, not even sparkly pink tap dancing ones that accidentally start something faintly resembling a cult.)
“You never loved us, Connor, did you?”
Connor sucks a breath in, the icy air burning his tongue. He’s not particularly used to being yelled at; he finds he isn’t really sure what to do with his voice or his hands or his now really dry and uncomfortable mouth.
“I did, before you stopped reciprocating it. Kevin loves coffee, and he swears, and he’s still religious.” To be honest, Connor isn’t really sure if the last part is true. “Why can’t I, Mr McKinley?” He doesn’t want to hear another response from the man he once called ‘Father’, queasiness ticking against his stomach. He slams the phone into the holder and unplugs it, walks back to his office and slumps into his chair. He can’t find it within himself to cry, so he decides to do something to put his mind at ease.. After some contemplation, he walks back out and makes a cup of black coffee. It’s disgusting, to put it lightly, and it makes him feel nervous, but the fact it makes him feel anything is enough persuasion to drink more, until he’s exhausted all of Elder Price’s coffee (Which was no easy feat, especially as there was enough coffee for 14 cups) and a faint tug of guilt weighs down his stomach, until it’s replaced with a fresh wave of anxiety. He grins to himself, trying to make himself feel slightly lighter, and waits on the couch. He isn’t sure how long he stays there, but he’s lost in his thoughts when Elder Church comes back carrying some sticks.
“Hey Con, I thought it might be nice to make a campfire- Con?”
Connor’s chest rises and falls quickly, and a faint wheezing sound can be heard whenever he exhales, but he isn’t really panicking. The nervousness from the coffee had worn off hours ago, and now he’s just lost in a maelstrom of alertness and dream. He isn’t thinking, but his body aches from the heat and he wants nothing but to feel, but maybe some calmness could be nice too. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out and he can’t remember any words, only dread and agony.
“Con.. can you hear me? Carrot-cake?”
“James…?”
“Are you okay?”
“C-can’t speak… loud…”
“It’s too loud for you? I’m the only one in the hut.”
“Yes… loud..”
“Uhm… are you okay with being touched?”
Connor feels his chest tighten up at the very thought of anyone touching him. He shakes his head, staring blankly at the wall.
“Ok, breathe. Just.. copy my breath, Carrot-cake.”
He breathes in for four seconds and out for seven, shaky but almost strangely sure, in a way. He almost loses it again and again, but soundlessly, time and time again, he manages to regain himself.
~•~•~
Steve’s grey hoodie hung loosely over his frame, his dark ringlets tightly curled, a stark contrast against his sickly-pale skin. Connor lived a street away from Steve, so it had always been clear they would become friends. No, not just friends, Connor thought. Steve’s his best friend. He was just a month older than Connor, but it meant he was in the grade above. Even though he had friends with those in the year above, he always seemed to make time for a particular ginger who was half a head shorter than him. The two always sat together on the bench behind the playground. Steve would give Connor half his cookie whenever life got the better of him. This wasn’t very often, as Connor was a good Mormon boy, but it was always nice. Steve was smart and knew a lot of words, including the terms ‘homo’ and ‘gay’, which seemed to pop up a lot, especially amidst more colourful language. Maybe that was why he turned so white when he saw taunts being thrown at Connor, ones the redhead didn’t quite understand the meaning of. This made Connor feel special, so every day after school he would excitedly tell Mom about Steve after school. He didn’t ever tell his dad, though. He did so once and his father had responded very strangely.
“Connor, Heavenly Father puts things on Earth to tempt us into sin, to test us. Do you understand?”
His face was stony and grey, and if Connor was slightly afraid, well, he tried not to show it.
“What’s sin?”
“Sins are bad things you do that Heavenly Father doesn’t want you to do. These are things like swearing, yelling and not respecting your teachers.”
Connor nods as if to say he understands, even though he certainly doesn’t.
“Does Steve do any of those things?” His father inquires gently.
Connor wants, with all his little heart, to tell the truth and nothing else. But the words won’t form. Instead, his first lie he’s ever told tumbles out.
“Steve never does that.”
He will never forget his father’s pleased expression as he ruffles his wisty orange hair.
“Good. I see you have chosen the path of the righteous. Don’t let sin tempt you, Connor.”
~•~•~
Connor McKinley is not a very good Mormon now. He may be clueless sometimes, but at least he’s aware of that fact. However, he doesn’t brandish the label or proudly break rules, even though the Church has said, in no unclear terms, to ‘piss off’, as a slightly more rebellious Mormon might put it.
And that brings him to the issue of Elder Price. Elder Price was meant to save them all, to get their baptism numbers above one. Turns out, he’s a childish narcissist who firmly believes the world revolves around him. How heroic, Connor thinks. However, Connor, as much as he hates to admit, may have taken quite a fascination with him. His subconscious mind always seems to put the two together, even though it makes no logical sense. He doesn’t seem to make much sense these days.
