Music from Another World

by Robin Talley

  I shook my head. “How’s that possible?”

  “Anything’s possible.” Tammy bounced on her toes. “It’s a whole new world.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Is this how you pictured Gay Freedom Day?”

  “Just about.” Tammy beamed at a group of women marching past us. One of them was waving a hand-lettered sign that said PRESERVE ABORTION RIGHTS. Two others, dressed in flip-flops, halter tops, and cutoff shorts that barely covered their underwear, were walking with their arms around each other’s waists. The words GAYS FOREVER were scrawled across their backs in bright blue finger paint. “I never thought I’d get to see it.”

  I smiled at her. Tammy bumped my elbow, the backs of her knuckles brushing mine. Only for an instant, but I was already blushing all over again.

  We watched in silence as the next few floats passed. The parade was nearing its end, and the crowd was getting louder and more boisterous, surging toward the end of the block.

  “Is something going on up there?” Tammy stood on her tiptoes, twisting to see.

  Peter must have finally detached himself from Dean, because he was coming up behind us when I turned to look. The last floats were trailing off.

  “How much of this do you think people will see on the news?” I pointed to the camera on the top of the truck behind us.

  Peter shook his head. “Not much. They only show the most salacious stuff.”

  “What I mean is, you need to start being more careful.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I mean...” I cast my eyes back toward the spot where Dean had first attacked my brother’s face. “And...” I nodded toward the TV camera.

  Peter followed my gaze and crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s your point?”

  He couldn’t possibly not know what I was getting at. Tammy was watching us silently, but I could tell from her wide, anxious eyes that she understood, too. “What if someone got you on film—you know, looking gay, and it wound up on the news?”

  “I look gay every single day.” Peter chewed on the corner of his lip and turned toward the stage set up at the far end of the block. Music was playing over the speakers, and people were moving quickly in that direction. “I don’t look any more gay here than I do anyplace else.”

  “You know what I mean. I thought you were worried about people finding out.”

  “What, I’m not allowed to have a life?” Peter took a step forward, then another, following the crowd. I struggled to keep up as he weaved between bare-chested men and women with fringed haircuts. Tammy stayed close on our heels. “Maybe I like Dean. Maybe I like him a lot. Why shouldn’t I get to show it?”

  I didn’t understand. I thought my brother wanted me to help him keep his secret. Also... “You’ve barely talked about this Dean guy. Suddenly you’re infatuated?”

  “What are you, the relationship police?”

  “No, I’m only—”

  A huge cheer from the crowd cut me off.

  “Whoa! Is that—?” Tammy pointed to the stage, until the cheering got so loud I couldn’t hear her.

  A man was walking toward the microphone, so far in the distance all I could see was his white T-shirt and black armband. But the energy around us was enough to tell me who it was.

  Peter fought through the crowd, clearly trying to get as far away from me as possible. I spotted Evelyn not far behind us, standing with Lisa and Alex, all of them waving their arms and shouting happily as the crowd’s cheers turned deafening.

  Supervisor Milk was about to speak.

  “It’s him!” Tammy shouted into my ear. “I can’t believe it!”

  I searched the crowd again until I spotted my brother. He’d somehow circled back around, and he was behind us now, near Evelyn and the others. He had his arm around Dean, and his chin was lifted high. He wasn’t looking at me, and it was clear that was deliberate.

  I swiveled back around to face the front as Harvey’s speech began.

  The crowd had quieted enough that we could hear him, his voice carrying out through the microphone and over the thousands of faces gathered, fresh cheers erupting after almost every line. His voice was powerful, but it was his words that were arresting.

  He sounded so happy. So strong.

  He talked about being gay as though it was normal—as though it was fun. He said everyone should be treated equally, and somehow, when he said it, it sounded so obvious I didn’t know why everyone else didn’t think exactly the same way. He talked about Anita Bryant and John Briggs, and how we all had to work together to stop Prop 6.

  He was literally giving us orders in the middle of a huge party, but no one minded. His were the kind of orders we wanted to follow.

  Mostly, though, he talked about coming out. He said all gay people should come out, to everyone. He said there could never be equality until the whole world knew how many gay people there really were.

  I never thought of that before, but it makes sense. If everyone was out, no one would have to lie.

  But it still didn’t seem possible. As far as I could tell, he might as well have been describing some magical land from a fantasy story. Even if there was a woman walking around today with a sign about loving her gay son, she had to be one in a thousand. Or a million.

  Just telling me was a big deal for Peter. And when Tammy’s family found out about her, she had to leave her entire life behind.

  I wondered if Harvey’s words were making her uneasy. But when I glanced over, there were tears in her eyes...and she was beaming. As I was about to ask if she was all right, the crowd erupted into another cheer.

  “WOO-HOO!” Tammy shouted along with the rest of them.

  She looked back at me, her smile as bright as ever, and when she saw me turned her way, she reached for my hand and threaded her fingers through mine, her smile widening.

  For a second, I thought I was imagining it. She seemed so casual about it, I wasn’t even sure it was really happening. Until she turned back to the stage, and I screwed up the courage to look down.

