Authors: Cindi Jones
“Check your stash,” said
Squirrel
.
And I slid my hand up between the studs in the unfinished closet.
I couldn’t believe it.
I thought that I had purged everything before I left.
But no.
Some of it was still there.
T
he positive hopes that I had felt sitting next to Charlene on the way home faded into dismal thoughts of despair.
I secured some stupid job somewhere and managed to make enough combined with secret savings to purchase a ring. I spent a significant amount of time with the local jeweler to select the right stone.
Squirrel had been set to the task of learning about diamonds. Squirrel could be very helpful to me at times in a positive way
on occasion
. I learned about the stones, clarity, defects, and cut. The diamond would be a pretty diamond.
I was disappointed at how much they cost however.
So, I sat with the jeweler and inspected some two dozen stones. He was patient and I finally selected one with very nice features, a brilliant clarity, and no visible defects.
It was very small.
But it was the most that I could afford.
I got together with Charlotte’s elder brother, Dick, to see about reorganizing
our
band.
Dick had brought in another bass player while I was absent.
He was a better player than I and had better equipment. We made an arrangement. I could return if I purchased a new bass and amplifier.
I did. I practiced to raise my proficiency to the new requirements.
We had struggled hard to get the band going before I left but now it had a solid reputation and I started playing gigs on a regular basis.
We played for nearly every formal high school dance in the Ogden area.
It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was better than what I was making with my stupid part time minimum wage job.
It was late fall when I returned so I quickly registered for winter quarter at the university.
I talked to my department head and we set a plan in place for a fast track to finishing my engineering degree.
I could do it in four quarters, in one year.
He saw my potential and agreed that he would work with me to iron out the class conflicts and figure a way for me to get the classes I needed. Some were only taught every other year and would not be available in time.
My scholastic scholarship had expired but tuition and fees back then were under $500 per quarter and I did manage to raise it. Later, due to the intervention of my sweet mother, I secured a music scholarship which paid my tuition for the final year of
my BS degree
.
“Yup, BS,”
Squirrel
told me constantly.
Life was good.
Everything seemed to be falling in to place. I had a great life planned.
I felt confident that I could stop
Squirrel
’s spinning cage and do all the “right things.”
I hadn’t quite managed to shut down the little critter yet, but I had believed the advice of my mission president.
“I would like to ask permission to marry your daughter,” I stated sincerely to Charlene’s father, the Bishop.
“I love her very much and I will do my very best to take care of her.”
“I know that you
love her,
David.
We love you too. You have always held a special place in our home.
I am proud that you wish to marry our daughter
,
Charlene.
I can’t tell you how pleased and happy I am.”
We talked of many things. I felt so comfortable in our discussions. Charlene’s father was a shining example of what I wanted my life to be. He was kind, caring, and inquisitive. He was a fellow who actually listened to what you had to say. He would follow up with questions concerning the topic being considered. He was willing to step outside his own areas of expertise to share your interests. I loved him as much as my own father.
A
s we had our discussion that fall afternoon, that
lingering
touch of guilt could not be suppressed.
I was doing everything I had been told to do.
I had to do this to conquer my demons.
The conflict raged within me. “How can I keep this under control?” I would continually ask myself.
Later that evening, in the family room of Charlene’s home, I presented her with the ring I had chosen and asked her to marry me.
She knew that it was coming but did not know when.
She was shocked that it was so soon after
I returned
home from South America.
She looked at the small stone set in a setting of white gold.
There were no negative vibes concerning the small stature of the rock.
She knew that I had made a great sacrifice.
“Oh David, she said softly, I will be happy to marry you. I love you very much.”
We set a date in February, only four months from the date I came home.
“Ben, I’d like you to be my best man,” I stated clearly to my brother.
I could see his eyes light up.
Ben was the black sheep in the family.
Ben had a
Squirrel
too. But his made him do cool things.
When he was a kid, he and his friend buried a telephone line through the adjoining cemetery from our home down to his friend
’
s house several blocks away. Every night Ben would sneak out of bed and work all night in the cemetery trenching and burying the line. Now how cool is that? He and his buddies figured out how to make wine. Now
,
I was a stuffed shirt about the wine thing. But I admired his
adventure
quest to learn.
I suppose the coolest thing that Ben did was his car deal.
He
found an old junker that ha
d a fairly smooth body.
He and his buddies, got some canned paint, painted it
with a paintbrush
, and sold it for a nice little profit. Yes, house paint.
Ben, I think, was much smarter than me.
But growing up in my shadow was his curse.
I did everything that I was supposed to (or so everyone thought).
“Ben, why can’t you be like your brother?” was a constant theme in our household.
He was out on his own at 19 years of age.
He had found a way to scam the government for welfare (so he told me).
I knew he was too embarrassed to talk about the minimum wage he had.
He lived with friends on the other side of the tracks in a dump.
Clearly, no one would recognize his brilliance with his chosen lifestyle. And sadly for Ben, neither would he for some time to come.
