There’s something I’ve started thinking about. It’s probably ridiculous, but after I got Sharon’s letter today, I’m thinking about it more than ever.
I don’t have long to decide, either. She sounded worried, so I want to write back to her today. If I drive to the post office my letter will get in the mail tonight, but it’ll still take two days to get to San Francisco.
Obviously I’m not going to tell anyone what she wrote, but I like that she trusted me enough to write it. Sharon seems to trust me with things she wouldn’t tell a lot of people. I want to trust her, too.
That’s dangerous, though—trusting someone. Especially someone I’ve never met.
I want to send her the collage I’m working on. She’s the one person who might understand it. I don’t know if anyone would get what I’m trying to say, but that’s okay. Art isn’t supposed to be literal.
And I… I want to tell her, Harvey.
She lives in San Francisco, and it’s obvious she isn’t afraid to rebel. She’s so different from everyone I know.
I think she might be okay with me being…you know.
There have even been times when I wondered if she could be like us. If I could get to San Francisco somehow…
Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can’t get lost in some pointless fantasy. Besides, she has a boyfriend.
I just want to tell someone, Harvey. So much. I don’t think I even realized it until this pen pal thing started, but suddenly it’s as if I’m desperate for someone to know who I really am. I’m spending every day now getting ready for this goddamn pep rally, and the truth’s ready to burst out of me.
Could I tell her? Could I write her a letter and actually put in the words “I’m gay”?
God, just writing that to you was terrifying.
What if I tell her and she never wants to write to me again? Or worse—way worse—what if she tells someone?
Her mom’s a teacher. What if she tells her? Or what if she leaves my letter out on a table and her mom or her brother sees it?
Did you ever feel this way? I never thought I could tell anyone, Harvey.
I want to be proud of who I am, the way you are, but how? How do you make yourself feel something when everyone around you believes the exact opposite?
This is the kind of secret people like me take to their graves. If my family knew, my life would be over. Maybe literally.
I’m sorry, Harvey. I can’t tell her. I know I’m letting you down, but I don’t have your courage.
Tammy
Friday, August 5, 1977
Dear Sharon,
I can’t write much tonight, I’m sorry. There’s a big event coming up on our first day of school and I’m sort of running it, so I have to work on it all weekend.
But since you sounded so worried, I wanted to write back tonight and promise I won’t tell anyone what you said. Believe me, I understand about keeping things private. Way better than I can say.
Could we…sorry, I know this sounds dorky, but could we make a pledge or something? I have to mail out pledge forms for my aunt’s campaigns, where people promise to vote a certain way, and I thought maybe we could both make a pledge to trust each other. I promise not to reveal anything you don’t want me to. I’ll start hiding your letters, too, so you won’t have to worry about anyone in my family finding them. I’m good at hiding things.
Then we can write to each other about whatever we want. There are some things I definitely can’t tell any adults, or my friends at school either. But I have this feeling that I can tell you just about anything.
Sometimes, writing to you is like working on a collage. I forget to worry about what I’m saying and I just…create.
I worry that one day I’ll be so busy drawing or writing or