On Connections

The cold apple juice in my cup stung my teeth as it passed down my throat. I rested my chin on my flattened hands; my graham cracker afterschool snack stared back.

“Mom,” I mumbled through clenched teeth. “I don’t have any friends at school. I want to go back to Utah. The other kids in my class liked me there.”

She sighed. “Honey, we can’t go back. Fifth grade is a tough thing, but I know you will make friends.”

“How though, Mom?” I shot my head up, and my spine paralleled the chair’s back. “No one talks to me, and everyone lives so far away.”

“Well, Eric. What would you like me to do about it? Have you looked around your classroom to see if there are any other kids sitting alone? Have you tried being their friend?”

“No.” I plopped my head back onto my hands and finished my graham crackers, feeding them into my mouth like a wood chipper.

* * *

Once again, I shuffled into the door coming home from the bus stop, I followed the same routine. I said hello to my mom, ate a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich, and then moped downstairs to my room. Our unfinished basement seemed dismal with different colored blankets hanging from the ceiling beams, acting as walls. I dragged myself to my corner of the basement and flung aside the bright Mexican blanket used for my door. The cement floor was cold when I took of my shoes, as usual.

The beam of light spilling through the crack of cardboard, which covered the small window, overpowered the artificial light. I grabbed a green tote to stand on to block it out with an old sheet. Then I methodically climbed into bed to take a nap. It was 4:30 in the afternoon; I wasn’t tired.

The low hum of the dryer stopped, and within a few minutes my mom crept down the stairs avoiding the especially creaky sides of certain steps. She rotated the laundry and began to fold it. The smell of Downy permeated my blanket-thin walls. I still wasn’t tired.

A moment later, someone burst down the stairs.

“Mom, have you washed my Less Than Jake shirt by chance? I can’t find it.” It was my older brother, Cory.

“Yes, I folded it this morning. It should be on your bed,” my mom replied.

“Thanks.” I could hear him begin to walk towards his corner of the basement.

“Wait, Cory. Come here, I want to talk to you for a minute about something.”

My ears perked up a little. She spoke softer. I listened harder. I gently separated a crack in the blanket wall where a safety-pin was missing. I saw my brother sitting on the laundry table, arms folded, and my mom leaned against the dryer, arms folded.

“But, Mom, he is my little brother.”

“Cory, I know. It has been three years since we moved here from Utah, and you have already made lots of friends in church and in school. There aren’t any kids his age in our ward, and this is his first year in high school.”

“Well, what about Bryce and Shiloh? They are his age and in our ward.”

“They live quite a ways away. Bryce has been nice, but doesn’t invite him to a lot of things. Shiloh goes to North Carroll. And you know that he barely made any friends at West Middle. All I am asking is that you invite him with you a couple of times. Not every time, but just invite him.”

Cory continued to stare at an unmatched sock in the corner of an otherwise empty basket.

“Fine.”

“Thank you. I know it will mean a lot to him.” They both loaded their arms with clothes and walked upstairs.

I sighed. Of course my mom would want me to tag along with my older brother rather than take a three hour nap every day after school. As I tumbled back onto my bed and pulled the comforter over my head, I tried to list off the friends I acquired the past three years. Even now, I can’t remember the names of the four fingers I held up.

* * *

A few months later, I arrived home to an empty house. Once again I was drawn to the computer. My addiction to pornography started with a few short glances at “mistyped” web sites in the search engines. Somehow I thought that if it was accidental, it was ok.

Too often I found myself alone with a computer. Eventually, I began to look for those opportunities to be alone. I had nowhere else to go. Not being invited to parties didn’t bother me so much anymore. My addiction became the constant in my life. It always offered comfort; although, it was only temporary. Something I could not find elsewhere.

* * *

I started dating Catherine the summer before our senior year of high school. For the first time I could remember, I found someone who wanted to know me because I was me—not someone’s younger brother.

One Friday morning when I picked her up from her house, she came outside crying. Even with the windows down, silence absorbed the car. I rested my right hand on her thigh removing it only to shift.

I parked the car in the lot. “Catherine, what happened?”

“Eric, I would rather live with my physically abusive father, than deal with the crap that comes out of my mom’s mouth.”

I leaned to her side of the car and held her; it’s all I knew how to do. We were late to homeroom that morning.

She confided in me, something that was new for me. She became my best friend. The first friend I had after seven years of living in Maryland. I loved her. My only other connection was to my addiction. Despite its consistency, I tried to turn my back to it and look towards Catherine for that connecting feeling. I found it; however, by this point, my addiction convinced me that the only relationship I needed was a physical connection.

My addiction had a new face, but this time I wasn’t the only one slowly deteriorating because of it. Catherine and I broke up two weeks before graduation.

* * *

I met Rosemary while Elder Walsh and I tracked down part-member families. Her husband, Brian, was inactive and wanted to remain that way. But Rosemary needed more for her and their eighteen-month-old daughter, Lily.