“Hey, James. Come here.” He mutters.
“Huh, Con?”
James always seemed to be extra careful around Connor since his- his little accident.
“Does that garden pole look a little skewed?”
“It’s fine. Stop worrying about it. We can redo it later.”
“No James, tell me the truth.” Connor mumbles, biting his lower lip.
“It’s slightly skewed, but it won’t affect the garden whatsoever.”
Connor walks towards the pole.
“C’mere, help me take this out.”
“Connor, this is unnecessary.”
“I don’t care.” He hesitates before saying more. “I’m your district leader, James. This is a command.”
He can hear James sigh as he walks over and helps Connor lift up and pole and put it back in, fully straight this time. Connor pets his creation as if it’s a living human being. They sit in silence for a while, until James finally speaks.
“You don’t always have to live up to your expectations, Carrot-cake.”
“I know.”
Connor has a stupidly happy grin on his face as he walks back to the hut, and can’t for the life of him figure out why.
~•~•~
“Can you even name two musicals?”
“Duh, The Little Mermaid and Mulan?”
“Stage musicals, Kevin. Oh-em gosh.”
“Are they not stage musicals?”
“I think the Little Mermaid is, but you were definitely thinking of the movie, weren’t you?”
Kevin offers a sheepish grin, and starts humming ‘Under the Sea’. Connor can’t help but join in.
Under the sea
Under the sea
Darling it's better
Down where it's wetter
Take it from me
They finish the song in peals of laughter.
“No, but you do really have to listen to some musicals. They are the only good thing about this sad, sad planet.”
“God, I really have rubbed off on you, haven’t I?”
“I like to think I’ve still got a while to go until I pass out next to a bus stop after throwing a tantrum, Kev.”
“Yeah.” Kevin bites his lip and tousles his copper hair. “I wasn’t a very pleasant person back then, was I?”
“No, you weren’t. But I wasn’t either.”
“When I arrived, and you and everyone else did the tap dance sequence, I thought you had gone insane.”
“Turn it off, turn it off like a lightswitch. Just go click! What a cool little Mormon trick!” Connor whispers under his breath.
“What happened to those pink waistcoats anyway? I never saw them after.”
Connor feels a wave of emotion rush to his head. It has the same timbre, the same feeling, to what he felt when he lied to his Dad about Steve. Well, he didn’t necessarily lie. He just didn’t tell the whole truth, as many kids do. In many ways, he’s still a kid, just one that has the weight of all his past mistakes tossed onto his shoulder. Sometimes, it feels like the weight of the world is lighter than the things he’s been through. He isn’t really going to tell anyone that though.
“They’re in the trash. I tossed them after I realised how wrong I was.” He squirms, uncomfortable, and looks at Elder Price to see his reaction.
“Oh. Cool! Hey, when do you think we’ll hear back from the church?” Kevin laughs, clearly sensing something is wrong and anxious to change the subject. Connor exhales and bites his tongue.
“My father contacted them. Apparently we’ll hear back from soon, but mail in Uganda certainly isn’t a very efficient system.” He smiles, melancholic, and walks out without a further word. He sees the slightest hint of Elder Price looking confused, but he all he knows is he has to get out. It’s suffocating and cold to avoid contact for he rest of the day, but he tells himself it’s what’s best.
~•~•~
Connor has always had a small group of friends. He’s always gravitated towards those tiny, but close groups that all liked each other. It’s what he’s used to. He’s known James since he was eleven, the year after he quit ballet. He had light brown hair that darkened as he grew older and large blue eyes, and he was a great friend, but he wasn’t Steve. He had always been confused about James. He’d sometimes walk to school with unexplained bruises on his face and body. He never told Connor why, but the latter would always give his friend some distance on those days. Sometimes, the bruises would get worse and multiply, and James would arrive at school with a blotchy face and sweat stuck to his hair. He’d always explain it away, ‘It was my fault, I fell down the stairs’, or ‘I’m really clumsy and fell off my bike’. Connor forced himself to believe James, even though a part of him wanted to tear his own skin off and scream of injustice until his blood was cold. It wasn’t fair, and he felt terrible about it, but he couldn’t fully piece together the puzzle. James often stayed at his house. He had even more sleepovers with Connor than Steve ever had! Connor liked that a lot, but James always seemed to feel slightly guilty about his. Why feel guilty? Connor loved having him over.
As Connor grew up, the truth slowly came out. He managed to put most of it together, pieces that came in the form of little flashes in the corner of his eye, or one too many fake smiles. James had always been reluctant to open up, but Connor had tried to organise a sleepover every time the Utah Jazz was playing.
