Day 28: You just sunk my destroyer

On Sunday afternoons, our house was suddenly too large. Built for six but reduced to two: Josh at college, the parents and Zack knocked out (taking this “day of rest” thing quite literally). Just me and Ashly.

So of course we played Yahtzee. Guess Who. Battleship. Sitting on the carpeted floor, our voices muted and absorbed by the vastness and stillness of an empty house and afternoon.

B9? Miss! we whispered.

These moments, these memories — are they Mormon? Can you tell me?

That’s the problem when you say goodbye to something, if you jettison a part of you. How far does it go? If you cut here and there, root that Mormon out of you, what do you risk losing with it? Where does the Mormon stop and the everything else begin?

Like sitting across from your forever partner in crime, calling out coordinates, wondering when one will hit.

(This is Day 28 of a 100-day project. For more about When I Was Mormon, read the introductory post. To access older posts, visit the archive.)