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When Connor McKinley was ten years old he’d bought his first pair of kid gloves. They were soft white faux-leather, with scratchy stitching between the fingers, and they cost him two months’ pocket money. He’d been saving up because he wanted the final comic in his superhero series but he couldn’t explain to his parents why he needed the gloves instead. He didn’t have the words to explain.
They didn’t fit perfectly and they made his hands feel funny at first wearing them all the time. But he knew that wearing the gloves was the right thing to do. And Connor McKinley always wanted to do the right thing.
His parents always did the right thing. That was why their marks were so small.
They used to show him, when he was feeling sad and small and lonely, they used to come up into his room and show him their marks.
“This Connor,” his father would say sitting on the edge of his bed, “is how we know Heavenly Father loves us.”
He was talking about the matching faint green marks that his mom and dad had on the underside of their fingers from when they had first touched - across the inside of their fingertips, a gentle green which coated their middle fingers.
Connor knew the story, but he loved to hear it told. About how his parents had touched for the first time once they knew that they were soulmates. They’d recreate that scene for him at the foot of his bed, his mother would lay out her hand gently, delicately, and his father had placed three of his fingers atop hers, palms towards each other but not touching. Only their three fingers touched, echoing the place where the gentle green was pressed into skin. It was intimate, it was premeditated and it was discreet; unless his mom or dad turned over their palms to anyone else no-one needed to know.
“And he loves you too, sweetheart, don’t forget that,” his mother would say, one hand entwined with his dad’s and the other ruffling Connor’s hair. “Somewhere out there there’s a girl who will soulbond with you. And that is how you’ll know that she’s the person Heavenly Father chose to be your eternal companion.”
Connor needed the gloves. And it wasn’t that he thought that Heavenly Father could possibly be wrong, because even at ten years old Connor knew that that wasn’t true, that that couldn’t be true. But because when Steve Blade smiled at him Connor thought that maybe, if he touched Steve, then it would be obvious that his soulmate wasn’t the sort of person who Connor was supposed to have.
“Oh, darling, don’t worry,” his mom had said when he’d finally got up the courage to explain about the gloves – it wasn’t lying if he didn’t tell them all of it, it was evading, Mrs Manners had taught him the word in school and he was just using it here, it wasn’t lying, “Your soulbond won’t come through until puberty at the earliest. You have plenty of time but well done for being so forward thinking, wanting to focus on the Church.”
“I’m proud of you, son,” his dad had said to him.
It was good and Connor was going to be fine. He was turning it off. If he didn’t ever touch anybody then no one would know exactly why, and then he’d be fixed and once he was fixed he could take the gloves off and find a nice Mormon girl and everything would be fine.
No one ever needed to know.
It was a perfect plan to Connor’s ten year old imagination. And it worked. It worked for so long.
He still smiled at Steve and played with Steve and had strange dreams about Steve. But it didn’t matter because they never ever touched and there wasn’t a single mark on his skin that couldn’t be washed away or bandaged up – he’d never been very good at riding a bike. The little things didn’t matter. Not when he was doing everything that he could to do it better.
It was a little like being a spy or a superhero in disguise. It made it sort of fun, even when Connor felt guilty for reasons he couldn’t quite put into words.
The gloves helped. Even as he grew out of the first pair and had to buy another – the fingertips wore down with extended use and he was a growing boy – they helped. He wore long sleeves when he could and was able to shake hands and practice dancing and be friendly and clap people on the shoulder with no problems because he didn’t need to worry. He didn’t make skin to skin contact with anyone except his parents, he didn’t touch anyone and he didn’t have feelings for men and couldn’t be accidentally soulbond to a man, and everything was fine.
It got slightly more complicated when he was assigned to Uganda as his mission location, because of the heat , not because of the other thing – it was only good sense to look up the laws of the country you were going to be living in for two years. Anyway, it was frowned upon for Elders on their mission to meet their soulmates – It was against ‘Rule 93’ for a serving missionary to attempt to touch or instigate physical contact of any sort with a person or persons considered a possible soulbond, to be precise – so it was easy to introduce a rule of ‘no bare skin contact,’ he wore short sleeves as an allowance for the temperature but he kept his gloves on , despite the heat.
