people heard it, too, and they started chanting along. Soon our whole section of bleachers had joined in. Uncle Russell and Aunt Mandy and the teachers must’ve heard—they were only a few feet from us—but none of them said anything.
As I watched Carolyn chanting along with the others, I remembered something. God, I can’t believe I ever forgot.
It was years ago—fifth grade, I think. A bunch of us had gone to a sleepover at Carolyn’s house for her birthday, and we got to talking about what it would be like to kiss a boy. Annette said she’d done it once at her cousin’s wedding, and she’d practiced on her hand first. Then all of a sudden, we were all practicing on our hands. I didn’t want to do it—I didn’t know I was gay yet, but I knew I wasn’t the same as everybody else, and I was scared someone would be able to tell. But I did it anyway, since it would’ve looked suspicious if I was the only one who didn’t.
Then, out of nowhere, Carolyn dared Annette and Kathy to kiss each other. They refused, of course, and we all started laughing and talking about how gross it would be for a girl to kiss another girl. Everyone was making gagging noises. I laughed, but I felt sick to my stomach the whole time.
Then Carolyn, who’d been making gagging noises, too, said, “How do we know for sure, though, until someone tries it?” At first we laughed some more, but she didn’t, so everyone got quiet. Then Carolyn leaned over and kissed Annette, full on the lips.
It was the first time I’d ever seen something like that. The last, too.
When they broke apart, I swallowed. The whole room was so quiet, they probably heard me.
Then Carolyn started laughing and making more grossed-out noises, and a second later Annette started doing the same thing. Soon everyone was squealing. I joined in, saying fervent “Ewwww!”s along with the others.
I still don’t know why Carolyn did that.
Now, here we were. Here she was, chanting about killing queers.
My aunt and uncle can preach as much as they want about saving people from sin. What those kids in the bleachers were chanting—that’s what this is about.
They don’t want you to win your election, Harvey, but it’s not as if this is all going to be over if you lose.
They want you gone. You, and everybody else like you.
They want us to go away. One way or another.
I don’t know… Maybe that would be a lot easier.
At the beginning of the rally, Aunt Mandy said Anita Bryant’s win in Miami was only the first step. More cities and states will start banning gay rights, she said (only she called it “standing up for Christian families”), and before long, it’ll be illegal for teachers to keep their jobs unless they oppose gay rights, too (only she called that “keeping children in our schools safe from supporters of perversion”). She said that would put a stop to Gay Freedom Day (which she called “that annual travesty up in San Francisco”) and keep homosexuals from “getting ideas” about running for office again.
I don’t know what scares her more—the idea that you exist, Harvey, or the idea that someday you might not be the only gay person with power.
I’m so glad I didn’t tell Sharon the truth. I can’t believe I ever considered it. There’s too much at stake. She tells me so much about what she’s doing and what she’s thinking, but there’s no way I can do the same.
I need to be more careful. I should stick to writing about music. We have more of those stupid pen pal questions to answer before the project ends in November, so I can write about those, too.
Except I don’t know how I’m going to make it to November, Harvey. I want to crawl into a hole and never come out again.
I thought I could stand up to their bullshit, but I failed. I’m not as strong as I thought.
I’ve got to keep my head down. Muddle through, however I can.