Music From Another World - Robin Talley Page 0,123
Our group had packed the narrow sidewalk. Behind us stood the high-school gym where Harvey was getting ready to debate Senator Briggs, and across the street was a bored-looking photographer from the local paper. He’d snapped a few pictures of us before lowering his camera and lighting a cigarette.
Evelyn was annoyed that he was staying so far back, but I didn’t mind. I knew getting covered in the press was part of changing hearts and minds, but if I was going to show up in a newspaper holding a sign that read DEFEAT THE ANTI-GAY REFERENDUM, I’d prefer that the picture be from far away.
A passing car honked its horn, but I couldn’t tell which side the driver was on. I waved, anyway, then turned back before I could see him pass the opposite end of our block.
There was another crop of protestors there, and they had signs, too. HOMOSEXUALITY IS A THREAT TO THE SURVIVAL OF THE UNITED STATES and A YES VOTE ON PROP 6 IS A VOTE FOR THE SANCTITY OF THE AMERICAN FAMILY and other cheery slogans. The photographer had snapped plenty of pictures of them already.
“The debate starts in thirty minutes,” Evelyn called from behind us. She’d been running back and forth all afternoon between our group of demonstrators and the makeshift campaign headquarters we’d set up by the bus. “Harvey wants everyone inside in fifteen.”
“Got it,” Tammy called back. She was standing next to me, holding a sign she’d made. It read WE ARE YOUR CHILDREN on one side, and on the other, she’d painted two overlapping blue-and-purple women symbols. “Is he coming out for the cameras?”
“No.” Evelyn wound through the group toward us, passing out glass bottles of soda along the way. Behind us, people were starting to come up the walk toward the gym. Regular people, here for the debate. I wondered if they were with us or against us. “He’s in with the students. A dozen stayed after school to talk to him in the library, and the music teacher, too.”
I wondered if I’d have the nerve to stay after school and meet Harvey Milk in the library. Not that it mattered, since my school would never let him inside in the first place.
I do hope I’d have the nerve, though.
“Well, if he’s not coming, we have to do something to get the press’s attention,” Tammy muttered. “The story’s going to be all about the other side.”
I saw what she meant. The photographer had crossed to the opposite end of the lawn again, and now he was snapping photos of a scowling middle-aged woman in a blue floral dress, holding a sign that said MY CHILDREN HAVE THE RIGHT TO GROW UP IN A DECENT COMMUNITY! YES ON 6!
Next to the photographer, another man was leaning in to talk to the woman, scribbling on a notepad. We couldn’t hear them from this distance, but I’m sure she was giving that reporter lots of quotes about decency, and how we didn’t know anything about it. He hadn’t come over to talk to our side yet.
“I have an idea,” I said as the photographer glanced up, looking around for his next shot. I bit my bottom lip and waved to get his attention. When I caught his eye, I took Tammy’s hand.
She drew in a quick, sharp breath, but she caught on fast. She threaded her fingers through mine as the photographer bounded toward us, the reporter close behind him.
The lens zoomed in, and I clung to Tammy’s hand that much tighter, lifting my sign so it would be easy to read. If these pictures showed up in any of the San Francisco papers, I didn’t want to think about what my mom would say, let alone the nuns at school, but I ordered myself to let go of the fear.
Tammy squeezed my hand. I squeezed back—and that was when I realized I didn’t have to be afraid. It had gotten to be a habit, but it was one I could break. Especially with her beside me.
I lifted my chin boldly and looked straight at the camera. I squeezed her hand again, and it felt glorious.