Music From Another World - Robin Talley Page 0,110
I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have followed you outside tonight, but I could tell you were upset. I thought it was all my fault. Now, though, I’m wondering if you might’ve been upset about something else, too.
I’m sliding this under your door now. I’ll come back in ten minutes and then again ten minutes after that if you want to slide something back to me. If you don’t, that’s okay. If there’s anything you do want to talk about, though, our pledge still stands.
Anyway…just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you.
Yours, Tammy
Wednesday, June 28, 1978
Dear Tammy,
Okay. Since you asked…
Tammy, I feel so stupid.
There’s so much I don’t understand. This all seems to come easily to everyone else, but I’ve been so mixed up.
My whole life, I never fit. Not at school, not at church, not in this city. Or at least this neighborhood.
That changed the first time I went to a punk show. It changed more when I went to the bookstore. Then you showed up, and everything changed all over again, a hundred times over. Do you know what I mean?
Wait, listen to me. What am I saying? You can’t know what I mean. You fit everywhere without trying.
I’m so glad you’re here, Tammy. Please don’t think you messed anything up for me. I wish you could stay forever.
Also… Midge told me something tonight, and I’ve been thinking, and…maybe she’s right. Maybe I just need to live my life.
Sorry, I’m not making sense.
Write back if you’re awake.
Yours, Sharon
Wednesday, June 28, 1978
Dear Sharon,
You make total sense. And of course I’m awake. Getting letters from you is way more exciting than sleeping. It’s like in the old days, except instead of waiting for the mailman, I can just come up the stairs to see if there’s a folded piece of notebook paper waiting for me.
Anyway, I do know what you mean. I never fit anywhere either until I got here. I could pretend I belonged—I guess I’ve gotten good at that—but it’s not the same as really finding a place. I know that now.
But I should probably stop writing before I say something I regret later.
Have a good night, Sharon.
Yours, Tammy
Wednesday, June 28, 1978
Dear Tammy,
I don’t think we should worry about saying things we regret. We made a pledge, and pledges are serious business.
Besides, there are some things I want to say now that I might finally be starting to figure things out.
What Midge said tonight made something shift inside my head. It’s as though I’ve been trying to solve a puzzle for months, maybe years, but I was missing a piece the whole time, and tonight I might have found it. It’s scary to think about what it could mean, but it’s still a huge relief to have it worked out.
It would be good to talk about it all. Especially with you. Since a lot of it’s about you.
Not tonight, though. We’d have to whisper, and that’s not what I want. Could we meet after work tomorrow? There’s a coffee shop on Felton where we shouldn’t see anyone we know.
What do you think?
Yours, Sharon
P.S. I see what you meant. Writing that down wasn’t easy, pledge or no pledge.
Wednesday, June 28, 1978
Dear Sharon,
Yes. Tomorrow after work. I switched my shift with Peter so I could go to SFAI tomorrow and work in the darkroom, but I should be done by the time you’re finished babysitting. I’ll come meet you at the coffee shop right away.
And as much as I hate to say it, we should probably stop writing now. You have to be at the O’Sullivans’ early, and running after toddlers is hard on no sleep.
Yours, Tammy
P.S. Given the pledge and all, I’ll admit—I’m already counting down the hours.