None of the other Elders asked at any rate, not even when Connor mentioned how he occasionally used to have gay thoughts – that he was absolutely turning them off and it was not an issue. They had all been understanding about that. Connor was in charge, and he was calm and he was going to do everything right.
Elder Thomas already had a soulmark. It was on his shoulder. Connor wasn’t sure what colour it was.
“You’ve got a little something on your-” Connor had said when they were alone in the small bedroom that they’d be sharing for the next two years, best to get any awkwardness with being in the proximity of a nearly naked man out the way, and not that there was any awkwardness anyway. It was just being – brotherly – if he’d noticed that Elder Thomas had missed a spot during his shower. So he’d know for next time he showered. Connor hadn’t been looking .
“Ah,” and Elder Thomas had blushed, stammered and reached over to touch the mark and… Oh.
“It’s a-” Elder Thomas started, but Connor was tripping over himself to take back what he had said, realizing only a moment too late that this could start a conversation that he did not want to have.
“-No, no, don’t worry. It’s none of my business, you don’t have to tell-”
“Soulmark,” Elder Thomas continued, and he had been smiling, as though this was a story that he wanted to share, as though it made him happy. “Just before I left for my mission.”
Connor hadn’t responded, and had instead turned away and out the door to shout - “Lights out Elders!” - before flicking the dubious looking switch to turn the lights off and to plunge them all into darkness.
Elder Thomas was already under his regulation sheets by the time that Connor had stepped back into the room. He wasn’t able to see the mark.
They didn’t talk about it.
Connor had felt ridiculous sleeping wearing his gloves, but he’d needed something that night.
He still saw Elder Thomas’s soulmark sometimes after that, always after lights out. And it didn’t make him feel awkward. He knew he could take his gloves off around Elder Thomas, after all.
He never did.
It just didn’t feel right.
There were more soulmarks on display in Kitguli than there had been at home. At home, back in America, at school, soulmarks had been small, subtle. Personal, they were a tie between you, one other person, and Heavenly Father.
Here they were bold. Smears of kisses on faces or bright colours marking out warm, comforting embraces. They weren’t supposed to judge local practices, but Connor couldn’t help but think about how delicate and discreet his own parents soulmarks were, could only be seen if you knew what colour to look for and where to look.
The cuffs of his gloves itched sometimes. He still didn’t take them off.
Not everyone had a soulmark of course, and most people’s marks were subtle, designed to be hidden under cuffs or watch-straps or the curl of a hand, it wasn’t unusual not to see soulmarks. But they were there, everyone knew. The official statistics were that roughly 67% of the general American population over the course of their lifetimes met their soulmates and developed a soulmark according to the census, but the Church had conducted their own studies and accordingly the figures were higher for Latter Day Saints. At least 80% of Mormons were thought to develop a soulmark in their lifetimes. There shouldn’t have been a stigma around the presence or absence of a soulbond, because Heavenly Father loved everyone and all love was sacred, but soulmates went beyond that. The soulmark was tangible proof of the celestial marriage and eternal companion in this life, as well as the next.
Soulmates, soulbonds and soulmarks were written into scripture. Connor had pored over the chapters and verses which stressed the importance of the colours when he was younger, and they were the pages which his worn copy of the book fell to naturally. The soulmark was divinely ordained eternal love, chosen and cultivated by Heavenly Father and affirmed through faith. It was important, your soulbond - it was meaningful, and Connor’s non-LDS friends simply hadn’t understood that, hadn’t understood why the colour marks were so important. What they were the earthly manifestation of. Why it mattered who your soulmate was. But Connor understood.
