Music From Another World - Robin Talley Page 0,102
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