When they were nineteen, they both learned they were getting sent to Uganda together. They had cried tears, tears of joy and sorrow at the same time. All their friends were going to France, or Australia, or Canada. But them? They were travelling to a small village in Africa, unsure of themselves and with almost no life skills. Connor had been assigned district leader, and his parents were ecstatic. It felt nice, to be loved, to be able to sweep away the side-glances on the trips to therapy and hide it all under the banner for love. They were a perfectly normal family, thank you very much. James and Connor were excited, a little unready, and ready to leap without looking.
~•~•~
Connor runs his hands around his arm, the one James grabbed so hard, four years earlier, as a confession long overdue came out. It’s another one of those nights, the ones that make you weep and gnash your teeth and vomit until there’s nothing left, not even the energy to turn it off. Even though turning it off made you feel blank, it was a vastly different kind of blank to ‘I feel empty because I’m going to be sent to hell’ blank. Connor sits on the couch, numb. He wants to drift off, he really does. It isn’t like he physically can’t, either. He’s just… scared of what lies in the unknown, in the dreamtime space your brain creates when you’re unconscious. Connor thinks sleep could be great, it could be like temporary death where you don’t have to think or feel or manage 7 teenagers or recieve letters from your family saying you’re such a huge failure. But, with sleep comes nightmares, and it’s been so long since he has had a normal night’s sleep. It’s a punishment and a curse, and it leaves him on nights like this, numb, cold, empty.
He hears heavy breathing coming from the corridor. It gets louder and louder, until Elder Price storms in. His hair is wild and tangled, and he’s laughing to himself, manic grin on his face. Every ten seconds or so, a flitter of emotions fly across his face before he once again settles on.. whatever this is. He sits on the seat across Connor and doesn’t say anything. Connor tries to ignore him, and it’s pretty successful for a few minutes, until Elder Price speaks.
“C..Connor. You- You know the thing about all religions? Yeah, all of them? They lie. They lie and pretend it’s the truth, but the universe doesn’t make rules for us that we just have to follow… that doesn’t make sense.. It d-doesn’t make sense and- and why do they even lie to us? God, Connor…” He laughs loudly, harshly, his voice guttural against the silent stars above them.
“I… I can’t breathe, Con… help..”
Connor runs to him and panics, thinking of what he should do.
“Erm.. oh gosh, oh gosh Kev…” For his mission, he was trained to proselytize and answer questions, not to calm down- not to calm down whatever was happening right now.
“Connor McKinley, Heavenly Father tempts us with sin. Those who are tempted go to Hell. Connor, do you want to go to Hell. Do you want to go to Hell? Are you a good Mormon boy?” Elder Price suddenly puts on his best missionary smile and pretends to be okay, but his voice is still strangled and he struggles to get the words out.
“Connor… I actually smuggled some beer from Mafala’s house. I drank some before lights out. G- Gotswana prescribed me painkillers, you know that? Painkillers make me feel better, Con. So.. so I took some with the alcohol. A lot.. like a huge amount, really. The entire box! God, can you believe that? My.. my parents would be so proud of their amazing Mormon son, huh?”
Specks of spit fly out from his mouth.
“When I was nine, my family took a trip to Orlando, Florida. Shit, I’ve already told Arnold this story, haven’t I? Well, more shit to hold against the great Elder Price’s head, huh? You know, I’m not Elder Price. My words are not him. I’m Kevin, and I lie awake at night debating how painful it would be to die, b-because God…”
“Kevin… Do you want to relay the story again? I really don’t mind.”
“Sure! Sure you don’t mind, the gay Elder McKinley, who taught us to turn it off, why wouldn’t I tell you? It’s not.. It’s not like you forced your unhealthy coping mechanisms on us and fucked me up forever, right? But, I’m not one to judge, if that’s what you want. It all began, roughly… eighteen? Nineteen? Some number of years ago.”
He rattles off a story of betrayal, heartbreak and affliction. His eyes seem to glaze over at the part where he talks about the General’s camp, and snaps back into reality.
“And then, you were all ‘Well, we should follow Arnold instead!’ Do you know how fucking crushed I was Connor? D-do you know? Sometimes I feel as if I’m faking madness… Hamlet? Have you ever read that? It’s about this prince who fakes madness.. but it’s left unclear as to if he’s actually insane. And.. And if I have fallen to madness, what do I do? Wh-where do we go from here, Connor? My parents don’t even talk to me. They hate me, Connor. I’m so alone.. I’m so alone… Connor, I want to end it all. I’ve tried, believe me.”
Connor is shell shocked. He stares at Kevin. The familiar feeling of suffocation comes back to him, and he picks at the grey hoodie he wears, in the exact same colour Steve always wore. He realises an unfortunate truth, that his actions affect others, but can only stare and think ahead.