They were starting to be less important in society, people focusing on looks or feelings or rejecting the notion of a single soulmate ordained by an irrevocable soulmark. But for Connor, for the Church, for his parents, for his faith there was something divinely ordained about the seemingly random colours that could pattern across skin and picked out the person that Heavenly Father knew was perfect for you. Soulbonds were important and Connor didn’t want to accidentally bond with anyone while he was still confused before he’d really managed to crush that box. That would be terrible. Not that Heavenly Father could make a mistake with a soulbond but… he just wanted to be sure.
So he shook hands with Elder Price and Elder Cunningham when they arrived, even as his heart leapt a little in his in his chest and his palms had sweated a little behind his gloves – his parents had bought him a new pair before his mission, as a gift for being picked to be a District Leader, they knew exactly why he wore them now and they were so proud of him for doing the right thing, for wanting to follow Heavenly Father and for working so hard, ‘just think of the day that you’ll be able to take them off, son’ – and everything had been fine. It didn’t matter that he held Elder Price’s hand to lead him and Elder Cunningham to their room, because there wasn’t a mark, and because there wasn’t a mark and there couldn’t be a mark then it didn’t mean anything.
Elder Price didn’t have a soulmark that Connor could see, and he shouldn’t have been looking, but it was just a precursory glimpse before looking away. Nothing that could be held against him. Not that he wanted anything held against him. Elder Cunningham didn’t have one either, Connor could be sure, and didn’t Elder Cunningham know just how inappropriate it was to strip down to your regulation underwear with your District Leader in the room, excepting of course under the circumstances that your District Leader was also your Mission Companion. Hadn’t they been listening to what he had told them about turning it off? At least the other Elders were all supportive. He had been open and honest about everything, and in return they helped and supported him. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. And no one touched bare skin. Elder Price and Elder Cunningham would have to be briefed in the District 9 rules and informal regulations, Connor thought. They clearly had things to learn.
Later, Connor would know that it was unfair to associate the failure of the District with the arrival of Elder Price and Elder Cunningham but at the time it was so easy to associate the two. They were supposed to make everything better. But they had arrived and then the zone leader had called and everything had just escalated.
But Elder Price had stormed dramatically into the building, visibly stressed and upset. And it was Connor’s job to look after the Elders in his care, but he also had to provide a written progress report on baptisms for a District that he was failing and Elder Price was covered in blood .
He just wasn’t prepared to deal with this – all of this at once, and everyone was looking to him, except Elder Price who was freaking out.
“Elder Price, you cannot lose your cool on me now! We’re about to get evaluated by the Mission President!” And Connor knew that he was mixing up his problems here, but if he could just get Elder Price to settle down a little and to focus then he could approach this in a calm and orderly manner. It would all be fine.
And maybe he was getting through to Elder Price, because Elder Price had turned towards him looking relieved.
“The Mission President…” Elder Price said, with his hands clutching tight to Connor’s shoulders, and that was fine because they were covered and Connor knew all about being grounded. His presence was supposed to be a supportive one, so if Elder Price wanted to take that support literally, he wasn’t going to complain.
He opened his mouth to speak, he wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say but something would be better than nothing when suddenly Elder Price moved, too quickly for Connor to fully register.
“That’s it!” He heard the words just as he felt the light impact of Elder Price’s hands against his cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time that someone had touched him, when he’d been able to feel skin and warmth and human contact and he sagged forward, despite himself, even as Elder Price turned away, hands gesturing wildly.
“I need to speak to the Mission President and get transferred!”
But as soon as Elder Price stopped touching him – touching him - Connor could see the pink stain on his hands and that didn’t look like blood. He hoped it was blood. He had hoped that Elder Price had grabbed at his face while coated with infected blood because that would have been better than the alternative.
Elder Price didn’t look down at his hands all the while when Connor and Elder Cunningham attempted to talk him out of leaving, of doing something rash, something that he would regret. He seemed to look though Connor. He didn’t seem to regret doing that.
