and us living happily ever after.
It’s absurd. I don’t even know what it means for two girls to live happily ever after. I’m not sure it’s actually possible.
Besides, it’s not as if I can just up and go to San Francisco. I don’t have any money, or anywhere to live, or any way to get a job. Plus, in outside my stupid fantasy world I don’t even know if I can trust Sharon, let alone run away with her.
I’ve got to be careful. Back in the summer I wrote whatever I wanted to write, but I’ve pulled back since that stupid fucking pep rally. It would be so easy to slip up when all I want to do is tell her everything.
I’m so sick of pretending, Harvey.
Peace, Tammy
Wednesday, November 9, 1977
Dear Sharon,
I can’t believe it, but we’ve answered all the questions and now our reports are due, so I guess this will be my last letter. It feels strange to be sitting here at my desk writing to you for the very last time.
This pen pal project turned out to be a lot more fun than I ever expected. Hearing about your life in San Francisco has been fun. And I can’t believe we both listen to punk.
If I ever hear about Patti Smith performing in San Francisco, I’ll think of you and cross my fingers that you’re there. Maybe you could think of me, too.
Sorry this is so short, but I have to leave soon. I hope you have a good rest of your junior year.
Yours truly, Tammy
P.S. I really am going to miss writing to you. I already do. More than I can say.
Thursday, November 10, 1977
Dear Tammy,
Hi! Sorry, it’s actually your turn to write next. Maybe you already sent something and our letters will cross in the mail. I tried to write to you today in school, but my teacher took the paper before I could finish. Now it’s after midnight and I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d try again.
I don’t know if you heard, but we had an election in San Francisco, and it was a big one. I keep thinking about how fast the world is changing. Do you know what I mean? I know, I know—things are always changing. When we were kids there was all of that stuff with the war, and the president resigning, and those protests were always on TV. Now things are supposed to be calmer, except it doesn’t feel that way. Especially when I’m listening to Patti or the Avengers or X-Ray Spex. It’s as if we’re on the cusp of some new change. Something earth-shattering.
I know we’re getting ready to be done with this project, and our reports are due and everything, but…if you wanted to, we could keep writing to each other, anyway. You’re probably busy with school and church and everything else, but if you have time, I think it would be fun. Writing to you has become the highlight of my week, and getting your letters back is even better. I love knowing I can tell you what I’m thinking.
Anyway, if you don’t want to, that’s okay. I’ll miss you, though.
Yours truly, Sharon
Thursday, November 10, 1977
Dear Harvey,
OH, MY GOD. OH, MY GOD. YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS.
Harvey, I—oh, my God. I—I—
Wait. No. I’ve got to back up. It’s two in the morning, but if I don’t write this all down I’ll probably never sleep again. I’ve got to tell you what happened, and I can’t leave anything out.
The party was on the golf course, as usual. We have these every few weeks in the fall, since the club pools are closed and our parents go out a lot in the evenings.
Normally the guys will bring a keg, but this time they couldn’t get one, and we had to bring bottles from our parents’ liquor cabinets. We’re all pros at that maneuver by now, and my own parents don’t even keep the den cabinet