Book of Mormon
January 10th, 2011
After work I made the trek out to Target in order to get some stockings and comfortable flats. It was something of a miracle, but just as I was about to leave, suddenly a pair of my old favorite wool-lined ballet flats appeared on the shelf. I had gone through that shoe section about two dozens times looking for the right size, without any luck. I was about to settle on a pair of suspiciously not-quite-comfortable flats that probably would have left me with vicious blisters, when the right size appeared out of no where.
I picked up a wide variety of tights to go under my dresses along with a pair of grown-up stockings. All of this in preparation for my trip to the conference. I chose to bring all dresses this year as opposed to pant-suits and so I assumed that I would end up uncomfortably cold and wishing I'd worn tights. I couldn't have predicted it would be in the 80s and absolutely beautiful.
After my shopping trip, I stood out on the corner to catch the bus back into the city. While I stood shivering in the cold, chewing on a string cheese in order to temper my hunger due to a missed dinner, two matching young men passed by with name tags. Mormon missionaries! Apparently I looked like a receptive audience, nibbling on my string cheese in the bitter cold, since the tall, good looking blonde one suddenly reversed directions and trekked back to talk to me.
I told him I'd spoken with missionaries before and I had LDS friends, but that I was neither religious nor had I read the Bible. He gave me his talk, produced my very own copy of the BoM and asked if I'd like someone to come by to talk to me. Girls, of course. There were two very nice girls who would love to talk to me, so I didn't have to invite boys into my home. Yes, he used terms "boys" and "girls" as opposed to women or men. His partner was, in fact, a boy. Pimple-faced and barely out of the school room, he didn't say a single word the entire encounter. He seemed shy and overshadowed by his golden boy companion.
Around this time, a girl whom I would have guessed to be drunk had she not been coming from Target, stumbled up. She immediately broke into the conversation by loudly asking if I was waiting for a bus? Yes. Did I know if one was coming? I assumed so. But did I look at the schedule and know when? No. Apparently that answer was unsatisfactory. Clearly she places too much faith in the bus schedule. Even if a bus were supposed to be showing up, the chance that it would is fairly slim in Somerville. She walked erratically away.
The missionary and I exchanged an amused look, then broke out laughing. He started to talk to me again about what a comfort reading the BoM was for him. Then the girl shouted at us once more. Did we have a light? The missionary smiled and said "No, I'm Mormon. I don't smoke." She shrugged and trudged off into the night towards Cambridge.
We concluded our conversation quickly after that and he gave me the numbers of the "girl" missionaries. He and his companion continued on their way - the younger one energetically jumping over a snowbank, happy to no longer be standing in the bitter cold talking to a stranger about God.
