to each other for so long and told each other so much that it feels as if we’ve met a hundred times already. But for your brother, it isn’t that way at all.
I’m sorry you fought because of me, though. I hate that I’m messing things up for you.
And I’m sorry things are tough with you and Kevin. It’s getting tough with Carolyn and me, too.
We’re “together” now, I think—if you kiss every day you’re a real couple, right? Because that’s what we’ve started doing. There’s a stairwell no one ever uses by the north corridor, and we go there every day after our second-period Bible class. We only have three minutes between periods, so we have to be fast, but it’s exhilarating. There’s never time to ask questions. Or to talk at all.
What usually happens is, she’ll leave class first and glance back at me. I’ll catch her eye. Then she’ll turn around and walk down the hall, fast, until she disappears around the corner. I’ll look around to make sure no one’s paying attention—which they never are, because everyone spends the class-change time making fun of the way Mrs. Harrington draws out the name “Baal” so it sounds like she’s talking about a guy’s balls—and then I’ll follow her.
When we get into the stairwell, we listen to make sure we don’t hear footsteps, and then we start kissing. We don’t stop to smile nervously, or hold hands, or do any of the other things I used to do when I’d kiss boys. We just kiss, and kiss, and we don’t stop until the warning bell goes off. Then we spring apart and scramble to wipe our faces and fix our hair.
I always leave first, so I can make sure the hall is clear. Carolyn doesn’t come out until after I’ve turned the corner. I know because when I look back, I never see her.
I don’t even want to know what would happen if we got caught. It bothers me, though, that we never have time to talk. Especially when something’s happened.
Like with yesterday. As we were leaving Sunday school, she was walking up ahead of me with Brett, and he asked her on a date. Just suddenly, out of nowhere. Carolyn said yes without even hesitating, and she gave him one of those nervous smiles she never gives me.
I heard the whole thing. She must’ve known that. But when I tried to ask her about it today in the stairwell, she started kissing me before I could finish my sentence. I kissed her back, but after a minute I pulled away, and when I asked again, she rolled her eyes and said, “Duh. Come on, you know I don’t want people thinking there’s something wrong with me.” Then she kissed me again before I could say any more.
I’ve been thinking about what she said all day. Especially the “wrong with me” part. She said it as though it was obvious. As if what’s happening between us is straight-up wrong.
That’s how my aunt and everyone else here sees it. I used to think of it that way, too. Maybe I still do, sometimes.
Not everyone thinks that, though. Those women you met at the bookstore, and your brother and his friends—they don’t think the way people here do.
I know it’s only that Carolyn doesn’t want us to get caught. I don’t want that, either, of course. It’s the same for your brother, and I bet it’s the same way for his friend Dean at Stanford, too. Especially if his parents are paying his tuition.
So what’s the answer? Who’s right, and who’s wrong? What are any of us supposed to do?
Sorry. I know you don’t know the answers any more than I do. I just get so lost in the whole mess of it all sometimes.
Yours truly, Tammy
Wednesday, December 7, 1977
Dear Tammy,
I have to leave for confession, so I can’t write much, but I just read your letter and it made me realize something.
You said a couple of letters ago that I was your best friend. Well, I think that you’re my best friend, too. Sorry it took