Music From Another World: One of the most empowering books for women, bestselling author Robin Talley’s gripping new 2020 novel

by Robin Talley

  Rhonda and Jennifer grinned as I reached the front of the room, happy to have Sister Catherine’s lecture interrupted. Rhonda checked to make sure Sister wasn’t watching, then winked at me as I smoothed out the page.

  “‘I’m exhausted,’” I read. “‘I’m sitting in History…’”

  When I got to the part about Sister Catherine “droning on,” she interrupted me with a crisp “That’s enough, Sharon.”

  “Thank you, Sister.”

  I snapped the notebook shut, but before I made it halfway back to my seat her voice cut in again. “Perhaps you ought to take over today’s lesson for me, since you clearly have a much more interesting perspective on history to share with us.”

  I met her eyes, but quickly looked back down again. We’re supposed to be especially respectful of the nuns on the faculty. “I’m very sorry, Sister.”

  “Oh, no, don’t apologize. Go ahead and deliver your lecture, please. Here, I’ll take a seat.”

  She sat down in my empty chair, making a big show of spreading out her habit and clasping her hands across my desk. A couple of girls laughed. I probably should’ve begged for forgiveness then and there, but I was too tired and frustrated to think clearly.

  “All we ever talk about is ancient history.” I dared to raise my eyes again. “Why does it always have to be about Charlemagne or Christopher Columbus or Henry the Eighth? There was a historic election yesterday, right here in San Francisco. Can’t we talk about that?”

  “I doubt a historian would argue local politics are as important to the foundations of our world as Christopher Columbus discovering this country.” Sister Catherine raised one eyebrow. “More to the point—”

  I interrupted her. That’s probably what sealed my fate. I knew what would happen, even while I was saying the words, but I said them, anyway. “We just elected the city’s first gay supervisor, but now they’re trying to pass a law that says gay people aren’t allowed to teach in schools, and—”

  “That’s enough, Sharon.” Sister Catherine rose from my chair.

  Oh, crap. My heart sped up as she slowly stood and turned her back on me.

  “What about the rest of you?” She made her voice deceptively casual, but no one was fooled. “Do you prefer your classmate’s version of history to mine?”

  “No, Sister,” the other girls, even Rhonda, said as one, their eyes trained carefully on their desks. No one was laughing now.

  “If you’d like to discuss current events, that’s fine.” When Sister Catherine turned back to me, I knew that look on her face. In elementary school, if a teacher wore that expression, it was right before someone got whacked with a ruler. “There was indeed an election in this city yesterday, but Sharon is wrong when she says we elected that man.”

  I didn’t dare speak, but the way she said “that man” made my blood boil. Sister Catherine didn’t know the first thing about Harvey. She hadn’t been there for that march.

  “Our district has a new supervisor of its own.” Sister Catherine lifted her head, a soft smile spreading across her face. “His name is Dan White, and he’s a good Catholic. The man your classmate is talking about represents a different part of this city. A dangerous part. It’s up to all of us to stand behind our Christian leaders and hold firm against sin.”

  I swallowed.

  Sister Catherine looked at the clock over the blackboard. “We have twenty minutes left in class. Sharon, you will spend them kneeling before the Blessed Virgin and considering what sort of life you’re choosing for yourself. When the period ends, I’ll speak with your mother.”

  My legs wobbled as I stooped next to the statue of Mary. At least this wasn’t a ruler lashing—the teachers don’t usually do those once your age is in double digits—but I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, and Sister Catherine’s last sentence was hanging in my mind.

  When Mom heard, how much would she piece together? Peter’s been hanging out in the Castro every weekend and sometimes during the week, too, but Mom thinks he’s been putting in extra hours at Javi’s store.

  She won’t figure out the truth, will she? Just because I talked about Harvey Milk, and that new initiative on gay teachers?

  I didn’t even mean to bring up the teacher initiative, but it was in the newspaper this morning, and it’s scary. It’s called Proposition 6, and if it passes, gay people will be banned from working in public schools. If a straight teacher so much as supports gay people, they could get fired, too.

  If someone found out about Peter, what would happen to Mom?

  And what about me? Would this new law mean I couldn’t get a teaching job someday?

  A state senator from Orange County got thousands of people to sign a petition to put the proposition on the ballot next year, so I guess that’ll be the next big election. The anchors talked about it on TV during the election night coverage. They showed footage from Orange County. A hundred kids were in a school gym chanting “KILL A QUEER FOR CHRIST!”

  Sometimes it’s hard to remember we live in the same state as those people.

  My bare knees dug into the tile, but Sister Catherine was bound to be watching me, so I focused my gaze on Mary. She was standing on a flimsy little wooden table, her head bowed, her hands clasped in front of her. I don’t know if Mary had any brothers, much less any gay ones, but either way, I doubt she’d have gone around spouting off in class without thinking about how easily word could get back to her mom about them.

  When the bell rang, I kept my eyes on Mary as the other girls quietly gathered their books and shuffled out the door behind me. Rhonda pretended to drop her pencil, bent down on her way out, and whispered, “Meet you in the bathroom?” before she straightened back up. I gave her a tiny nod.

