Temple Climax of 'Missionary Position'

This is the climax of my solo play Missionary Position: A Coming-of-Age Tale, Part Three in Mormon Boy Trilogy.

One by one I was reunited with my veteran family members as they reverently crossed through the veil. They embraced and congratulated me with tears of joy and thanksgiving. “Families are forever.” And the look in their eyes said, “Are you okay? Do you buy this? It’s alright. We don’t get it either. But our pioneer ancestors seemed to. Now let’s get out of these temple duds and go get some grub down in the cafeteria!”

As the others went down to partake of the Mormon banquet, I had this overwhelming urge . . . to save myself.

(Lights change for final fantasy sequence as he puts back on jeans. Mission Impossible music underscores.)

I raced back in time, and ran through the automatic sliding doors of the temple in my New Religion jeans.  Passing the Mormon Oompa-Loompas, I ran through the large and spacious building and up all the escalators, until I found my younger self in the Celestial Room standing there like a deer caught in God’s headlights. I started ripping off his toga. 

Younger: “Who the heck are you?”

Older: “I’m Steven Fales and I’m here to rescue you!”

Younger: “But I’m Steven Fales. And aren’t you a little short to be a storm trooper?”

Older: “Cute! But they’re about to make you Elder Zombie Fales if you’re not careful. Now take this crap off! This isn’t God. It’s all about the ego of Joseph Smith–a bipolar megalomaniac who stole all of this hocus pocus from the Free Masons. And who got himself shot to death because he wouldn’t stop fucking his followers and calling ‘em his wives. Now let’s get out of here!”

Younger: “But I don’t understand!”

Older: “I’m you, only older. And I’ve come to save your nineteen-year-old ass from all this bullshit!”

Younger: “Okay! Fine. But you don’t have to swear!”

Just as we were about to run out the automatic sliding doors of the temple, my younger self stopped me, “Wait! I can’t go!”

Older: “What do you mean you can’t go? You saw what’s going on in there. They’re taking you for a ride. It’s dangerous in there. Come on. We’re going back to the Boston Conservatory!”

Younger: “No! It’s safe in here. I don’t trust Boston. I don’t trust you.”

Older: “Look. I’ve been through all this and much more. Those chandeliers and mirrors in there, they’re not God.”

Younger: “And neither is rolling on ecstasy under a mirrored disco ball at seven a.m.! I’ve heard about you and your kind—from the prophet. All your drugs. And sex parties. And all the other proclivities and viruses you materialistic people have. Your life’s a mess. You have nothing I want!”

Older: “I don’t do that anymore.  Now listen, Steven. I know what I’m talking about.”

Younger: “Yes. You do like to talk don’t you? They warned me about you. What happens when we forsake the Truth. When we sell our signs and tokens for money! You’re just a fledgling secular humanist playwright desperately trying to make sense of all the wreckage of his past and pay his child support. You turned your back on God and look what’s become of you. Oh, the show poster of you is so cute. Blasphemer!”

Older: “I didn’t turn my back on God. God turned His back on me!”

Younger: “And you replaced him with the divinity you call yourself!  Well let me tell you something, Elder Fales. You. Are. Not. God. You’re not God!” (Pause) I’m staying. All our family’s here. Plus I’m hungry.”

Older: “I didn’t leave. They kicked me out.”

Younger: “Oh, be honest. You left long before that. And you left me.”

Older: “I’m sorry. But I’ve come back.”

Younger: “It’s too late! I’m staying. I’m going on a mission. I want the blessings!”

Older: “You’re coming with me. I’m twenty years older than you and I’m the playwright, remember?!”

Younger: “I’m not going! I’m not gay like you. I want a family. And a real career! You know the Church is true, Elder!”

Older: (Gently with compassion) “No. It’s not.”

Younger: “Then please leave the temple. Now!”

Older: “That Jolly Green Apron won’t make you straight.”

Younger: “GET THE HECK OUT OF HERE!”

Older: I walked out the sliding doors of the temple; and watched myself go back inside . . Fuck.