Kevin seems to make a decision, but Connor can’t tell what it is.
He runs towards the door into the rain.
~•~•~
“You should talk to him.”
James nudges Connor whenever Poptarts comes into the room, and shares a knowing look with the 5’4 boy. Connor’s eyes brush over to Poptarts, staring at him curiously, intensely, as if he’s analysing all his facial details to create a map of them later. And then, he looks away. He always looks away, and he isn’t quite certain why. It’s not even like they’re fighting anymore, or speaking at all, for that matter. They acknowledge each other, two balances on a scale. Connor is calm and peaceful, he hits his personal low and stays there, never going up or down, just.. balanced. And, to be honest, a part of him doesn’t want to change. He knows a good district leader doesn’t prioritise themselves before their district, but they also aren’t supposed to leave their companion, and they all know how well that turned out. It’s not like he can do anything about it either, since Poptarts never wanted to be around him. He falls into an old habit he practiced once: ballet. His steps fall in line and he clears the fog in his head. His hands brush the coffee table and he’s able to think. He isn’t as flexible as when he was ten, but if it freezes the cogs in his brain for a minute as he focuses on third position, that’s enough for him. He goes to a place that’s nowhere, yet everywhere, where he can erase himself and stop thinking about Poptarts, of Kevin’s faltering faith, of his parents and the plane ticket. He slowly, carefully does a plie, his arms moving elegantly by his sides, one, two, three, four.
He keeps ballet a secret. He knows why, but pretends he doesn’t. His sparkly pink elephant in the corner of the room must never be brought up, and he feels like doing ballet won’t make that- that aspect of his personality, to put it lightly, better viewed. Sure, they aren’t Mormons anymore, or won’t be soon, but years of treatment hasn’t really helped him do anything above increase his fear for his condition. If he freezes in fear when he touches anyone, outside of punching them, he doesn’t think he can ever fully accept himself. A good Mormon wouldn’t accept themselves, and he’s still a Mormon, after all. The good part is debatable. He keeps his energy of confidence and kindness, though inside he feels himself split with every day that passes.
A week or so later, he talks to Kevin.
“Elder Price, can I speak with you in my office?”
He can catch the suspicious looks from Poptarts, but stores that memory away to think about later.
“Elder McKinley? What’s happening?”
“Elder, do you remember- uhm… yeah, uh..” He finds himself unable to speak, as if his tongue is literally tied. “Uh, you know last Tuesday morning?”
“The day when Arnold spilt his water at breakfast and the scorpion ran inside the hut?” Kevin shrugs.
“No… uhm.. that early morning? Like… 3am early? I… you came and..”
“What?”
“Uhm… okay. I was on the couch, and that morning, you ran in and started screaming. After I tried to calm you down, you ran into the rain. Do you want to talk about that?”
Kevin frowns, his finger poking into his chin. His eyes grow wide and he starts running his fingers over a spot on his arm.
“I.. yeah. Yeah. I remember that.”
“Okay. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.”
“Please?”
“I’m sorry for anything I might have said, Elder McKinley, but I’m just not comfortable speaking about it.”
Connor sighs and dismisses Kevin, who leans in to the district leader’s desk, a piteous ‘sorry’ look on his face. Too close, actually. Connor feels his body go numb and he stumbles away, sweating. He breaks into a run and realises his face is wet. Gosh, when did he cry? Connor- Connor McKinley does not cry. He doesn’t. He finds himself on his bed, arms around his knees and blue eyes glassy.
“Hey, Carrot-cake, are you okay?”
The silhouette of a blonde 5’4 boy stands at the door.
~•~•~
“Not really.”
“What happened?”
Poptarts makes a move to sit next to Connor, but the ginger signals not to.
“Elder Price freaking happened.”
Poptarts, as if on instinct, inspects Connor for any- for any bruises that- er- that Elder Price could have- affected.
“It’s not that, Chris. He… we were talking. And he… He leaned onto my desk.”
Connor knows that Poptarts understands. His previously confused look was now replaced by one of concern.
“Carrot-cake, what did you do then?”
“I ran here and started crying.”
“Not a very healthy coping strategy.”
“I know. But he was just so close!”
“Connor, look at me.” Connor eyes the smaller boy warily. “Can I hug you?”
Connor nods miserably, and feels his body melt into a gentle hug. He’s hasn’t been hugged since his first session of treatment, back when he was eleven. And, he feels himself hugging back, his tears dripping onto Chris’s shoulder. Gosh, how did he deserve someone like Chris? He feels himself tense up. He isn’t supposed to act like this.
“Con, friends show affection to each other. This is normal. This is what heterosexual boys do when their friend is sad.” Poptarts whispers into his ear. He relaxes.
