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

by Robin Talley

  I’m writing from your city, Harvey. I didn’t think it would ever happen, but I’m here. I know I’m not dreaming, because I just looked out the window and even in the dark, I can see the fog.

  I’ve always wanted to come here, but I think it’s only now hitting me how alone I am.

  I miss my sisters. I miss my bratty little brother. I miss my mother, Harvey, and for as long as I can remember, avoiding her has been my number-two priority, after avoiding my aunt. Sharon’s mom has been so kind and firm and cautious she reminds me of the good days at home, before Mom started to completely hate me.

  And then there’s Sharon.

  She’s nothing like I imagined, Harvey. In her letters she says so much. Now that I’m here with her, it’s shocking how little she says out loud. Still, I can tell how hard she’s thinking in every single moment. It’s spread out across her face.

  Like when we lied to her mother today. Sharon stayed pretty quiet—Peter and I did the talking—but every time I flicked my gaze her way, she was watching us so carefully, I could almost see a thousand different thoughts running through her head. I guess I’ll need to learn how to read her face, since I can’t read her words anymore.

  That’s not so bad, though. Looking at her face.

  Her mom was thinking a lot while we talked, too. She was just as obvious.

  “You ran away from home?” Mrs. Hawkins asked, after I’d finished telling her our story. The four of us were sitting around the kitchen table. Sharon’s mother’s hands were clasped around a glass of iced tea, and her shrewd eyes were locked on me. “Does anyone know where you are?”

  I shook my head. There were tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, real tears. I was exhausted, and overwhelmed, and frustrated at having to lie. My tears added to the drama of the story I was telling, though, so I didn’t try to hide them.

  “What about your grandparents?” she asked. “Or family friends?”

  “I don’t have any other family, and my friends’ parents are all friends with my parents. I couldn’t talk to any of them.”

  Mrs. Hawkins nodded. She seemed to believe me. Only the first part had been a lie, anyway. “What did you plan to do once you reached San Francisco?”

  “I’m not sure.” I tried to smile, but the tears were threatening to fall. “Get a job. Find a place to live.”

  “For how long? Are you planning to move back home before the school year starts?”

  “I…” I trailed off. “I don’t know.”

  “You have to graduate. You can’t let this ruin your future.” Mrs. Hawkins sighed. “Well, summer just began, so I suppose we can discuss that later. For now, you’re welcome to stay here.”

  “Thank you so much, ma’am. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  “It’s not as though I’d have turned you out on the streets.” She sighed. “All the same, I don’t feel right about your family not having any idea where you are. I understand if you don’t want to speak to them, but please give me your phone number. I’ll call your mother so she knows you’re safe.”

  I froze. Across the table, Sharon fidgeted, but it was Peter who jumped in.

  “Her mom isn’t stable.” We all turned to stare, and he tapped his nose. “Drugs. That’s why they’re getting divorced.”

  I dropped my eyes to the table. We hadn’t brainstormed that.

  My mother’s never done drugs in her life. She hates drugs, and everything else that has to do with hippies. She’d be furious if she heard this particular lie.

  But then, she’s already furious with me. That’s why I’m here.

  I kept my eyes down and lowered my voice to a whisper. “I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Ohhh. Oh, ah…” Mrs. Hawkins glanced from me to Peter and then to Sharon. Sharon nodded, confirming her brother’s story. “Well, I can understand your concern. Tammy, you’re sure you don’t have any other family? Aunts and uncles, or…”

  I shook my head again without looking up.

  “All right.” Mrs. Hawkins sighed again. “Please give me your mother’s number, anyway. I have to at least try to reach her.”

  I couldn’t see any way out of it. “Yes, ma’am. May I borrow a pen?”

  “I’ll call Javi about the job,” Peter said, climbing up from the table as Mrs. Hawkins passed me a pen and the back of a bill envelope to write on. I wrote down the number for our church office. It only gets answered on Sunday afternoons when Uncle Russell’s secretary is there, so I can only pray Mrs. Hawkins won’t try to call it then.