  “You can go, Sharon,” Sister Catherine called dismissively from the far side of the room. She was wiping down the chalkboard. “I’ll speak to your mother soon.”

  “Thank you, Sister.” My knees were stiff as I climbed to my feet. She looked at me expectantly, as though waiting for me to apologize, but I just picked up my books and strode through the door.

  She was the one who was wrong. Why should I be sorry?

  I found my friends in the bathroom. Rhonda and Jennifer had apparently just finished telling Diane what had happened—Diane has Physics that period—because she was laughing, and she said, “She seriously talked about gay stuff to a Sister?” as I stepped through the door.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey.” Diane grinned at me. “Do you have a death wish or what?”

  “No. I…” I wished I could be having this conversation with Tammy. Whether or not she approved of gay people, she’d understand why I’d stood up to Sister Catherine. She’s as sick of adults acting like they know so much more about everything as I am. “It is historic that Harvey got elected. I don’t see why we can’t talk about it.”

  “Harvey?” Jennifer laughed. “You mean the homosexual on the news?”

  “He’s more than that.” I sighed. “He has a whole platform to help the city. Gay people don’t just sit around being gay, you know.”

  “Yeah, they lie down for that.” Rhonda laughed, too.

  “Unless they do it standing up,” Jennifer said, and then all three of them were laughing.

  “I heard gay girls do this thing where one of them’s the girl and one’s the man,” Diane whispered, giggling.

  “Oh, my God, that’s disgusting,” Rhonda said, but she was grinning. She didn’t look disgusted at all.

  They turned around, as if they expected me to join in the fake-disgust parade, but I had no idea what to say. And in the end I didn’t have to say anything, because just then the door swung open behind us, and my mom came straight in without her usual warning.

  “Girls,” she said shortly. The others must’ve figured out the situation fast, because they all slunk out of the bathroom withou
t so much as glancing back at me.

  “Mom…” I swallowed. “I can explain.”

  “No, you cannot.” Mom crossed her arms. There were dark circles under her eyes. “You are never to speak that way to a teacher again. To a Sister!”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “What’s gotten into you?” She stared down at me. We’re the same height now, but her heels made her a couple of inches taller than me in my saddle shoes. “You know that wasn’t an appropriate topic to bring up in school.”

  “Why shouldn’t we talk about an election in History class?”

  “You know very well it’s not about the election. It’s about that man in District Five.” Mom wrinkled her nose.

  “What, are we supposed to pretend he doesn’t exist?” I wanted to add “because he’s gay?” at the end, but I stopped myself. I couldn’t use the word “gay” in front of my mom, not with Peter’s secret hanging in the air between us.

  Still, it felt wrong holding back. Wasn’t this exactly what I was trying to argue against?

  “You’re supposed to be respectful of your teachers. Your mother, too, for that matter.” Mom uncrossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “You’re grounded until further notice. You’ll leave the house for school, church, and babysitting. Nothing more.”

  I wanted to argue. Instead I nodded heavily.

  “And you’ll apologize to Sister Catherine. Right now.”

  “But—”

  “No ‘buts.’ We’re walking straight to her classroom and so you can apologize.”

  “What? Mom, come on, she’s probably teaching another class by now.”

  “Then you’ll apologize in front of them. That’s the price you pay.”

  Mom wasn’t kidding. When we reached Sister Catherine’s room, a group of freshmen girls was sitting in the desks my friends and I had vacated. They all watched as I dropped my eyes and told Sister Catherine I was very, very sorry.

  I tried to sound sincere, because I did not want my mother to make me do this again, but when I lifted my gaze and saw the cold smile on Sister Catherine’s face, I nearly took it all back.

  I wasn’t sorry.

  Harvey Milk won the election. A gay man will sit on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. But here in my neighborhood, everyone’s acting as if it doesn’t even matter.

  I’m starting to see what Peter meant about getting out of this place.

  Yours, Sharon

  Wednesday, November 9, 1977

  Dear Harvey,

  Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

  You won! You won!!!

  Did you ever think it would happen? Seriously, did you?

  You’re a city supervisor now. Or you will be soon—the newspaper didn’t explain that part. It just said “avowed homosexual Harvey Milk,” who was the “leader of a large constituency of homosexuals in San Francisco,” had been elected. Then it quoted three different pastors saying it was a sign of the rapture coming.

  I haven’t seen my aunt since the results came in, but I bet she’s mad the paper didn’t call her for a comment. I wonder which she’s madder about—that, or you winning in the first place.

  I… I’d given up, Harvey. It was too hard. I was trying to tell myself it couldn’t be that tough to be straight, given how many people do it.

  But if someone like you can do something like this…everything’s upside down all of a sudden.

  I wish there was someone I could talk to about this, but the idea of telling my friends is a disgusting joke. But I have to see them tonight, regardless.

  There’s a stupid party and I have to go. If I don’t, they’ll know something’s wrong, and they’ll start a rumor. Rumors spread faster than the clap around here. I need to go put on some lip gloss and get ready to blend in.