And then Elder Price was gone and Elder Cunningham had followed suit and his District was falling to pieces around him and none of the other Elders could keep eye contact with Connor. He could feel his face burning, and he knew that he was blushing. But he also knew with certainty that a blush wasn’t the only thing painting his cheeks pink and when he finally looked in the grimy mirror hanging in a bathroom for ten teenage boys he could see the tell-tale handprints for himself.
Connor took off his gloves.
In the end they hadn’t done him any good.
He allowed himself a minute, five minutes, to stare at his aghast reflection and internally bemoan ‘why, why him, he’d always worked so hard to be what Heavenly Father wanted.’ He could not afford to let those feelings out. Anyone could hear him. He could see the start of tears welling up in his eyes, as though he was watching someone else and he could see those terrible, ruddy, prominent handprints in the murky glass - it was crude, it was like ownership, it was nothing like the delicate marks of his parents but something loud, and brash and it looked like it should have hurt, it had all happened so quickly and he did hurt, but not his face. His soul. Despite all of that he had only allowed himself those five minutes because it had to wait.
Everything was going wrong. He could mope later, he could work out what he’s going to tell his parents later, he could face the Mission President later and explain why he broke the rules – broke all of the rules, on his mission, with a man , with a fellow missionary - but for now he had to turn everything off and get back to his job, had got to try and be a good District Leader and solve this somehow, and he had to find the two missing Elders and just had try to get things back together.
At least it wasn’t hard to find Elder Price, alive and well and obviously shaking off a hell dream with bright pink hands. Elder Price could be somewhat discreet about his soulmark, Connor thought a little bitterly, lots of people have their soulmark on their hands. It was the normal place.
Most people don’t touch someone face the first time they made skin contact. It just wasn’t done. Even children knew that.
But they still had to tell the Mission President something and Elder Cunningham was still missing.
That is, until he wasn’t. And he came with news of the villagers finally being interested in the church. Connor might have actually been able to pull this off. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing was and Elder Cunningham was bringing them – was bringing him, the prospect of hope.
“Give Elder Cunningham a break!” he said when Elder Davis just had to bring up companions working in pairs. He knew this, they all knew this. It hadn’t been working that way for three months and he was desperate, and tired, and something was finally going in the right direction. “If it’s working better this way, then, just leave Elder Price out of it.”
What’s one more rule to be broken anyway? If they could actually get some baptisms then he could redeem one thing about this mission, and he didn’t even want to look at Elder Price. Elder Price who didn’t seem to have realised what he’d done, all the good work that he’d selfishly ruined by touching Connor’s face. How dare he? Why couldn’t he just follow the rules and be a good Mormon, all anyone had said about Elder Price was that he was a good Mormon.
He shouldn’t have shoved Elder Price, that wasn’t very nice of him. He knew that, and on any other day he would apologise. On any other day he wouldn’t have done it at all. But Elder Price had touched him first. He’d broken the rules first, and it was childish but it was true. Connor shouldn’t have to deal with any of this.
But he did. And it was easier than he thought it would be. At least he doesn’t have to look at it -at them- and there was a part of him that rationalised that if he couldn’t see it then it simply couldn’t be there. He hadn’t looked at his face since he’d stared himself down in the mirror. He could shave without looking. He could carry on as normal, or at least as close to normal as it ever got in Uganda.
He couldn’t help but look at the tan lines around his wrists though. There was no point in wearing the gloves to keep on pretending. They had only been on their mission for three months, three months’ worth of African sun shouldn’t have been enough to leave such a noticeable mark. He’d made sure to use sunscreen twice a day. But there it was, a crisp straight line around both of his wrists. It was like he was still wearing his gloves. It was glaringly obvious. Hopefully it would even out.
Elder Cunningham had a soulmark now, on both hands. So did Nabulungi, on both her shoulders. It’s the same colour. A beautiful, soft, blue. It went against regulations. And Connor brushed it aside.
It doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter. He had more important things to deal with here.
Elder Cunningham had brought District 9 twenty baptisms, they were the most successful district in all of Africa.
