The Elephant in the Room

Saturday my brother baptized my sister-in-law. It was a beautiful day and very touching. I'd go on and on about what a neat experience it was but there was an elephant in the room. Something I was trying really hard to ignore.

The presiding member of the bishopric happens to be an old friend of mine. We went to school together from age 12 until we graduated from high school. Probably never exchanged more words than "Hi" and "How are you" until after Mormon mission. That's when we were in the singles ward together.

Back to the present, I asked him about his parents and asked where they lived. He replied, "They still live in the subdivision on the other side of the gully."

"Of course," I reply, "I came over that one night with Jill and..."

And there was the elephant.

Let's play a game of pretend. If the conversation continued, what might have been said?

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"Rob," he would have finished.

"Who? I honestly can't remember who was there that night."

"Rob, the Australian. I worked with him."

"I vaguely remember him," I might have said.

"Weren't you two kids talking about marriage about that time?" he might have asked.

"Uh, that might have been about the time."

"Whatever happened to him, anyway?"

"Oh, after he started discussing our future together, he briefly had to return to Australia to take care of some business."

"What kind of business?"

"A divorce. It seems he had forgotten to get one before coming to the states."

"He was married?! Did you know?"

This is where I would give the obligatory glare. "Of course not! He told me he was divorced."

"How long was he gone?"

"Two weeks."

"What happened when he got back?"

"He married a beauty queen and never spoke to me again. He also became a police officer for a nearby city, made a routine traffic stop, shot the guy 10 times, the guy lived and sued, and Rob, the Australian, was fired."

"Wow. How did you know that?"

"He was on the news. With his still beautiful wife and six kids."

There would be nowhere to go after that. Like a wet blanket, the campfire would be put out. End of conversation.

Instead, he let the unfinished sentence stay unfinished, watched my eyes dart back and forth, checking if anybody was listening, and we continued discussing the mundane.

In the words of Alexander, who had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, maybe I should move to Australia. I probably wouldn't meet any ghosts from my past there.