COTA Moments: Early Spring

I can't say exactly why it happened: what caused me to behave in such a heathenistic manner, perhaps the welcomed joy of the warm March air brought out the mischief. I'm usually very tolerant and respectful of other religious beliefs. Saturday afternoon, mid March downtown, Grant& Spring; warming rays of liquid pleasure radiate back from the brick wall I lean against, smoke curling slowly skyward from my Camel. This is perfect, I've just finished my last training session and I'm now certified to tutor basic literacy. I look forward to the interaction. Something else is needed in my life; I hope this fills the void. The bus nears up Spring, to take me further downtown, connect with a #2 North High. The Camell butt arches gracefully into the street (Gravity's Rainbow, Thomas Pynchon). The doors open into the not yet crowded tube. I slide my bus pass through the toll box & take the seat immediately to my left, not even considering anything further back. And there they were: two cheap black suits, worn leather shoes, one cell phone, one plastic nameplate that read "ELDER" with some name. They were wide open and I had to do it.

"Are you guys Mormons?" I asked with what I hoped was perceived as naive curiosity.
"Yes, we are." The crumpled suit wearing the elder tag answered seriously.
"Do you know anything about Mormons?" It was an odd juxtaposition, the serious demeanor of the elder somehow played off his cell phone busy comrade. The younger seemed less visible than his name-plated friend, more at home in his surroundings. The elder's shoes were rough, rurul.

"Not a 'hole lot." I threw a bit of a southern Ohio twang into the mix, for the simple fun of it. "Just something 'bout seagulls & grasshoppers, or were they locusts?" Had to be careful, not overplay the issue. "I know y'all's a bit serious."

"God's message to His people is serious." He seemed to rock as if in a tall rustic oak chair, but I knew it was the bus. I only had a few minutes before we made the turn onto High Street.

"So y'all really wear special underwear?" Jackpot! Straight faced!

"N...no." He crossed his legs as if not to betray the secret. "No, we don't wear special underwear."
"No holy garments?" I had a couple of blocks left.

"They're not special." His blush caught him off guard. "They're sacred garments." The bus rocked up Spring Street, the younger never once looking up from his wireless conversation. "Whz'up wit dat?"

"As they're sacred we don't like to talk about them." His eyes were dark, of no specific color. "
they're a statement of our faith."

"But if you don't talk about them, how can they be a statement?" The front of the bus had grown strangely quiet.

"A statement of our faith," the elder offered. "Between us and God."

"A covenant of sorts?" I knew I was giving myself away.

"Exactly," he nodded thoughtfully. We cleared the corner at High Street; I pulled the cord, requesting my stop.

"I'm a Methodist," I suggested, rising to exit. "We get our underwear at Sears." Outside, the fellow who exited with me laughed out loud. The sun played bright among the sycamores along North High. This was perfect.