That was what mattered here.
And then. It happened.
That was the thing about hope. It was deceptive, making you think that things could only get better when in fact they could only get worse.
The Mission President hadn’t commented on his face at first, too polite to mention it – it was too pink and even and perfect to be a bruise or a slap, two matching pink hands curled around Connor’s cheeks for eternity and they had the quality that could only be a soulmark – but he hadn’t mentioned it. Even though Connor knew that he noticed. His face had blanched. It was hard not to notice. The other Elders had been throwing themselves into their work and away from his gaze but he knew that they were talking about it behind his back.
He should have reported it. He could easily have got Elder Price his longed for transfer, he should have done, but there hadn’t been time. Everything was happening so fast.
No one would have blamed him, everyone knew how hard he had been trying. The amount of effort that he had been putting in to be right, to be straight and to do everything Heavenly Father wanted. No, he probably wouldn’t have been blamed. Elder Price would have been blamed though, probably. It had all just happened so fast.
The world seemed so much safer when he was wearing gloves.
He’d almost put them on automatically before meeting the Mission President before remembering that he didn’t have to. The damage had been done. And everyone could see it.
Just as everyone had seen the pageant, as the Mission President had seen everything.
“We are so sorry Mission President, we had no idea-” Connor said, desperate. How had everything fallen apart so quickly? It had all been Elder Price’s fault. They could have been a small failing backwater District in Northern Uganda, with nothing to point them out to anyone and Connor could have come back with exactly the same amount of faith in the Church, and everything would have continued to have been turned off and he’d have been able to take off the gloves when he chose and everything would have been on track.
He couldn’t understand how Heavenly Father might have wanted this.
“You keep your mouth shut!” the Mission President had said, eyes flicking from the shameful marks on Connor’s face to Elder Price’s twitching hands, flashes of pink catching in the afternoon sun, “You’re in enough trouble as it is!”
And then that was it. They were packing their bags and going home. He was going to have to explain to his parents that he’d failed as a missionary, and that he’d failed to turn it off, that all his work had been for nothing.
Connor had collected the personal effects in the main living space alone. There hadn’t been much, anyway. So much of it was issued by the Missionary Training Centre - surely they would send someone to collect whatever was left. No one commented on the absence of Elder Cunningham and Elder Price, it hadn’t seemed worth it.
They packed up their paired rooms in tense silence. None of them had many belongings, most items regulation and basic. Elder Thomas had stood, awkwardly, watching while Connor shoved away his suitcase without the elegance or grace that he had come to expect.
He hadn’t spoken when he handed Connor his gloves - they had been abandoned carelessly on the single desk in the room after it happened, and Connor hadn’t wanted to take them. But he had anyway. It was only polite.
Connor licked his lips, attempting to wet his throat enough to give thanks that he didn’t mean, but Elder Thomas shook him off. Instead he did something that he’d never done before and Connor had reached out to give Elder Thomas’ forearm a brief squeeze in gratitude.
Elder Thomas smiled, and something loosened in Connor’s stomach. It didn’t unravel the anxiety, or the pain, or the stress, or resolve the situation in any palpable way, but it had helped.
It hadn’t taken them very long to pack away their lives here and be ready to leave.
In the end he‘d put the gloves on again, even though it was utterly pointless. The minute he landed his parents were going to see his face and know that it was over. That there had never been any point in pretending. That turning it off hadn’t worked and that Connor McKinley was a liar and that he was gay. For an idle moment he supposed that he could tell them that it was a Ugandan girl, one of the villagers – but that wasn’t fair, he couldn’t lie , and anyway, they’d expect him to marry her and that wasn’t fair either. Nothing about this situation was fair.
The gloves were routine, and familiar and a gift from his parents and despite everything they were comforting. He couldn’t see the tan lines with them on and could pretend, just for a moment, that his face was soulbond free.