On a Tuesday night Rosemary had to cancel an appointment because Lily was sick. Elder Walsh and I drove to the store and bought a can of Dora the Explorer chicken noodle soup and a matching balloon. When we knocked on her door to give the get-well package to Lily, Rosemary flustered us with “thank-yous.” Three months later she asked me to baptize her and offer the baby blessing for Lily in sacrament meeting. She wrote me a thank-you note when I left Snohomish. I put it in my journal, and I called her from Monroe on her birthday.

Less than a year later, I sat in President Showalter’s office the night before my plane home. The carpet was thick, and so were his socks. I didn’t hear him come into the room until the door closed behind him.

At the end of the short exit interview, he leaned back into his chair. “Elder Stephens, I know that I have only been here for two months, but I am thankful that you served here for two years. And I want you to be certain you understand something. Whatever Satan tempted you with before your mission, he is going to try harder to tempt you with the same thing when you get home. Be careful.”

I flew home the next morning. I counted the number of friends who wrote me while I lived in Washington. I held up the same four fingers, but this time they had names I remembered. All of them had stopped writing after thirteen months. President Showalter assured me that only one thing would be waiting for me when I got home. It did.

I forgot about Rosemary. I only think about her when I reflect on my mission; I rarely do.

* * *

I sat on the chair against the support beam in the Writing Center with a book faced down on my lap. I watched the students, tutors, and the other assistants belong. I watched them make plans, plans that wouldn’t fall through.

Ivor and Chandler were standing at the desk.

“Hey, Eric. Where are you living next semester?”

“I dunno, probably stay at Harris Hall. I’m not on track, so I’m still not sure.”

Ivor jumped in, “We know a guy that has a duplex called the Abode House. Dan, Chandler, and I are going to live there. We need two more guys, wanna live with us? We are going to go take a look at it right now.”

“It’s called the ‘Abode House’? Well, that is sort of redundant,” I replied.

“We are hoping that it comes with some chair seats. That would be a-mazing.”

I couldn’t stop laughing. Chan stretched his head back and covered his mouth as he chuckled. Ivor arched his back, and then rested his head on the desk making no attempt to cover his laugh.

“Yeah, I think it would be great to live in an abode house.”

“Sweet, come check it out with us.”

Dan joined us on the walk over. Nathan sold his contract at Somerset. We all signed the contract the next week.

One evening when I walked into our room, Nathan was still asleep. I saw his depression wearing on him. I quietly shuffled around the room trying not to wake him up. It didn’t work. He grumbled out of bed and looked at me, “I hate you.”

“And I love you buddy. Did you go to class today?” I asked.

He mumbled, “No.”

“Do you want me to wake you up in the mornings? I totally can if you want me to.”

“Yes. But if you do, I’ll hate you, and I’ll want to kill you.”

“OK! That sounds like a plan.”

That night he played Final Fantasy X until three in the morning. Five hours later, I woke up and showered. When I came back into the room, I connected my iPod to my speakers and played Zombie by the Cranberries. He woke up, not trying to hide his cursing. The next morning I played Alanis Morissette.

Whether we were watching The Ace of Cakes at three in the morning, dancing techno style to the Alias opening credits, eating hotdogs at Sister Morgan’s, or making unnecessary cups of hot cocoa in the summer, I knew I had the strength to push away my addiction. However, I could not push for very long. I finally made another connection, but again my addiction seemed to severe its growth. Four months after we moved in, I was disfellowshippped, and I moved out.

* * *

Last April I sat in a small windowless office with my stake president in Maryland.

“How are things going, Eric?”

I remained silent for a few moments. “President Johnson, I hate this. I try, and try, and try; but it is too big. I don’t know what to do.”

He breathed in slowly, and exhaled even slower. “Eric. Your addiction to pornography is the old you. Do you want to have this addiction anymore?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good. This is the new you. The old you struggled with your addiction; the new you can control it. You can, and will, control it because it is not as big as you think.”

I trusted what he said, and I left his office with relief. What was once enticing became revolting. I no longer felt controlled, for once I felt in control. The addiction remained constant, but constantly in check.

* * *

I sat in another office, this one with windows. Sister Morgan swiveled her chair left and right with her foot. With her legs crossed, she held this essay in her hand.

She tilted her head to the right and squinted her eyes, “Eehhhh-mmmm… I don’t think this is the ending. It’s not quite there. There has to be more. You can’t feel this was just because of your addiction to pornography. An addiction is just another mask we use to hide ourselves. Everyone has some sort of addiction. Why do you feel you can’t make connections? Eric, you are an integral part of the Center. I see it every day.”

I focused on the corner of the black desk that held her printer. “I don’t see it.”

After seminar I walked to the back corner to get my backpack. I put on my coat, and I stood on my toes to see over the wall. Some of the other assistants congregated at the desk, laughing. I snuck through the back by the offices and down the stairs while I stared at the ground. Before I even got off campus, I checked my phone four times to ensure it wasn’t on silent, and that I hadn’t missed a call or text. It wasn’t, and I didn’t.

As I walked I blamed my addiction to pornography. But now I know it’s just a mask, and I don’t know why I hide.