  There it was. Tammy and I were holding hands. Right in the middle of the street.

  I didn’t know what to do. No one else seemed to have noticed, but...did this mean something? What did it mean?

  My fingers twitched. Tammy must’ve thought I was squeezing her hand, because she squeezed back and smiled at me again.

  Harvey finished his speech, and the crowd let out its biggest, wildest cheer of the day. I pulled my hand out of Tammy’s to clap along before she could notice I was shaking. She glanced at me for a second, and now she looked a little uncertain.

  “Sharon?” She had to lean in close so I could hear her. Very close.

  Close enough that she could’ve kissed me. Or I could’ve kissed her.

  “Hey,” she began. “I, ah...”

  Why was I thinking this way? Did I want to kiss her?

  I did. Oh, God, I did, I did, I did.

  The crowd surged around us, thousands of people moving in every direction, laughing and pushing and shouting. I couldn’t see Tammy in the throng, and suddenly, I realized just how lost I was. In every way there was to be lost.

  I started to run.

  “SHARON!” I heard her shout, but I didn’t stop moving.

  Running wasn’t easy in that swarm of happy, cheering people. I had to duck under arms and over feet, darting around couples with their arms around each other’s shoulders and between groups of men and women holding beer cans overhead. It was too loud for me to make out individual sounds, much less individual footsteps, so I had no way of knowing if Tammy was following me, but when I reached the sidewalk and felt a hand on my arm, I knew without having to look that it was her.

  “Sharon, wait.” She wasn’t holding tightly—I could’ve pulled away if I’d tried—but I stopped, anyway.
“I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” All I felt in that moment was fear, but somehow, anger was what came out. “You—you think you can just come here and—”

  “I—You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “You showed up out of nowhere, and now everything’s different. You put on this huge act for everyone, saying whatever they want to hear—and I don’t know where I fit, with you or with anyone else, and I can’t—”

  “What?” Tammy stared at me, her eyebrows crinkling. “What act?”

  “I—I don’t know—” People were turning to look at us. Maybe I was shouting. I couldn’t tell. “I keep thinking all this stuff that doesn’t make sense, except—except—”

  “Except what?” Her face shifted, her lips parting. “What are you talking about?”

  “How you are.” I could barely get the words out. I was blushing. In seconds, I’d be crying, too. I had to get out of here, fast. “You’re so—How you’re so...”

  She waited, but I couldn’t find the words. My head was about to explode.

  “Look.” She reached out to touch my hand again, then pulled back. “I’m sorry if I scared you. Or if you aren’t ready for this, or—or anything, but...”

  I didn’t wait to hear what was going to come after that. I turned around and started running all over again, darting through the crowd and pounding down the street as fast as I could, until her shouts after me faded into the distance.

  Yours, Sharon

  Sunday, June 25, 1978

  Hi, Sharon.

  I wanted to say I’m sorry about today.

  I moved my stuff down to the living room. I thought it’d be easier for you if I slept on the couch. I can’t stop wondering if you’re all right, though, so I thought I’d write to you.

  I really, really hope you’ll write back. You don’t have to talk about anything. Just tell me if you’re okay, and I promise not to bother you anymore.

  I’m sliding this under your door now. I’ll come back in fifteen minutes and check the hallway if you want to slide something back.

  Yours, Tammy

  Tuesday, June 27, 1978

  Dear Sharon,

  Okay, well...it’s been two days since we last talked. It can’t be easy avoiding someone who lives in the same house as you, so I know you’ve got to be furious with me to be going to all that effort.

  Your brother said he hasn’t seen you much since you left Gay Freedom Day, either. I think he’s still upset about that argument you two had. I told him you were only trying to help, but I’m not sure he believed me.

  Anyway, I can take a hint. I won’t write to you after this. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. If I could go back and undo it all, I would.

  Yours, Tammy

  Tuesday, June 27, 1978

  Dear Diary,

  I talked to my brother tonight.

  He got home earlier than usual—before eleven. I’d been waiting, lying on my bed in my dark room that feels impossibly huge with Tammy gone, until I heard his footsteps trudge up the stairs. I went on waiting while he rummaged around in the bathroom, brushed his teeth, went into his room, and shut the door.

  For two days, I’ve hardly spoken to anyone, but after I read Tammy’s letter this afternoon, I knew that had to change. For the past two mornings, I’ve watched from my upstairs window as she left the house, tossing her short hair as she twisted her key to lock the door behind her, and wondering yet again if I’d made a mistake.

  But I still can’t talk to her. If we were face-to-face, I wouldn’t even be able to think.

  My brother, though...I can always talk to him.

  I stepped silently into the hall. Mom was in her room, and Tammy was downstairs. As far as I knew they were both asleep, but either way, I didn’t want them hearing. I knocked as softly as I could.

  From inside Peter’s room came a soft groan. A minute later, the door swung open. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even raise his eyes to look at me. Just turned around and flopped back onto his narrow bed.