After they pull away, Connor has the biggest, dumbest grin he’s ever had since he quit ballet.
“Thanks.”
“Are we fighting anymore?”
Connor laughs. “I guess no, not really.”
~•~•~
Connor runs his fingers along his cheek. He wouldn’t let anyone ever know this, but that was where Steve kissed him so many times. The first time was after a ballet class. Connor had been packing up his items, putting his shoes into his little dance bag, when Steve had ran to him, glint in his eye.
“Connor! Mum says you’re coming home with me. We’re having a sleepover!”
Connor smiles mischievously.
“Epic! Let me just pack these up.”
He hums ‘As We Stumble Along’ from The Drowsy Chaperone, a musical Elijah had performed in last year. The two skip home, side by side, holding each others’ sticky, sweaty hands in that innocent way only children can pull off. They get home and start watching a movie.
“Connor, Mom says we can watch Harry Potter, Star Wars or The Hunger Games.”
“Isn’t The Hunger Games like.. really violent? My parents wouldn’t let me watch any of those movies.”
Steve smiles mysteriously.
“Then, we’ll just have to watch them here.”
They watch The Hunger Games. It’s so different to the things Connor watches at home, like VeggieTales or Disney movies. It’s scary sometimes, but Steve always hugs him tightly when someone dies, and if he pretends to be scared so Steve will hug him, well, it’s not as if anyone’s watching. They get up to one of the last scenes, where Katniss, Peter and Cato. Cato is about to kill Peter, when Steve pauses the television.
“This scene’s pretty scary, Connor. Are you sure you want to keep watching?” Connor nods, giving Steve a hug. Steve presses play again. After the movie finishes, Steve and Connor fall asleep right next to each other, Connor in his bright red sleeping bag, and Steve in his light blue one.
“Connor, I really like you.”
“I like you too, Steve.”
Steve smiles mischievously again, and kisses Connor on the cheek. Connor feels his face grow hot, so he laughs at himself and kisses Steve on his cheek too. It’s even now. They quickly pretend to be asleep again, but everyone can see that their grins are too big for them to be sleeping.
~•~•~
“Elder Davis! We’re finishing the Book of Arnold with Prophet Cunningham today.”
A few months ago, Arnold had decided to turn the aptly named Book of Arnold into a real, physical book. Given the distinct lack of printing presses in Kitguli, they had managed to do a rather impressive job. Connor is proud that he’s a part of the book, one of the 6 Apostles who listen to Arnold, along with Poptarts, James, Kevin, Neely, Davis and Naba. He isn’t so proud, however, that his now famous motto, “Turn It Off!”, has become an imperative part of the book. He generally isn’t proud of himself in the past, period. He doesn’t think anyone else really is, either.
“Do you think we can add a romance sub-plot?”
Kevin presses his pencil against his chin, his large brown eyes looking into the distance the way they do when he’s thinking.
“I mean, the Bible doesn’t portray love very well.” Elder Davis adds, smirking.
“Okay, all those who say yes, put your hand- oh.” Arnold sheepishly smiles as his sentence is cut off by everyone in the group putting their hands up.
Connor debates speaking, but he finds the words tumbling out before he gets to think properly.
“With the Book of Arnold preaching tolerance and all that, do you think we should add a same sex story?” He says, looking away from the others to try and avoid their looks of what he assumes to be shock.
Silence.
“Oh- em gosh Connor! That’s an amazing idea!” Arnold is the first to speak, his blue eyes lighting up with this new prospect and all the opportunities it unlocks.
“Yeah, I think that’s a pretty good idea. God knows we need more acceptance here.” Elder Davis remarks, glancing at Kevin for a second too long. Connor doesn’t miss that look. Kevin is the slowest to speak, which Connor decides is fair, given his painfully devout childhood.
“I mean, I might not be Mormon anymore, but I’m still not… quite well dispositioned towards.. homosexuals and otherwise not heterosexual people.” He chooses his words carefully, and Connor feels his first glimpse of hope shatter. It isn’t because of Kevin’s remarks, but instead it’s more that it’s so close to Connor’s own thoughts; the ones that forced him to lose Steve.
“Kevin… Pleaaase?” Arnold pleads, dragging out the ‘a’ in ‘please.’
Kevin frowns. “Can we give it a bit more time? I’m still getting used to this,” he signals to himself, “Atheist thing.”
Connor nods.
“Same, but for me it’s mainly the impending excommunication. I still believe in God. I think” He falters when he notices the others’ shocked faces. He realises he forgot to tell the district. Oops.
“What? We’re getting excommunicated?” Elder Davis’s voice is quiet, as if he’s still processing this new information. Connor nods solemnly.
“I thought you said you sorted things out though?” Arnold glances at the others, a look of melancholy on his face.