  While Peter was on the phone, Sharon and her mom set up a foam sleeping pallet on the floor of Sharon’s room. Mrs. Hawkins told Sharon to loan me pajamas and soap for the night, and said she’d pick up a toothbrush and clean underwear for me in the morning. I smiled in gratitude while, next to her, Sharon turned bright red.

  Before I could ask whether Sharon felt awkward about sharing a room with me, Peter was standing in the doorway, grinning. “You got it! I told Javi and Rosa you’re trustworthy and you could start right away, and they want you to come in with me for a test shift tonight. If you do all right, the job’s yours.”

  “Tonight? Wow. Uh, that’s great.” Now I was the one who felt awkward. “Thanks, Peter, that’s nice of you. It’s only that I’ve, well…never worked in a grocery store before. Or, um. Any kind of store.”

  “You’ll be fine.” Sharon smiled at me. “Sweeping’s easy. Just aim for the dustpan.”

  I forced a laugh.

  “Come on, Tammy.” Peter motioned for me to come with him.

  “Er…” I glanced down at my rumpled pants.

  “You should change first,” Mrs. Hawkins said firmly. “Sharon, loan her something to wear, maybe your…no, that won’t do any good, all your pants will be too short. Come with me, Tammy, I’ve got something that’ll fit.”

  Mrs. Hawkins led me down the hall and started pulling things out of a closet. I turned back, hoping to catch Sharon’s eye, but she and Peter were still in her room. Sharon was closing the door behind them.

  I wished I could hear what they were talking about. Peter seemed glad to have me here, but I wasn’t sure about Sharon. She was thinking a lot, but saying less.

  I wound up wearing one of Mrs. Hawkins’s sweatshirts and a pair of jeans that had once been Peter’s. When I pulled my hair back, I barely recognized myself in the mirror.

  Maybe I could get it cut now that I was here. Different clothes, different hair—different me.

  “Looking good, Tammy.” Peter smiled when he emerged from Sharon’s room. “Ready?”

  “I guess.” I was still nervous, and more tired than ever, but I smiled back at him. “Did you tell them I don’t know how to sweep?”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.” He grinned.

  We walked to the store instead of driving—people walk places here; I guess I should’ve known that—and it wound up being a lot less intimidating than I’d expected. Javi and Rosa were both incredibly nice, and cleaning and stocking the shelves wasn’t so bad. Better than lifeguarding. No snotty kids to yell at, and no sunburn, either.

  At the end of the night, Rosa offered me the job and gave me fifteen dollars out of the register. That’s more per hour than what I’ll get paid after this, but she said since I was new in town, she was giving me a tip on top of tonight’s pay.

  I had to fight not to cry again. Up until she’d handed me that fifteen dollars, what was left of my cash had been reduced to a couple of quarters tucked into the seam of my purse.

  When we got home, Sharon was on the couch, watching TV and writing in a notebook. She glanced up and gave us a half smile, but Peter just waved to her and gestured for me to follow him upstairs. When we got to the top, he whispered that Sharon didn’t like to be interrupted when she was writing in her diary.

  Well, Harvey, since Sharon�
��s writing in her diary, I figured I’d do the same thing. I’ve been carrying this notebook and my aunt’s old check register around in my purse for months. I thought I was being paranoid, keeping them hidden, but I guess I made the right call.

  It’s late now, though, and there’s no sign of Sharon. I’m ready to pass out on this foam pallet any second now.

  I wonder if she’s writing about me. I wonder what she wants to say to her diary that she doesn’t want to say out loud. I stopped writing to you, Harvey, when I started writing everything to her, but maybe now that we’re in the same place, things are changing again.

  I have no idea how I’m going to sleep tonight with her only a few feet away. I guess I’ll have to just shut my eyes, put the pillow over my head, and try to pretend things are normal.

  Except—let’s be honest, Harvey. There’s nothing normal about any of this.

