Crazy Talk

After three days of fruitless tests in the hospital, the doctors sent me home. President Koyle responded by transferring me to Panorama Heights, an area in western Albuquerque where I would be closer to a hospital if I needed it. There I met my newest companion, my second Elder Davis.

Davis II, as I called him in my head, bore an uncanny resemblance to Davis I as far as facial features and build went, but his motivation was a good deal higher. Elder Masi, my former companion from Crownpoint, also came to Albuqerque to serve in my district. It turned out that our jaunt to the hospital came during the semiannual mission temple trip, but now that we were in Albuquerque, we weren't going to let this chance pass us by to make our twice-a-year visit to the temple.

Elder Masi and I called President to let us go, and he agreed. Normally, he said, a missionary's work is for the living, not the dead — and once we get our own work done in the temple, every subsequent visit is for the benefit of those who have passed on. This time, however, since we had missed the temple trip, we were allowed to go.

Five hours later, we sat in the car outside a Subway, finishing our post-temple snacks as we prepared to return to our areas. Our discussion of some of the insights we'd learned in the temple had morphed into some pre-mission adventure stories; Elder Masi had just finished telling me about some girls he met in a hot tub in New Jersey.

"You guys thought I was crazy, right?" I asked.

Elder Masi gulped down another bite. "What?"

"Back in Crownpoint when I was sick. Did you and Hoskins think I was crazy? Or just making it up?"

Masi frowned and put his sandwich down. "Dude," he said, "we knew it was real. Well, I did, anyway. But they never found anything? What does that mean?"

"It means either I'm crazy, overreacting, or sick with something they couldn't figure out," I said.

"I think it's real," said Masi. "Stress, maybe? Just because it's all in your head doesn't mean it's not real."

"Oh, good," I murmured. "So I'm mentally ill now."

Masi shrugged. "I dunno. Stress gets to all of us differently." He picked up the sandwich again. "At least it's not ... what was it, cerebellitis again?"

"Yeah," I said, starting the car.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, I wondered exactly how crazy I was.