“I thought I did, but my d- someone called the mission president and demanded they do something about us. I guess I just.. forgot to tell you guys.” Connor is on the border of lying now. He may have forgotten, but he’s also been putting this off, as it would highlight his personal failure as a leader, friend, and most importantly, son.
“Wh- what? Connor, what? We’re getting ex-communicated? Why didn’t you tell us? Connor, why didn’t you tell us? I thought.. I thought we were close, but apparently not. And now, and now you go and do this! God, Connor. Thanks for the heads-up. I’m sure my parents will be ecstatic to see me again. At least you- you still have your parents, somewhere to go back to. But we don’t.” He signals to the other elders. “So could you please tell us when our lives are about to be ruined?!” He screams the last part. His normally pale face is now pastel pink. He reaches for Connor, but Arnold pulls him back.
“Hey buddy, calm down. We’ll figure something out, okay?” Arnold mumbles to Kevin. The smaller boy rests his head into his companion’s lap. Arnold leans down and whispers something into Kevin’s ear, and Connor can tell they’re talking about him. Elder Davis is white as a sheet, and a muffled sob leaks out of him. Tears suddenly start streaming down his face. That’s when Connor fully takes in what he’s done. Elder Davis never cries. He resolves himself to stay, instead of run as his entire body is aching him to.
“I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise, and at the time, I was still processing it, and-“ Word vomit erupts out of him. “I should have never picked up that phone. We could all be so much better off. But I did, and I messed up, and I know that. I hope you can find it in your heart of hearts to forgive me.” And now he’s crying too, his cheeks shining with tears and his hands trembling. This is easily Connor McKinley’s worst moment, but with the others, it feels a tiny bit better, if that accounts for anything.
“Fuck you McKinley.” Kevin says, his voice falsely calm over a maelstrom of anger.
“Connor didn’t mean it, did he?” Arnold looks down at Kevin and strokes his hair.
“I genuinely, honest to God, forgot.”
“How do you forget something like that?” Elder Davis whispers, gasping for breath.
“Fourteen cups of coffee and a panic attack, I guess.” Connor shrugs, trying to lighten up the mood.
“It was you who drank all my coffee?”
“Yeah.”
He knows he has to tell everyone else, but he puts that thought away and crawls over to hug Elder Davis, tears silently streaming down both of their faces.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t do anything.”
“I know.”
~•~•~
Connor almost forgets about their ex-communication for the next few days, almost. He doesn’t think he really can, but he throws himself into his work, keeps his head down and remains silent. Too quiet, so much it becomes uncharacteristic of him. This made the other elders suspicious, however well-conditioned they are to his dreams and his episodes. No one’s ever seen him be so outwardly quiet and philosophical. He tries his best to stop the noises in his head. He’s stopped ballet again, mainly out of fear that he may be discovered doing a pirouette by Elder Michaels, Arnold, or God forbid Elder Price. He knows that he has to tell the other missionaries about this… this new event. He can’t find the energy within himself to. He will eventually. Just not today. Maybe tomorrow. Arnold, much to his chagrin, is egging him on to tell the others. It appears that he’s told Nabulungi, who sits Connor down one day and starts braiding a flower crown for him.
“What is it with you and lying?”
Connor shrugs nonchalantly, picking at the sparse sprouts of grass around them.
“What do you mean?”
“There it is again, Elder McKinley. You lie a lot.”
“I don’t lie.” Connor laughs, amused at the very prospect. A devout (not really) Mormon (barely) missionary (not anymore) who lies? Gosh, he may be a failure, but he isn’t Arnold. Nabulungi’s face blossoms into the very hint of a smile, where she smiles with her eyes but not her mouth.
“God, Elder McKinley, you are so fucking dumb. You definitely lie.” She says, stretching out the ‘definitely’.
“Okay, maybe I’ve lied once.”
Nabulungi smirks, setting down the flower crown. (With some twigs and grass, there aren’t many flowers with long enough stems in the village.)
“Arnold talks about you. They all do, actually. Those white boys care a lot, especially when it comes to the great Elder McKinley.”
Connor frowns, putting the tip of his finger onto his chin.
“Stop lying, Naba. God, you have the audacity to come here and tell me I’m lying? Hypocrite.” He jokes, pinching Nabulungi on her arm.
“Consider using your brain for once, Elder McKinley. Why else do you think they look at you like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like they’re a push away from shipping you back to Sal Tlay Ka Siti and into a doctor’s office.”
Connor hesitates before speaking.
“They don’t do that.”
“They so do.” Naba pouts, her bottom lip barely sticking out. “They’re worried about you. Is it that hard to consider people might like you because you’re a semi-bearable person and not because you’re their district leader?”
