into you?” She stared down at me. We’re the same height now, but her heels made her a couple of inches taller than me in my saddle shoes. “You know that wasn’t an appropriate topic to bring up in school.”
“Why shouldn’t we talk about an election in History class?”
“You know very well it’s not about the election. It’s about that man in District Five.” Mom wrinkled her nose.
“What, are we supposed to pretend he doesn’t exist?” I wanted to add “because he’s gay?” at the end, but I stopped myself. I couldn’t use the word “gay” in front of my mom, not with Peter’s secret hanging in the air between us.
Still, it felt wrong holding back. Wasn’t this exactly what I was trying to argue against?
“You’re supposed to be respectful of your teachers. Your mother, too, for that matter.” Mom uncrossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “You’re grounded until further notice. You’ll leave the house for school, church, and babysitting. Nothing more.”
I wanted to argue. Instead I nodded heavily.
“And you’ll apologize to Sister Catherine. Right now.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts.’ We’re walking straight to her classroom and so you can apologize.”
“What? Mom, come on, she’s probably teaching another class by now.”
“Then you’ll apologize in front of them. That’s the price you pay.”
Mom wasn’t kidding. When we reached Sister Catherine’s room, a group of freshmen girls was sitting in the desks my friends and I had vacated. They all watched as I dropped my eyes and told Sister Catherine I was very, very sorry.
I tried to sound sincere, because I did not want my mother to make me do this again, but when I lifted my gaze and saw the cold smile on Sister Catherine’s face, I nearly took it all back.
I wasn’t sorry.
Harvey Milk won the election. A gay man will sit on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. But here in my neighborhood, everyone’s acting as if it doesn’t even matter.
I’m starting to see what Peter meant about getting out of this place.
Yours, Sharon
Wednesday, November 9, 1977
Dear Harvey,
Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
You won! You won!!!
Did you ever think it would happen? Seriously, did you?
You’re a city supervisor now. Or you will be soon—the newspaper didn’t explain that part. It just said “avowed homosexual Harvey Milk,” who was the “leader of a large constituency of homosexuals in San Francisco,” had been elected. Then it quoted three different pastors saying it was a sign of the rapture coming.
I haven’t seen my aunt since the results came in, but I bet she’s mad the paper didn’t call her for a comment. I wonder which she’s madder about—that, or you winning in the first place.
I… I’d given up, Harvey. It was too hard. I was trying to tell myself it couldn’t be that tough to be straight, given how many people do it.
But if someone like you can do something like this…everything’s upside down all of a sudden.
I wish there was someone I could talk to about this, but the idea of telling my friends is a disgusting joke. But I have to see them tonight, regardless.
There’s a stupid party and I have to go. If I don’t, they’ll know something’s wrong, and they’ll start a rumor. Rumors spread faster than the clap around here. I need to go put on some lip gloss and get ready to blend in.
I should write to Sharon first, though. This will be the last letter, since our reports are due next week. I’d keep writing to her if I could, but stopping is safest. I hate having to lie to her so much.
Besides, writing to her makes my imagination spiral out of control.
There have been times—okay, there’ve been a lot of times—when I get fixated on this silly fantasy. It’s embarrassing to write about even here, but, well, it involves me going to San Francisco, and Sharon realizing she’s gay (despite the fact that she has a boyfriend—like I said, silly fantasy),