Twas Brillig

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My post today is one that many of you have already read.  It was written long before Soap Opera Sunday was a global game, and it was written before most of you were reading this blog.  So, I repost.  And you love me anyway.

Thornbirds for Mormons

(Okay, so not at ALL the Thornbirds. But still, a story about religious obligations leaving you unavailable for romance…)

And so I take us back to Mendoza, Argentina now.

My mom and I were giggling together one day. Once I reached a certain age, I did a lot of giggling with my mom. I was about 19 when I realized that I was no longer just her daughter, but her best friend. And we talked like silly girls talk.

I had sworn off romance of any kind at this point, just for my own sanity. My mom knew that very well, and so she was “warning” me about someone–-an American who I “was forbidden to meet”–all very teasingly. She described this young man that she’d gotten to know–-his name was Aaron and he was about a year older than me. He was interested in all of the same things that I was and was talented and very charming. I kinda rolled my eyes, I think, because my mom had not always been right on these things. Still, I tucked his name into a safe place in my brain and thought I’d find a way to meet him.

Probably about a week later, I was sitting in a church meeting where there was a musical number sung by a gorgeous young man. I couldn’t help but stare–-GAWK-–at his gorgeousness. And I don’t think my eyes ever left him. After the meeting, I had to meet him. So much for swearing off romance, right?

Oddly enough, he actually sought me out. He came over to where I was standing and struck up a conversation. When he introduced himself, it turned out that he was this “Aaron” that my mom had already warned me about. I actually caught my mom making faces behind his back while we were talking, and she shook her head and acted like “the world was coming to an end” and so on.

There was just one wee little problem. Aaron was a Mormon Missionary. For those of you who may not know much about mormon missionaries, they are just regular members of the LDS church who, for two years out of their lives, volunteer to leave their homes and schools and jobs and go to wherever the church sends them to teach the Gospel and do a variety of humanitarian services.

They are also strictly forbidden from having any kind of romantic contact with anyone whatsoever during that two year time. That includes even flirting. And so, the most intimate gesture allowed to them is a simple handshake.

Once they are finished with their missions, they go back to “regular life”–dating, working, schooling, etc.

And I actually admired Aaron a lot for what he was doing and I wasn’t interested in ruining it for him or coercing him into breaking any rules, so I just left it alone. But I still found every excuse to run into him. And every time I saw him, I just liked him more and more.

I wasn’t actually going to be in Mendoza for very long anyway. I was on my way to Buenos Aires for a year and a half, also to serve a mission (though I was not yet a missionary at this point). But, in my very over-dramatic way, I felt like fate had brought me and Aaron together, though not “together.” And I hated to leave without saying “goodbye”–even though I had no indication whatsoever that he would be sorry to see me go.

Oddly enough, a few nights before I was about to leave, Aaron called. He wasn’t actually calling me because that too was against the rules. He was calling for my dad. But my dad was out of town, so we chatted for a second. My brother was sending me a CD that, randomly, Aaron had sung back-up on. He wanted me to let him know what I thought of it when it arrived. “I’ll write you from Buenos Aires and let you know.” Pause. “Please do, Brillig.” Pause. AAAAKKKHH!! WE WERE HAVING A MOMENT. And upon realizing it, we scrambled to get off the phone. No “moments” allowed.

And so we did write. Stupid, empty letters that said nothing about feelings or delved anywhere below the most superficial of small talk. But seven months later, his 2-year mission was over and he was back in the United States. And suddenly with that religious mantle lifted, his letters took on a very, VERY different tone. He went from, “the weather was nice in Mendoza today” to “I’m hopelessy, haplessly, and helplessly in love with you.”  And,  “I think about you constantly.” And even,  “I can’t even look at other girls because I’m waiting for you to get home.”

And so this went on for another year. I received piles of love letters from him–including some that would indicate that upon my arrival home, he fully expected to be asking me to marry him. I thought it was just possible that I was in love with him too, or that I would be, or whatever-–though I realized that I didn’t really know him. But what little I did know about him indicated pure perfection.

However, I was a missionary, and I was very devoted to my mission and my focus was not on that boy, or any boy, even though I loved, LOVED receiving his letters.

Also, just a note, there was no email at this time, and it took about a month from the time he sent a letter to the time I received it.

And then, just a couple months or so before I would be coming home, I received a letter that said, “Brillig. I have to tell you that I’m seeing someone. I don’t yet know where it’s going, but I thought it was only fair to be honest. But I want to keep writing you and I hope you’ll keep writing too.” Well, I wrote him back and told him I understood and that of course he should be dating and seeing other people and that I would be home soon and we’d just evaluate things and go from there.  I never got another letter from him.

When I got back to the United States, I had lots of things and people to worry about and while I expected him to call, I wasn’t really waiting by the phone.  But then, about a week after I got home, I ran into an older woman from the neighborhood I’d grown up in. She asked me how Argentina had been and so on. Then she asked me, “did you by any chance know Aaron ____ ?” I probably lit up like a lightbulb and said, “YEAH! I DID know him!”

“He’s marrying my daughter next week.”

Gasp.

Good thing I was a theater major, right? I quickly recovered from my gasping, so I could pretend like that was such great news, and how wonderful, and all that good stuff. But I did say, “do you see Aaron a lot, then?” “Yes,” she answered. “Super. Would you tell him that you told me all of this and give him my warmest congratulations?”

The next morning the phone rang. A very sheepish Aaron was calling to say that he was sorry I’d had to find out that way and so on. He was actually really great about it, and so was I. And really, upon self-examination I learned that he hadn’t broken my heart. It was just a funny way to end things. As it turned out, we’d never kissed (though, believe me, I’d thought A LOT about kissing him!!!), we’d never held hands, we were never even alone together in person. But it had been, up to that point, the longest “relationship” I’d ever had with a guy.

Of course, I couldn’t be happier with the way things turned out, from my point of view.  He was a great guy, but his being otherwise occupied left me available to meet the REAL man of my dreams, who I met just a few months later.

Sadly, I recently found out that Aaron and his wife were divorced after she was caught engaging in multiple affairs. I’ve never talked to him, but from all accounts he was utterly devastated. I hope that somehow he can find peace and happiness–-maybe by now he already has.

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