He didn’t know what he walked into, leading the other Elders to the bus stop, seeing Elder Price and Elder Cunningham surrounded by the villagers, and frankly, at this point Connor didn’t care. Congratulations to Elder Price if he could manage to do something incredible despite everything. Connor quite honestly didn’t care anymore, he’d put all his focus on the mission and that had failed. They’d been shut down, it was over.
But, but then Kevin had reached out and Connor could see his pink palms which matched the marks on his own face and he’d said that he could still be a Latter Day Saint even if he broke the rules, that he should let his feelings out. Arnold Cunningham and Nabulungi were smiling at each other and he could see both of their soulmarks and they weren’t discreet at all – it’s where he held her to baptize her, it was hot and overwhelming and they were happy and his face was flushing but he knew that everyone could see the handprints emblazoned on his face.
“Screw the church,” Connor said, like a cool breeze.
There was a part of him that couldn’t believe he was the one who said those words, but the larger part of him could hardly believe that any of this had happened at all, it was so not what he was expecting, and no one could have expected what he said next.
“Why don’t we stay?”
And they were staying. Just like that, as though it was easy. As though this choice that they’ve all decided to make meant nothing. As though just like that, through the power of happiness that the world had been fixed. Connor didn’t even know if he was happy. But there was a sense of freedom. Everything had changed, so quickly.
He didn’t know what the plan was. There didn’t appear to be one.
And it didn’t appear to be his responsibility to formulate one.
They ended up back at the Mission Hut, because there was nowhere else for them to go. And Connor ended up in front of the mirror again.
This time without Elder Thomas standing, worried outside the door, too scared to say anything or to reach out. Too scared to acknowledge what had happened and too unsure to offer comfort.
No, this time he could hear the other Elders - if they were even Elders anymore - in the living quarters, could hear their laughter and the chatter of the villagers. It was better.
He stood there alone, with his eyes closed, just touching the skin. He couldn’t feel anything different. It was just skin, just Connor’s face as it had always been. Rounded cheeks, relatively smooth, entirely his own. Except, not anymore.
He opened his eyes. Both hands at his own face. Fingers pressed into the two large bright pink stains.
Elder Price must have touched both cheeks at exactly the same time for that to have happened. Two perfect palm prints.
“This is okay,” he said, and if he said it enough, maybe the words would start to sink in. This was his reality now, and it was different to everything he had ever expected. He would have to tell his parents. Perhaps he would send them the gloves, they would understand what that meant. At least in part. No, he would have to send them a note as well. Best to prepare them well before his return, it would be too much for them to understand all at once, especially if they were all going to stay out here and continue their mission even without the support of the Church.
It felt strange to do anything without the support of the Church.
But here they were.
He and Elder Price- Kevin, now it has to just be Kevin, hadn’t even spoken about the soulmarks. They hadn’t had time. He doesn’t even know if Kevin realised the magnitude of what just happened, although he must have done.
Connor had seen him looking down at his hands after he reached out to Connor and implored him to stay . He must have realised then.
Would Connor have stayed if he didn’t have Kevin’s hands imprinted on his face? He didn’t know. But he had stayed. That was what mattered. They had all stayed. Together.
They hadn’t even had a private conversation once, always surrounded by Elders or villagers or someone. Kevin had such a personality that maybe Connor was ridiculous to think that he could best it; Kevin was brave and smart and stubborn and self-absorbed and Heavenly Father had apparently chosen that man to be Connor’s soulmate, his eternal companion.
Heavenly Father knew best. He didn’t make mistakes.
It was a lot to deal with.
But maybe it wasn’t too much. Perhaps Heavenly Father only gave people exactly what He knew they could deal with. Sadaka had a kiss in purple smeared across her face but never had anyone holding her hand, his mom and dad had matching green fingerprints, and he had Kevin Price’s palms seared onto his cheeks. He had always liked the colour pink.
It never felt wrong. Even when it first happened, when it was terrifying and too much and not what he’d wanted from his life, it had never felt wrong. And maybe, hopefully, soon, it would start to feel right.