For the first part of tonight’s meeting, while Aunt Mandy droned on about how important our fucking pep rally was going to be, I kept my eyes on my lap. Until my aunt said the words I’d been dreading. “Tammy, as vice president of the youth group, I’d like you to take on a leadership role in planning this event. Brett’s very busy with his senior year starting.”
At that moment, Brett, the president of our youth group, was sitting on the couch opposite me. He and the three guys next to him had walked in reeking of pot five minutes after the meeting started. Ever since, all four of them had been drifting off with vacant half smiles on their faces.
Sure, Brett was obviously way too busy to organize the homosexuality festivities.
There were a lot of things I wanted to say to my aunt. I wanted to tell her to shut up, first of all. I wanted to tell her that no, I didn’t have time to plan an anti-Harvey Milk pep rally, either, and by the way, I knew the truth behind all her lies.
I wanted to tell her I wasn’t scared of her anymore. I wanted to stop being meek, secretive little Tammy Larson and turn into Patti Smith, fearless and angry and bold.
I wanted to shout, “FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING RALLY, AUNT MANDY!” and storm out of my parents’ house forever.
And then my aunt smiled at me.
Aunt Mandy’s smile is terrifying, Harvey. She does it surprisingly often, but there’s never any light in her eyes.
Tonight her eyes were hard as steel, and when I looked at her, she tilted her head to the side—only a fraction of an inch, but it tightened the distance between us, somehow.
Suddenly I was nine years old again, realizing all at once that my aunt could see right past the good girl who does as she’s told, straight to the screwed-up lesbian who hasn’t believed in God since kindergarten.
I forgot everything I’d dreamed of saying. All I wanted was for her to stop looking at me.
“Okay,” I mumbled. “Yeah.”
“Lovely!” Aunt Mandy beamed, but that steely look never left her eyes. “We’ll show America that the young people in this state are better than what the press would have them believe. They’ve got everyone thinking those deviants up in San Francisco stand for us all, when the truth is, we’ve got far more decent people than we do, ah…”
For once, she seemed lost for words. Probably because she’d already used “deviants” twice.
“Junkies, Mrs. Dale?” Carolyn suggested. She was sitting on the floor across from me.
“Certainly,” Aunt Mandy said, but she pursed her lips. She’d wanted to say something else altogether.
“Ma’am?” Carolyn leaned forward in her seat. “Is it true that the reason the freaks are drawn to San Francisco is because it sits on the biggest earthquake fault line in the world?”
Aunt Mandy smiled a little. “Did you hear that at school?”
Carolyn nodded.
“Well, the important thing for you to understand is that this is all part of God’s plan.” My aunt’s smile smoothed out, turning fake-warm. “He’s testing us. He’s sent his enemies, but he sent Anita Bryant, too. Soon, the avowed homosexuals and their fellow sinners will see God’s plan in action, and the Christians will rise again.”
Every word she said made me shrink deeper into myself.
Finally, Aunt Mandy stood up to lead us in a prayer. She asked God to give us the strength to save our generation from the heathen elements and secular culture and unclean music and all the rest. Finally, just when I was sure I couldn’t take one more second of this shit without tearing my hair out of my skull, it was over.
Now I have a pep rally to plan. So I can shout with all my so-called friends about the evil dirty secular heathens. People like me.
I’ve had so many dreams about San Francisco, Harvey. I went to the library and read a travel guide to Northern California, but it didn’t say anything about gay people. I