Buckley and Plott

If sharing an apartment with one possibly disturbed conglomeration of assorted hormones was a situation fraught with uncertainty, sharing an apartment with three such entities was always an adventure.

Elders Buckley and Plott, the second companionship in our apartment, were eating lunch one day when Elder Vankampen and I returned from our morning proselyting with two fewer copies of the Book of Mormon than we had brought and tired smiles on our faces. Buckley and Plott looked to have gone out as well, but they tended to get sidetracked and I wondered how long they had been out. I hoped there were some indications of what they had been up to this morning. I glanced up at the light, which was still shattered from Elder Buckley’s errant golf ball a few mornings ago, and the Frankenstein Barbie mounted on the wall, a collection of all the doll parts found while tracting.

Elder Vankampen and I dug into our overflowing freezer to select from the piles of identical Totino's microwave pizzas and settled down on the table beside Buckley and Plott.

However, there wasn't enough space on the table for four meals and the two projects that already occupied the table between Buckley and Plott. The other elders had been erecting contraptions consisting of slingshots attached to what appeared to be gun stocks.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Crossbow," said Elder Buckley without looking up.

"Ah," I said.

"There are rabbits downstairs," Elder Plott volunteered. I didn't have to strain to find a logical connection between his and Elder Buckley's statements.

"Kill anything yet?" asked Elder Vankampen, noticing that Elder Buckley's crossbow looked more more less complete.

"Tried," said Buckley. "Mine's not very accurate. We're still working on that."

I decided to eat my pizza on the couch instead.