Ben was delighted that I had asked him.
I think that he believed that I hated him for being the black sheep.
It wasn’t true.
I loved his spunk and his tenacity.
Like me, he would never let something go until it was finished.
In the future, that would be his salvation and to me, my down fall.
“Ben, there is one thing though.
Charlene has asked me to ask you to cut your hair.
We are having pictures taken and her family will be spending a lot of money on them.
She would like everything to be perfect.”
“Shoot, I’ll shave my head if I can be your best man!” he exclaimed. He was so proud to
be
asked.
*****
We sat in a very quiet room of the temple.
My mother had was there. My brother and father were absent.
I felt uncomfortable about this.
On such an important day, at such an important event, why did the church exclude loved ones? They were not worthy. “Was I?
”
No, I was not worthy. I had lied to everyone and no one more than myself.
Charlene had accompanied my mother, her parents, her brother and his wife, and me through the endowment process. Charlene did the endowment for herself.
You only perform this contract with God for yourself the first time you attend the temple, and for women, that’s usually when they get married.
The rest of us performed endowments for people who had died.
In some ways, I look back and see how unfair that is. I mean, wha
t if you got in there and look around and suddenly realize that you’ve
been snickered?
I was the one to accept her into the celestial room, the holiest place of all places in the world that I knew of.
After receiving her endowment and the new “garments”, we retreated to this special room where marriages and sealings were performed.
All of us were dressed in similar white clothing.
No one would be more special than any other in this place. We were sealed by someone I did not know and had never met.
He was a volunteer at the temple. His words were simple and very clear. We were wed and sealed to each other for eternity.
After the ceremony, he announced that we could then exchange our wedding bands. Jewelry was not part of the simple ceremony of the temple but the exchange was permitted after its conclusion.
Later, we adjourned to a local restaurant for the wedding breakfast. It is here that unworthy family members join the wedding party. Ben showed up and had not cut his hair. Charlene was livid.
“I can’t have him spoil my
reception
. Please talk to him to have him cut his hair.”
I did.
He said that he would cut it prior to the evening’s reception.
I believe that he did cut it.
But it was not “short enough.”
When he showed at the reception, Charlene was put to tears.
I felt awful. But I really didn’t care that much about Ben’s hair. It was our wedding not
just hers
, and besides, he was my brother! Nevertheless, I imposed Charlene’s will upon him. My mother secured a pair of scissors and a comb.
She hacked his hair off.
And he donned his white tuxedo to join the wedding line. The pictures turned out fine by the way.
But…
in each and every one, Ben is standing there, with a host of happy faces surrounding him, sporting a scowl. I would rather have had him have long hair and be smiling.
I knew that Charlene had a strong will. I had no idea how it would help push me to make decisions, to hide and deceive, and to ultimately move on. I’m not saying that it was she who made it happen. But she was the catalyst in my decision making process which would demand a choice. My choice in confrontation would be to cover my tracks, to do or say anything necessary to cover my secret.
*****
We were both virgins. Yes, it is true. I had done some necking and petting through my dating years. And I sincerely confessed my sins to my bishop before I left on my mission.
Other than that, we both managed to keep ourselves
“
clean and pure
”
.
Five
years of dating, waiting, and courtship were climaxing on this winter evening.
Charlene wanted to stay at the reception long after the guests had left. And with each passing moment, I shook with anticipation.
We drove
thirty
miles
to Salt Lake City for our honeymoon.
Romantic, no? But we were both pragmatic.
I had a gig to play that weekend and it brought in much needed income.
We went to Little America where we had chosen the perfect room. They had let it out to someone else.
Admitting their mistake, they gave us another wedding suite for free. Yes, life was good. I knew that this night, above all nights, would be very special. For tonight, the
Squirrel
would die.
I remember my father climbing the stairs to visit my mother.
I don’t remember why they had separate bedrooms.
I know that Dad laid his mattress on a slab of wood he called his bed. Both Mom and Dad snored. There could be a number of reasons they did not share a bedroom.
I never asked why.
But there apparently was no reason
for Dad
from exercising
his
marital rites. Now it is hard for a young teenager to make sense of all of this
, well, a teenager as naïve as myself
. But I had an inkling. It seemed clear to me that Dad had a libido that would not quit. And unfortunately, Dad’s genes were dominant.
We entered our wedding suite.
It was very nice. I remembered that it was decorated quite nicely.
But color, style, furniture?
Who cares? There was only one thing on my mind.
I recalled our drive to Salt Lake from Ogden. Rafferty’s Baker Street and Al Stewart’s Year of the Cat played as my little Pinto station wagon cruised the highway late at night. Charlene, dressed in a very pretty yellow dress, leaned over the very uncomfortable and non ergonomic handbrake to hang on my shoulder.
Once forbidden affections were now sanctioned. I held and embraced her as best I could with my right hand. And she snuggled up closer.
My heart sank as I started feeling that I wish we could magically change places.