  Peace, Tammy

  Saturday, June 17, 1978

  Dear Diary,

  It’s been more than two weeks since I last wrote here, but it feels like a million years. My last entry was the day Tammy came to San Francisco. So much has happened I haven’t had a second to write since then, but I’m hiding from Tammy now, and I have the whole night. Maybe I’ll understand this better after I’ve got it down on paper.

  It started when Kevin came over for dinner tonight.

  “I figured out how to do it, in the end,” Tammy was saying with a grin. Kevin, Mom, and even Peter and I were bent over our spaghetti in hysterics. Tammy was telling us a story about how Rosa had taught her how to use a mop, and I don’t know if it was as funny when it was happening as it was when she described it after the fact, but either way, Tammy’s an excellent storyteller. It’s no wonder I enjoyed her letters so much. “The mouse who was responsible for that mess is on my takedown list for life.”

  “Its life, or yours?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Whichever ends first.”

  “The mouse is toast. Don’t worry.” Peter wiped his eyes. “The other day I had to repack five deliveries because of turds in the bags. Next time I see the tiniest flick of a brown tail, I’m grabbing Javi’s cleaver.”

  “Language, please, Peter,” Mom said, but she was laughing, too.

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  “I think my roommate’s got a switchblade.” Kevin grinned at Tammy. Tonight was the first time they’d met—she’s been working a ton of hours to earn as much as cash as possible, so we haven’t had time to do many fun things yet—but they were already acting like old friends. “If you want to dispatch it with something stealthier.”

  “If you saw me with that mop today, you wouldn’t make that offer.” Tammy climbed to her feet and reached for Kevin’s empty plate. “I’d probably wind up stabbing myself.”

  “Sharon, help her clear the table,” Mom said. “Despite our guest’s eagerness to lend a hand, I do expect my own children to wash dishes on occasion.”

  “Can we do the rest of the cleanup after we get back tonight?” I bent down to collect the water glasses.

  Mom frowned. “Remind me where you’re all going on a weeknight, again?”

  I took a deep breath, preparing for another lie. It’s getting harder to keep up with all our stories. Fortunately, Peter jumped in. “It’s summer, Mom! No school, remember? We’re going over to Kevin’s to watch the Giants game.”

  Mom didn’t smile. I wonder if she suspected something was up, since neither of us have ever gone out of our way to watch baseball before, but she didn’t argue. “Well, be back before it gets too late. You’ve got work tomorrow, all of you.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Love you.” Peter kissed her on the cheek. Mom smiled, and I wondered how many extra lies Peter had bought us with that move.

  Our actual plans had nothing to do with the Giants. Kevin had to study for a big exam for his summer course, but he was giving Peter, Sharon, and me a ride north first. Peter was going to visit his friends in the Castro, and since Tammy finally had a night off, I was taking her to the bookstore. She was nervous about meeting other lesbians for the first time, but it was an official volunteer night—we were putting together a big mailing to Fresno—and this way we could keep busy if Tammy was too anxious to talk much. Plus, it would be her first chance to work on mailings that didn’t include cartoons about gay people being demons.

  Tammy’s quickly become part of our family routine, and Mom seems to have accepted that she isn’t going back to Ocean Valley anytime soon. She’s called the number Tammy gave her a bunch of times, but never gotten an answer, which backed up our story about Tammy’s mother being a drug addict who can’t manage to answer the phone.

  It feels normal now to have Tammy there in the morning when we have breakfast, or waiting for a turn in the bathroom before work. At night, Tammy, Peter, and I watch TV together, and when Mom comes home from her library job and sees us all together in the living room, she’ll say “Good night, Three Musketeers,” and go upstairs with a wave.

  It’s fun, spending time with Tammy and Peter. When I wind up alone with her, though—that’s harder. We told each other so much in our letters, but now that we’re in the same place, it’s as though we can’t think of anything to say. Maybe we’re afraid to.

  Or maybe it’s only me who’s afraid.

  On the nights when Peter goes out, I always come up with some excuse for why I need to go to bed early, while Tammy stays downstairs watching TV. I can never sleep on those nights, though. I lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, until I hear Peter come in, followed by the sounds of his and Tammy’s soft voices and muted laughter drifting up the steps.