Connor throws his head back and laughs, truly laughs.
“Maybe it is.”
“Stupid boy.” Naba’s laughing too now, as she continues work on the flower crown. “All done.”
She places the flower crown onto Connor’s bright red hair. It sits, slightly unevenly, on a mess of unbrushed curls and waves.
“You’re the king of the fairies now.” Naba states matter-of-factly. Connor stands up and curtsies.
“Thank you for coronating me.”
“Jesus, Elder McKinley. Haven’t you got work to do?”
“I’m meant to be working on the garden.” He looks at James and Kevin in the distance, the latter of whom is lugging a pole with clearly wet paint. “I’d rather not though, and as the district leader, I make the rules. They say I don’t have to.”
“Sure they do, McKinley. Sure they do.”
“You’ll be laughing when I decide you’re excommunicated from the Church of Arnold!”
Naba giggles warmly and starts skipping away, satisfied by this turn of events. Connor is grinning ear-to-ear, and Electricity from Billy Elliot is stuck in his head for the rest of the day.
~•~•~
The flower crown stays on his drawer for a whole three days, but Connor soon comes back to his senses and decides it’s too feminine to be displayed in such a brash manner like that. So, he places it in a box, which he hides under his bed. There, all gone.
~•~•~
He lives, day to day, floating in the ghost of his former self. To say ‘live’ may be a bit much, actually. He’s found himself distant from Poptarts and James, instead opting to work as a lone wolf. Poptarts’ words ring true. always leave others to pick up the mess
He runs away from his problem, then floats from day to day, then runs some more, terrified to face the truth. Ex-communication. Gosh, even that word seemed horrible. Former communication? From who? He knew who. From his mom, dad, Elijah, Lily, Oscar, Ethan, John and Amanda. He was second oldest, leaving his 4 younger siblings in the dark as to why this strange, ginger-haired, bright blue eyed man was claiming to be their brother. That was if he ever even came back, shit. He supposes he can swear now that he won’t even be part of the Church. He snaps back to reality. Kevin sits next to him, awkwardly trying not to touch him. Oh. Yeah. Kevin Price, who probably looks at him weirdly. Kevin’s had the worst of it, of Connor running, both figuratively and literally.
“So.”
“So.”
“Do you wanna talk?”
“About what?”
“The weather’s nice.”
“Really? Weather talk? I thought we were beyond that stage.”
“You’re right. I propose a new topic change: Our excommunication.”
“No.” Kevin flatly denies.
“Fine. I’ll have to talk about the hard stuff then.”
Kevin perks up. “Alcohol?”
“God, sometimes I actually think you’re an alcoholic.” Connor pretends the chill up his spine isn’t there when Kevin shrugs.
“You know,” Connor signals to everything. “You can talk to me. The excommunication, the- uh… me being a freaking weirdo. I know it’s been hard.” He isn’t able to drop the f-word.
“There’s nothing to talk about. You made a mistake. You apologised. You were uncomfortable. You ran away.”
“Y-yes, but- but how did that make you feel?”
“Fucking shitty, that’s what.” He laughs coldly, with no humour.
Connor is persistent.
“And- and what happened that night at 3am? You don’t seem to be awake at those times very often.”
Kevin exhales harshly, and Connor knows he’s hit the jackpot.
“Do you really want to know?”
Connor nods.
“Okay.. I- I still haven’t had anything from my parents. But you know who did?”
Connor points at himself, and Kevin laughs.
“No, no. Not you. Arnold. While you were on the garden, he got a care package from his mom. His dad hates him, but his mom seems mostly okay— anyway. It… It had everything. American candies, Star Wars merchandise… shit. It was more than anything my parents had ever given me. And it was so unfair, God… at least your parents still talk to you. I’d kill for that.”
“You wouldn’t if you heard what they said.”
“I miss them. They’re awful and manipulative but they’re my parents. But… but they don’t care about me.”
Connor motions for the taller boy to continue his story.
“So, you know what I did? I prayed. I prayed, Connor. I picked up that fucking book and studied it so maybe Heavenly Who-ever-the-Hell could get my parents to talk to me, to goddamn acknowledge me. To give me my family back.” His long, golden-brown eyelashes flutter with the hint of tears. “Then, then, Connor, I realised that- that I was fucking stupid to do that. And- and suddenly couldn’t breathe and everything hurt. My head hurt and I- I wanted to die, Connor.”
Connor weakly nods, sick.
“I took some alcohol. Some beer, from Naba’s 19th birthday. And, I used those painkillers Gotswana gave me for- for when I sprained my ankle running from Gen- gen…” A droplet of water runs down his cheek. He stares blankly at his hands. “When he killed uhm…”
Connor doesn’t need further elaboration to understand.
