around it. There weren’t enough chairs, so some wound up sitting on the floor, tucking their sneakered feet under them on the industrial gray carpet and sipping from bottles of beer and soda. The store had looked minuscule at first, but now that so many people were inside, it felt bigger.
Evelyn introduced me to the others as we passed out the supplies, making a big point to tell them all that I was going to help the store “connect with more young women.” The way she kept saying it reminded me of how Peter loves to tell people I’m his “kid” sister, but the girls at the store were cool about it.
Lisa came out from behind the cash register and waved for me to sit beside her on the floor next to a stack of letters. I sat, grabbing a few and copying her movements as she neatly folded each page into thirds.
“Are you and Becky roommates?” I asked Lisa. Everyone else seemed to be talking in low murmurs while we worked, except Evelyn. She was still bustling around getting things organized.
“Yeah. Evie lives with us, too. And three other women, but they had to work today. We’ve all got other jobs, since we’re not making any money from the store yet.”
“You mean you don’t get paid to work here?”
“Nope. We own it, as a collective. Someday we hope to turn a profit so we can put it toward some of our causes, but for now we’re just trying to keep up with the rent and the light bill.”
“Oh, wow. That’s so cool. I thought you were all in college.”
“We are.” Lisa laughed. “That’s why we need the extra jobs. Got to pay those tuition bills. And eat, too.”
“Wow. Do you go to SF State?”
“Evie does, for grad school. Becky and I are at SFAI. Susanna over there goes to SFCM.” She pointed to a Chinese girl on the other side of the table with long, black hair and a T-shirt that read THE FUTURE IS FEMALE.
By the way, Tammy, have you heard of SFCM and SFAI? They’re the San Francisco Conservatory of Music and the San Francisco Art Institute.
I was surprised that there were so many feminist artists. Then I realized I shouldn’t make assumptions.
“So are you all…um, feminists?” I asked, then immediately blushed. I sounded ridiculous.
Lisa laughed. “Well, it’s a feminist bookstore, so I sure as Hell hope so. And to answer your next question, no, we’re not all lesbians. But some of us are.”
She winked. I laughed, because I could tell she wanted me to laugh, but now I was wondering exactly how many lesbians were in that store.
Another Black girl Evelyn had introduced me to, Alex, squatted down next to Lisa. “Hey, is it cool if I bring a date to your poetry reading next week?”
“Depends.” Lisa grinned. “Who’ve you got in mind?”
“Well, since you asked…” Alex dropped down to sit on the floor, and soon the two of them were off and running, talking about friends of theirs. I relaxed, since I knew I wouldn’t be called on for this conversation. Besides, I definitely wasn’t cool enough to get invited to a poetry reading, with or without a date.
I couldn’t believe how many girls had come to this volunteer meeting. No—not girls. Women. That’s what people here seemed to say. Most of them were in jeans and T-shirts with boots or loafers, and most were wearing their hair short and loose in no particular style. No one seemed preoccupied with how they looked, or with what anyone else thought of them.
I was starting to think I might actually fit in there someday. Maybe I even already did.
When I climbed up to grab another roll of stamps off the table, Becky and Evelyn were sitting at the far end, talking about how depressing it was that Senator Briggs had gotten enough signatures in Orange County to put Prop 6 on the ballot. Which made me think of you, of course.
“It shows how crucial it is that we beat them at the ballot box,” Evelyn said. “Sharon, get your friends to