  He was still dressed in the polo shirt and jeans he’d worn to work, with something I couldn’t see clearly sticking out of his back pocket. He stunk of smoke, and his eyes were red. He must’ve been at a bar. I waved my hand in front of my nose and shut the door behind me, carefully turning the knob so the latch wouldn’t make a sound.

  I stepped over to the portable turntable he’d jammed into the corner. There was a record already on it—Queen, A Night at the Opera.

  That wouldn’t work. You can’t have a conversation with Queen playing. I lifted it off, found an old Elton John album in the stack next to the wall, and dropped it onto the table, turning the volume on low.

  “Hi,” I whispered after the first song started. “Do you think Mom can hear us over this?”

  “Mom’s asleep.” Peter hadn’t moved. He was lying on his back with his arm cast over his eyes. “Which is also how I’d like to be. You know who’s asleep downstairs, too, but I guess you don’t care about that.”

  “Not really.”

  “Please don’t lie to me, sister dear.”

  I sighed. “You talked to her.”

  “We live in the same house. We talk all the time. You used to talk to us, too.”

  I sighed again. “Where’d you go tonight? Out with Dean?”

  “Sure you want to know?” He lowered his arm and wiggled his eyebrows.

  “You already told me way more than I wanted to hear about that guy from camp. I had to listen to the story about how you snuck into the counselors’ cabin during the marshmallow roast at least twenty times.”

  Peter tilted his head with a serene smile. “I’ll always think of Curtis whenever I bite into a s’more.”

  “What, you’re into him again?”

  “No, merely relishing a brief moment of nostalgia. I’m very much into Dean now.” His smile widened. “What do you think of him?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t. I’m being polite.” He smirked. “Anyway...come on, what do you think?”

  “I don’t know. He seems okay, I guess. He seriously goes to Stanford?”

  “Yeah. He’s a political science major. His family lives in Bakersfield, but he’s spending the summer in the city so he can work on Prop 6.”

  “Huh. Is he a nerd?”

  “Probably, but he’s a cute nerd. I’m not sure how much he likes me, though.”

  “He came running across a whole crowd to make out with you. I’d say he likes you.”

  Peter’s grin widened, and he stood up, stretching. His elbow knocked into the window, and the frame clattered. He winced and rubbed his arm. “Eh. He might be flirting just to flirt.”

  “Making out in the middle of the street is ‘flirting’?”

  “Sometimes. And on that subject, may I ask why I very clearly saw you holding hands with a certain blond lesbian from Orange County to whom you’re currently not speaking during Harvey’s speech on Sunday?”

  I was so stunned I couldn’t even blush.

  He saw us?

  “Look, it didn’t mean anything.” I was stumbling over the words, scrambling to come up with some explanation. “It was an accident.”

  “Uh-huh.” Peter crossed his arms over his chest. He was enjoying this. (In other news, my brother is a horrible person.) “Which is it? Was it an accident, or did it not mean anything?”

  “Both! I mean, I had no intention of doing it. It just...happened.”

  “Sure. So you pulled your hand away?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  When I shut my eyes, I could see exactly how Tammy looked when she turned toward me that day. Her smile was so clear in my memory, it was as though we were back in that spot right now.

  I’d been feeling too many different things to sort them all out when I stood next to her in t
he crowd that day, but now that it was just me and Peter—the memory of being in that place, with her hand in mine...

  It felt right. It shouldn’t, but it did.

  “Shar?” Peter’s voice dropped lower. “Are you crying?”

  I turned to face the wall. I hadn’t cried in front of my brother since fifth grade, but suddenly I couldn’t stop. “No.”

  “Is she the reason you broke up with Kevin?”

  “I—I don’t know.” My face was a wet mess. All I could do was hide behind my hands. “When I was with him, I didn’t feel the slightest bit gay.”

  “Ew.” Peter wrinkled up his nose. “I didn’t need to know that.”

  “I can’t be gay. That’s what I’m saying. I never thought I was. I was positive I was straight, until...”

  “Until a certain cute blond girl came along.”

  I shoved him with my shoulder. He shoved me back, gently.

  “I’m sorry I said what I did.” I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes. “You were right. If you want to be with Dean, or, I guess, with anyone, it’s none of my business how you do it.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not so sure myself anymore.” He reached around behind him and pulled something out of his back pocket. A magazine. “Look.”

  He bent down to face the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. The magazine was one of the local weeklies. The lead article was about the Giants’ odds of making the playoffs. I frowned at him, confused.

  “It’s toward the back,” he said.

  I flipped to the end and worked my way forward. I’d turned five pages when I finally saw it.

  The headline said CITY HOMOSEXUAL PARTY DRAWS BIGGEST CROWD YET. At the bottom of the page were two black-and-white pictures. Both were covered with crudely shaped penises and testicles drawn onto the page with a ballpoint pen.

  One photo showed Harvey Milk riding in a convertible. The other was of Peter and Dean kissing in the middle of the crowd. In the far corner of that picture, slightly out of focus, was a short-haired blond girl I immediately recognized, even facing away from the camera. Her arm was out to her side, and there was a hand intertwined with hers. The photo cut off without showing any more than that, but there was no question that it was Tammy and me.