come here after school. We’ll need all the help we can get.”
“With more mailings?”
“Yeah, it’s not exactly glamorous work.” Evelyn swept out her hand over the pile of stamps and envelopes on the table. Behind her was a bookshelf with a Lesbian Poetry sign across the top. I wondered what makes poetry lesbian. “We’ll need to start prepping for Gay Freedom Day before long, too. All the campaigns against Prop 6 are about marching.”
“You think women are going to turn out for that?” Alex tilted her head skeptically from her seat on the floor. “Last time it was all gay white men as far as the eye could see.”
“Yeah, but more of us have been coming every year,” Lisa said. “The first year I was in the city I was the only woman in sight, but it’s gotten a lot better.”
Evelyn nodded fervently. “Harvey’s going out of his way to invite the lesbian groups.”
“Sure, because we need a man to invite us.” Alex didn’t look any less skeptical.
Evelyn turned my way with another vigorous nod, as if she was anxious for me to believe her. I nodded back, as though I had conversations about Gay Freedom Day and invitations from Harvey Milk all the time.
“It’s the media who always forgets lesbians exist.” Lisa chuckled. “If enough of us show up, they can’t ignore us.”
Did that mean Lisa was a lesbian? I could barely keep up.
“Anyway, we’ve got bigger actions planned, too,” Evelyn added. “When the election gets closer, we’ll start going door to door. It’ll be the first statewide vote on gay rights, so donors should pony up to help.”
“They’d better.” Becky licked a stamp with a flourish. “Or we’re shit out of luck.”
Everyone laughed except me. I was still puzzling out the first part of the conversation, and wondering how many of them read lesbian poetry.
“Hey.” Lisa waved at me. “You okay, Sharon? You upset Becky said ‘shit’?”
I blushed. Did I come off like that much of a goody-goody? “Nah, it’s cool. I don’t give a shit about ‘shit.’”
That brought up a big laugh from the group, and I relaxed a little more. They didn’t need to know that was the first time I’d said the word “shit” out loud.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever been around people I liked as much as I was starting to like these girls women. I didn’t have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t here. They didn’t know I was just some naive Irish-Catholic kid from Dan White’s district, but maybe they wouldn’t care if they did.
There was no tension. No expectations. They were treating me as if I was already one of them.
I want to go back to that store, Tammy. I want to do more folding and stapling. Maybe I can even knock on some doors.
That would mean more lying to Mom, though. Besides, could I seriously talk to strangers about Prop 6? What if someone slammed the door in my face? And what if I knocked on a door that turned out to belong to someone from our church—could that be dangerous for my brother?
All I know for sure is, I loved being in that place. When Evelyn finally told us we could stop for the day, the paper cuts on my knuckles barely even stung.
I only wish you could’ve come there with me. You would’ve loved every second.
Yours truly, Sharon
Wednesday, November 30, 1977
Dear Sharon,
Wow. I want to go to that bookstore with you. I want to go so much.
Reading about it made me think of what you said in your other letter, about how accidents define everything. Reading about the women at that store, all I could think was how much I wish I’d been accidentally born in San Francisco. Your city’s a completely different world.
Do you remember what we said back in the summer, about not going back and rereading our letters, or crossing things out? I want to start doing that again. After this horrible pep rally my aunt made me put