  When she finally comes up to bed, I pretend to be asleep, but that’s getting harder. Knowing she’s lying there silently on the floor beside me. Hearing the sounds of her soft, steady breathing.

  “It’s been great finally meeting you, Tammy,” Kevin said, smiling his Kevin smile as he passed her a stack of silverware. “My girlfriend’s talked about nothing all year except how cool her pen pal is, so I’m glad to see she was telling the truth.”

  Tammy thanked him while I turned away, blushing.

  I’d given Kevin the same story we’d given Mom. I felt terrible lying to him, too, but Peter was adamant that we keep Tammy’s secret—and he was probably worried Kevin might figure out the truth about him, too.

  Besides, I wasn’t sure how he’d take it. Kevin’s nothing like Gary Knopp, but I don’t have any reason to think he’s more accepting of gay people than anyone else at our school. That’s why I’ve never told him about volunteering on Prop 6. He knows I hang out at the bookstore, and he thinks that’s great since he’s always loved bookstores, but he’d never set foot inside any building that said “Women’s” on the front door. He asked me once what kind of books a women’s bookstore sold, and when I told him there were books about women’s health, he started waving his hand around frantically and said, “Sorry I asked!”

  I know guys don’t want to think about periods and stuff, but Kevin wants to be a doctor, so it seemed kind of ridiculous. But it was also a relief knowing he wouldn’t ask me about the bookstore again.

  It’s getting harder, keeping all my worlds separate.

  “Hey, so, I wanted to say,” Peter whispered, following me into the kitchen, “thanks for helping out. With making sure Tammy can stay here.”

  I turned around, startled. “You were the one helping us, remember?”

  “Sure, it started because of your pen pal thing, but…” Peter shrugged. “I’m just saying, she’s really cool. Getting to hang out with her makes work a lot more fun. She gets it, you know? She’s used to hiding.”

  “I’m used to hiding, too,” I whispered back. “I lie to Mom all the time about working on the Prop 6 campaign, and going to punk shows.”

  “It’s not the same. I know you thought you liked that one girl that one time, but—” />
  “Shhhhh!” I whipped around to make sure Tammy wasn’t in earshot. I’d never told her about that, and I certainly wasn’t planning to now that she slept in my room.

  “Look.” He rolled his eyes. “Tammy and me, we’re lying about who we are. It’s a bigger lie than the kind you’re used to, and it hurts a lot more.”

  It hurt to hear him say that, too, but I nodded. I knew he was right.

  “Unless you’ve realized you’re not that straight after all.” His lip curled up. “Have you?”

  “Don’t,” I muttered. Kevin was striding into the kitchen.

  “Ready to go?” He zipped up his sweatshirt. Behind him, Tammy was grinning, probably over some hilarious conversation they’d just had. “I have sixty pages of econ to go over before tomorrow.”

  Peter and I got our jackets and Tammy pulled on a sweater Mom had loaned her. She’d insisted on wearing T-shirts for the first week she was here, because, she claimed, that was just what people wore in June, but she finally accepted the reality of northern California and started dressing in layers after she wound up walking home from work shivering night after night.

  We said goodbye to Mom and went outside.

  “I feel like I should put on makeup,” Tammy whispered as we stepped out into the bright, chilly evening. Peter and Kevin had gone on ahead toward the car. “But I didn’t bring any.”

  “Don’t worry, none of the women at the bookstore use makeup. I wore mascara there once and felt so self-conscious I snuck into the bathroom to wipe it off.”

  Tammy laughed, her elbow knocking into mine. “I’m so excited to finally see this bookstore. You make it sound like paradise.”

  “Well, it’s just a bookstore. It’s the women there who make it cool.”

  “I believe you. That’s why I’m nervous.”

  “Don’t be.” I smiled. “They’re going to think you’re amazing. How could they not?”

  She smiled back. “Thanks, Sharon.”

  It feels strange to hear her say my name out loud. A good kind of strange.