“And I wanted to die, Connor. So I took them. Together. I took them together.” He stumbles over his words, a lump clearly in his throat. “But that didn’t help because that gnawing hole was still there. So, I stumbled downstairs to get some coffee. I found you.”
“Oh Kevin… Kevin, Kevin, Kevin.”
“I’m going to die alone, Connor. I’m going to die unloved and- and I’ll go to Hell.”
“No. No, you won’t.”
That’s bullshit. And where am I even going to go after the mission? I can’t go home, and I highly doubt I want to sleep on the streets.”
Connor knows he shouldn’t promise, shouldn’t hope, but still does.
“You can stay with me.”
“No. How would we even find a house?”
Connor is careful to choose his words.
“We can live in a shitty apartment. I can be a barista who auditions for Broadway, and you can be..”
“A teacher.”
“A teacher. Kevin and Connor, teacher and actor.”
“Make me jealous. Talk to me about your nuclear family.”
“There really isn’t that much to speak about. They hate me. It doesn’t matter. They might even hate me more than yours do you.”
Annoyance flickers across Kevin’s face, lingering just long enough for Connor to see.
“Cool. What did they do, Connor?”
The question is pointed, but veiled behind a smirk.
“Yell at me.”
“So they raised their voice? And that was life-shattering?”
“I suppose so.” Connor decides to play it cool and looks down.
“You know what’s worse than yelling? Silence. Stony, cold silence. Where they’re so ashamed they don’t even want to acknowledge they made a fucked up creation like- like me.”
Connor then does something stupid. He cups Kevin’s cheek and wipes a tear away.
“You- you are not fucked up.” He whispers.
“Then what am I? I don’t have family or friends, and there’s probably not even a plant out there that gives a shit about me.”
“Hush… I sometimes think that too… but we just have to remember that we’ll be okay.”
“Okay my ass.”
Kevin finally breaks and chokes back a sob, cupping his hand over his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut, and gosh, Connor can’t blame him. The shorter boy awkwardly removes his hand from Kevin’s cheek, and misses the feeling almost immediately.
The two sit in silence for a long, long time, and that night, Connor dreams of dusty ballet shoes and old, cheap apartments.
~•~•~
Why does Connor have to be alive, at this moment, right now? Why does he have to be born Mormon and be sent to Uganda? He ponders these questions daily as he continues floating, floating, floating. His eyes are to the ground while his words drift above in a shiny red, Uganda-shaped balloon. He wants to be solidly planted on the ground, but is too scared to do so. Breathing is excruciating, and he finds himself suffocating under the weight of his own pressure day after day. He thinks over Steve, and the flower crown, and feels panic rise, until he calms it again.
He delicately cuts a tomato, whistling to ‘Mozart Sonata in D’. He flies alone now. He’s hit rock bottom and made his bed there. The only issue is, his bed is a cracking glass sheet and what lies below is a pull to madness. Maybe he’s already mad. Regardless, it’s hard to tell.
~•~•~
“You can’t catch me!”
A squeal of laughter erupted into the air as James desperately tried to push Connor’s mom away, who was busy tickling him.
“Are you sure about that, James?”
Six-year old Connor makes grabby hands at his best friend, who is put down with a snort of glee. Connor taps him.
“You’re it.”
James taps him back.
“Never said no take-backs!”
“Uh-uh.”
“Uh-yes!”
The two fall down, their hands spotted with the smallest hints of dirt. Connor takes James’s hand, significantly more dusty than his, and rubs it, hard, still all the grime has come off.
“Connorrrrr, that hurts…” James mock-complains, tugging at the older boy’s bright red hair. “Your hair is weird. It’s like fire, but it doesn’t burn you.”
“Your hair’s weird. It’s the same colour as your hands. Dusty.”
“Yeah, but you’re the only person in the world who has that hair colour! Maybe the only thing ever to have that colour at all!”
“I’m sure there are colours similar to my hair.”
“What’s something you’re really, really looking forward to?” James pats the grass next to him, and Connor sits there. The two are silent for a moment, while they gaze up at the clouds and think about how it’s only them in that small world that takes up their mind.
“My mission. I want to go to Australia and see people ride kangaroos to school!”
“I want to go to France and see my granny and grandpa.”
“Ugh, France is so much cooler than Australia!” Connor laughs, picking at the grass. They hear Connor’s mom call.
“Connor, James! Cake is ready!”
The two boys run inside, as fast as little six year olds can run.
“Look Connor! It’s carrot cake! That looks just like your hair!”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Yes it does. Mrs McKinley, does that look like Connor’s hair?”
The two boys glance at Connor’s mom, who’s stifling back a laugh.
“I suppose it does, yes.”
“Then it’s settled. Your name is Carrot-cake now!”
Carrot-cake. Connor could get used to that.