Wow, I wonder what the odds are that we got matched up as pen pals when we seem to be the only two people either of us knows who likes punk. (Why don’t your friends listen to it, though? I thought it’d be huge in San Francisco.)
Anyway, speaking of works in progress, my main hobby is art. I make collages. My art teacher says collages aren’t real art, so I can’t turn them in for credit, which I guess makes it a hobby. It’s fun, though. Messing around with pencils and glue and magazines is a great way to tune out whenever I start worrying too much.
I don’t know if I have any other hobbies, unless you count volunteering with my church. Everything around here is kind of about church, one way or another. You’re Catholic, right? My uncle started New Way Baptist, the biggest church in our part of Orange County. People come from towns all around here every week to hear him preach and to sign up for whatever campaign my aunt’s working on. I work on the campaigns, too, sometimes with my youth group and sometimes on my own. For the past few months, I’ve been stuffing a lot of envelopes in my aunt and uncle’s den.
Sorry, this turned into another long letter! I promise I’ll try to keep it short next time.
Yours truly, Tammy
P.S. I forgot you asked about having a summer job. I just started training as a lifeguard at the country-club pool. I got incredibly sunburned on my first day and now I have to sit under an umbrella, which is embarrassing.
Also, I saw where you crossed something out in your last letter. Don’t worry, I didn’t try to read it. I looked back and saw that I crossed something out here, too, but I wanted to say that if there’s anything you want to tell me, you can. We’re never going to meet and we don’t know any of the same people, so we could talk about stuff we might not want to tell other people. If you wanted to, I mean.
Wednesday, July 20, 1977
Dear Tammy,
How did Patti Smith change your life? Does your life need changing? It seems really cool already.
The day after I got your letter I got paid from one of my babysitting jobs, so I went straight to the record store and bought that Patti Smith album, Horses. I don’t know that much about punk yet, but I want to go to more shows. I think there’s a bigger club in North Beach, and I can take the bus there. If I ever find out Patti Smith is coming, I’ll write and tell you first thing.
Her album—wow, you weren’t kidding. Just looking at the picture on the cover was kind of shocking. I’ve never seen a girl who looked like her. I had to hide it from my mom before I’d even played it.
But the songs—wow all over again. Her words are almost poetry, only it’s really creepy poetry.
I’ve listened to the whole album all the way through I don’t know how many times, but I always hear words I didn’t catch before. Plus, her voice sounds strange, too. Almost like a man’s.
It’s as though Patti Smith lives in a different world, and it’s a scary world, but it’s also real in a way that this world isn’t. Do you know what I mean? It’s as if everyone else is so busy being fake all the time, but Patti Smith’s actually being honest, and it’s the first time anyone ever has been. She isn’t trying to pretend the world’s perfect and happy and shiny all the time.
Do you ever think there might be this huge worldwide conspiracy to convince us that our lives will be perfect if we just do what we’re supposed to do? I don’t know if this happens at your school, but here we get lectures about how important it is to tuck in your shirt to honor the Lord, and at dances, the teachers walk around with balloons that they slide in between couples while they’re dancing to make sure they “leave space for the holy ghost.” Once, in fifth grade, my