but somehow he managed to slam his hand over the mouthpiece in time. It worked. My aunt and uncle didn’t hear.
“Oh, you poor young man,” my aunt said, her voice coming through faintly now that we were even farther from the receiver. “We’re very happy to pray for you. Please know that if you have faith in God, he’ll protect you from the devil’s temptations.”
Peter took his hand off the mouthpiece and said, “Oh, good. Because the devil’s been checking me out lately every time I go to the Elephant Walk, and I’ve got to tell you the truth, ma’am, because I know you’re a woman of God—he’s been looking good these days.”
That’s when I made my biggest mistake of the night.
Maybe I had a death wish. Maybe I just couldn’t handle the tension anymore, and I had to let it out.
Maybe it really was that funny.
But when Peter fell over laughing at his own joke, not bothering to cover the mouthpiece anymore, I laughed, too.
I couldn’t stop. I laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
My aunt and uncle definitely heard.
I was still laughing when I took the receiver. I meant to hang it up. Honestly, I did, but then my aunt said, louder than before, “Well, Paul, I suppose you and your friends in San Francisco think this is all very funny.”
And I—God, I don’t know what the Hell was wrong with me—I pulled the phone up to my mouth and said, “Yes, we think it’s absolutely hilarious.”
I reached up to drop the receiver back on the hook, and that’s when we heard my aunt’s voice again. She sounded different this time. Less smooth. More alert, as if she’d just awoken from a deep sleep. “Wait. Who was that? Where did you say you were calling fr—?”
That was the last we heard before I dropped the receiver onto the hook with a sharp clatter.
For a moment we all stood there, staring at each other. Sharon’s face was white. Peter tried to ask what was going on, but I couldn’t speak.
It was Sharon who suggested we go home after closing instead of going to the club after all, since tomorrow was going to be so busy with Gay Freedom Day. I nodded—I couldn’t trust myself with actual words—and even Peter agreed.
We didn’t talk much the rest of the night. Not that I would’ve known what to say, anyway.
I don’t know what’s going to happen now, Harvey. All I know is that I took a situation that already sucked and I made it a whole lot worse.
Yours, Tammy
Saturday, June 24, 1978
Dear Tammy,
Hey.
I don’t think I completely understand what happened when we called in to your aunt’s show tonight. I could tell you were upset, and I figured you’d tell me in a letter if you wanted me to know. Only…we’ve been home for a while now, and you haven’t given me any letters yet.
If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay, but if you want to talk, you know where to find me.
Yours, Sharon
Saturday, June 24, 1978
Dear Sharon,
You’re asleep already, so I’ll leave this by your bed for you to read in the morning. It’s been an hour since you gave me your letter, so I’m sorry I didn’t write back sooner. I didn’t want to think about it, but…there’s no point. It’s done.
It was so stupid of me to pick up that phone tonight. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe it was just that I was having so much fun. That’s new for me, you know?
I’d thought it would be awful to hear my aunt’s voice again, and it was, but for a second, it felt good, too. Hearing her right where I left her, getting totally taken in by a gay teenage boy on what was supposed to be the crowning achievement of her life. Maybe I felt so superior I genuinely thought she couldn’t hurt me anymore.