  I should write to Sharon first, though. This will be the last letter, since our reports are due next week. I’d keep writing to her if I could, but stopping is safest. I hate having to lie to her so much.

  Besides, writing to her makes my imagination spiral out of control.

  There have been times—okay, there’ve been a lot of times—when I get fixated on this silly fantasy. It’s embarrassing to write about even here, but, well, it involves me going to San Francisco, and Sharon realizing she’s gay (despite the fact that she has a boyfriend—like I said, silly fantasy), and us living happily ever after.

  It’s absurd. I don’t even know what it means for two girls to live happily ever after. I’m not sure it’s actually possible.

  Besides, it’s not as if I can just up and go to San Francisco. I don’t have any money, or anywhere to live, or any way to get a job. Plus, in outside my stupid fantasy world I don’t even know if I can trust Sharon, let alone run away with her.

  I’ve got to be careful. Back in the summer I wrote whatever I wanted to write, but I’ve pulled back since that stupid fucking pep rally. It would be so easy to slip up when all I want to do is tell her everything.

  I’m so sick of pretending, Harvey.

  Peace, Tammy

  Wednesday, November 9, 1977

  Dear Sharon,

  I can’t believe it, but we’ve answered all the questions and now our reports are due, so I guess this will be my last letter. It feels strange to be sitting here at my desk writing to you for the very last time.

  This pen pal project turned out to be a lot more fun than I ever expected. Hearing about your life in San Francisco has been fun. And I can’t believe we both listen to punk.

  If I ever hear about Patti Smith performing in San Francisco, I’ll think of you and cross my fingers that you’re there. Maybe you could think of me, too.

  Sorry this is so short, but I have to leave soon. I hope you have a good rest of your junior year.

  Yours truly, Tammy

  P.S. I really am going to miss writing to you. I already do. More than I can say.

  Thursday, November 10, 1977

  Dear Tammy,

  Hi! Sorry, it’s actually your turn to write next. Maybe you already sent something and our letters will cross in the mail. I tried to write to you today in school, but my teacher took the paper before I could finish. Now it’s after midnight and I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d try again.

  I don’t know if you heard, but we had an election in San Francisco, and it was a big one. I keep thinking about how fast the world is changing. Do you know what I mean? I know, I know—things are always changing. When we were kids there was all of that stuff with the war, and the president resigning, and those protests were always on TV. Now things are supposed to be calmer, except it doesn’t feel that way. Especially when I’m listening to Patti or the Avengers or X-Ray Spex. It’s as if we’re on the cusp of some new change. Something earth-shattering.

  I know we’re getting ready to be done with this project, and our reports are due and everything, but…if you wanted to, we could keep writing to each other, anyway. You’re probably busy with school and church and everything else, but if you have time, I think it would be fun. Writing to you has become the highlight of my week, and getting your letters back is even better. I love knowing I can tell you what I’m thinking.

  Anyway, if you don’t want to, that’s okay. I’ll miss you, though.

  Yours truly, Sharon

  Thursday, November 10, 1977

  Dear Harvey,

  OH, MY GOD. OH, MY GOD. YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS.

  Harvey, I—oh, my God. I—I—

  Wait. No. I’ve got to back up. It’s two in the morning, but if I don’t write this all down I’ll probably never sleep again. I’ve got to tell you what happened, and I can’t leave anything out.

  The party was on the golf course, as usual. We have these every few weeks in the fall, since the club pools are closed and our parents go out a lot in the evenings.

 
Normally the guys will bring a keg, but this time they couldn’t get one, and we had to bring bottles from our parents’ liquor cabinets. We’re all pros at that maneuver by now, and my own parents don’t even keep the den cabinet locked. I’ve been watching my sisters swipe drinks since I was a kid.

  All the juniors and seniors from youth group were there, and a few sophomores, too. As usual, we waited until the course was closed and the maintenance staff had gone, then we snuck in under the fence and sat along the shore of the water hazard, passing the bottles around. It was hard to taste much after the first few swallows, but no one cared. At first we all joked around together, but by the time we’d finished off the smaller bottles, people started pairing up and drifting off into the trees along the northern edge of the course.

  I’d been sitting next to Carolyn all night, but neither of us had talked much. We’ve been part of the same group of semifriends since we were kids, but I couldn’t have told you the last time we were alone together before tonight.

  As the others started leaving, Carolyn and I slid down the grass and rolled up our jeans so we could dip our toes in the water. During the day the hazard’s only a murky little pond, but tonight the moon was full and right overhead, and the water was a sheet of black rippling glass. We stretched out and watched in silence as more and more people disappeared into the trees, until we were the only two left.

  For the first few minutes, I almost forgot she was there. I was lying on my back, staring up the sky, smiling to myself about Harvey’s victory and wondering what would happen if I shut my eyes. Would I fall asleep right there by the water? Would I wake up when the sun started rising over the branches? What would happen if I stayed in that spot with my eyes closed forever, alone in the dark with nothing overhead but the stars, no sound but the water lapping gently at my ankles?