The Final Arrangement by Annie Adams Page A

actually, I didn’t scratch your paint.  I was very careful to avoid your car, even though you parked it as if you wanted someone to have to touch it.  You must have emotional issues that make you try to force people to get close to you vicariously through your car.  Or you have issues with the size of a certain thing, which causes you to buy stupid, expensive cars that you can only use for four months of the year, that make you feel validated or—something.  Whichever.”
    “So,” I said to Alex, “it wasn’t like I went there just for the purpose of finding his car and scratching the paint with my keys.  He shoved me and my keys were in my hand as I reached out to catch myself.  The keys hit his car and I didn’t end up catching myself.  I hit my head really hard on the pavement.  He drove off before he knew if I was okay or not.  I guess I just wanted to finish my artwork as he left, since he had been so thoughtful,” I said innocently.  “He didn’t even look to see if I was under one of the tires.  By the way, I’m telling you this in confidence.  You won’t get me in trouble, will you?”
    “No worries, Quincy.  Besides, there’s not a lot of complaining he can do about it now, is there?”
    I laughed.  “I guess not.” 
    “But I’d be a little more careful with what I said to a guy like that.  You don’t know how a person will react.  It doesn’t matter how rude they are, you gotta let it slide off your back.” 
    He was right.  I could get “lippy” sometimes, as my mom would say, and usually it wasn’t for my own good. 
    “Do you think that’s why Arroyo wanted to talk to me?”
    “No one else saw you?”
    “No one else was there in the parking lot, but it could have been on the security camera.”
    “I’ll look into it.  Meanwhile, could you try not to mouth off to any more tough guys?”
    “I’ll try to contain myself.”
    “Hey, I want to ask you something, since I’m so clueless when it comes to the habits of the natives around here.”
    “What is it?”
    “I heard that Mormons don’t have sex before they’re married.  Is that true?”
    “Yeah, that’s true.”
    “Wow, that’s pretty amazing.  But not everyone has that kind of willpower right?  I mean, I’m sure there are exceptions.  It’s not possible that every adult, single Mormon isn’t having sex.”
    “I guess it’s just like the alcohol and tobacco thing.  People have the ability to choose.” 
    “So, having sex isn’t a sin before marriage either, its kind of a loose guideline more or less.”
    “It’s a little different in the case of sex before marriage, but that’s a long conversation that someone like me is definitely not qualified to talk about.”
    “So, I guess I should have asked before, are you Mormon?”
    He had just showed his hand; that’s what this whole conversation had been about.
    “You can stop with the whole innocent outsider act, Alex.  That’s what all of this has been about hasn’t it?  You’ve known me for what, a day and a half, maybe the equivalent of two days?” 
    “I guess so, what’s wrong?  Did I say something offensive?”
    I mimicked back, “’Hey, Quincy, I heard Mormon girls don’t have sex.  You aren’t Mormon are you?’  Why didn’t you just come out and ask if we could go back to your place and get to it?”
    “That’s not what I meant!  I asked if you were Mormon because I didn’t want to say or do anything else to offend you.  I heard some things about the religion and I wanted to know if they were true or not.  I was asking you because I thought we were friends and that we could be honest with each other.”
    “Oh.”  I said, sickened with embarrassment.
    Alex pulled over to the side of the road.  I had done it again.  I have this inability to shut my mouth in time to stop my thoughts from spilling out as verbal incarnations.  We were about three blocks away from my house.  It felt like three miles.  He was