was just killing time until we got the results, but now I’m shaking so hard I have to focus on something if I don’t want to lose it.
They’re blowing up the fucking balloons, Harvey.
Everyone’s whooping and cheering and running over to that reporter, begging him to put them on the radio. I told them I have a paper due tomorrow, so I have to keep writing. Three of my teachers are here right now, celebrating with the others, but no one’s noticed I’m lying.
I’m stupid for being so upset. I knew this would probably happen.
You knew, too, right, Harvey? You expected this.
Anita Bryant on television, crowing as if she just saved humanity from the Communists all by herself. My aunt, calling all the reporters she knows, so happy she’s crying.
I thought Miami was far away. I thought if this happened, at least then it would be over and life could go back to normal. Everyone could finally stop talking about the “homosexual menace.” I wouldn’t need to spend every day walking on eggshells, using all my concentration not to give myself away. I—
Ugh, ugh, ugh. Sorry, I had to stop writing, but now I’m back. My mother brought over that Stanford guy again, the one she has this fantasy about me getting pinned to, and I had to play nice.
Mom’s been getting worse now that my sister’s pregnant. That little bump under her frilly apron right next to that shiny gold ring on her finger reminded my parents yet again that I’m sixteen and don’t have a boyfriend. Clearly, I’m going to shrivel up into a useless, flat-stomached prune if I don’t have a pin on my lapel next week and a diamond on my finger within approximately five seconds of graduation, and—
Ugh, ugh, ugh. Now Stanford guy is trying to make eye contact. I’ve got to keep writing. I can’t look at him. Can’t look at Mom. And for sure I can’t look at Aunt Mandy.
Okay, here’s what I’ll do instead. I’ll tell you about the mailers we sent out to Florida for all of last month. That will keep my pencil moving since I’ve got plenty to say about those.
Most of our mailings have three pieces tucked inside. They start with a letter from Aunt Mandy and Uncle Russell (except, let’s be honest, Aunt Mandy wrote the whole thing—Uncle Russell is only the one who signs them because his name has the word “Reverend” in front of it). The letter’s all about how gays are evil, and how if they aren’t going to molest your kids, then at the very least they’re going to turn them gay, and that’s why you should recruit everyone you’ve ever met to vote against gay rights.
(Along with most subtleties, the irony of using the word “recruit” this way is completely lost on Aunt Mandy.)
The second piece is a set of pledge forms. That’s for when you go door to door, or host parties at your house, or flag people down outside the grocery store, or whatever. The more people you can get to pledge to vote yes on repeal, the faster you get into Heaven.
The third piece is the comic book. We’re supposed to call a “tract,” because calling it a “comic book” makes it sound funny and this is deadly serious business, but whatever you want to call it, it’s very clearly a comic strip some guy drew. It’s all about how gay people are going to Hell and it’s the responsibility of good Christians to tell them so. There’s one panel that shows a lesbian who’s trying to get a straight girl to sleep with her, but the straight girl’s a good Christian, so she rejects her and runs away. The gist of it is that the world is going to Hell because some gay people aren’t afraid to be gay anymore.
It’s all so ridiculous, Harvey. I’m not sure I even believe in Hell. I don’t believe in God, so I guess there’s no point buying in to the rest of it.
Wow—I just wrote those words. Here, in a church. With my whole family and everyone else I know sitting a few feet away. I’m covering the paper with my arm, of