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I climbed down from the top bunk, made my way to the bathroom and called out a tentative, “How you doing?” Under the stall door I could see his feet curling and twitching in what looked like agonizing pain. Late one night, I woke up to three realizations: The hall light was shining directly on my face (annoying) Elder Ellsworth was not in the room (against the rules) and something awful was happening in the bathroom. Our breakthrough was the worst (and loudest) case of food poisoning I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing. I resented him for how little we had in common, and he resented me, rightly, for resenting him. I rigidly followed every rule he struggled to remember what the rules were. I was loud, emotive and social he was quiet, reserved and home schooled. Usually the more experienced missionary is the senior companion and the other is the junior, but your first companion, the one you meet on Day 1 at the Missionary Training Center, the school where you learn your language, is just as new and afraid as you are.Įlder Ellsworth and I spent every minute of every day and night within obligatory arms’ reach of each other for the first 10 weeks of our missions while we slowly learned Italian and quickly learned to hate each other. Mormon missionaries are assigned to companions they have to stay with all day, every day. First I needed to figure out what was bothering him. But I had never seen him so down he looked call-a-hotline sad, broken.
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My plan was to tell him that I was gay, because I thought he would want to know and because I needed him to know. We got a table for two in the student center food court. It would have been easier to just call each other “Elder,” but I was now Ellis and he was Justin. We hugged, stuttering over the first names we hadn’t been allowed to use and laughing at having to “introduce” ourselves after knowing each other for two years. We had just finished two years of missionary service in northern Italy for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints - the Mormons - and were about to start our first semester at Brigham Young University. It was weird to see him not wearing his white shirt, tie and black name tag, but it was just as weird for me not to be wearing mine. Except for the pain in his eyes, he looked good: tan and wiry with wild blue eyes and an all-in smile.