waited one minute, then two, to see if he’d correct himself—maybe he’d made a mistake, or someone had given him the wrong information—but he kept droning on about Anita Bryant winning by a landslide as more and more of his face got scrambled.
The sound came through strong as ever, though, and his story never changed. The vote was two to one against homosexuality. Anita Bryant and her cronies had done what they’d sworn to do. The gay rights ordinance in Miami was getting repealed.
“Sharon, see if you can get the rabbit ears to work,” Mom said, but she wasn’t looking at the screen. Her eyes were fixed on the clock.
I climbed to my feet and fiddled with the antenna. By the time the static cleared, Anita Bryant herself was on the screen. She was standing on a stage in some hotel ballroom, talking proudly about how the “normal majority” had won and the militant homosexuals had lost. She was wearing at least fifty pounds’ worth of lipstick and eye shadow, and I wanted to throw a glass of orange juice straight at her painted-on face.
Anita Bryant’s the person my brother hates most in the world, and since my brother’s the person I love most in the world, I hate Anita Bryant, too.
She’s got this inexplicable obsession with gay people. I don’t really understand why some men want to be with other men, either, but I also don’t understand why she seems to spend so much time thinking about it. There are probably a lot more homosexuals here in San Francisco than there are in Florida, but it’s not as if they bother anyone. I’d never even met a homosexual until I found out my brother was gay.
I’m the only one who knows that about him, though. I’m the only one who can. If Mom ever found out… I don’t want to think about what she’d do.
“I shouldn’t stay up much later, I’m afraid.” Mom’s eyes were still on the clock. “Neither should you. Have you already done your homework?”
“Tomorrow’s the last day.” I messed with the rabbit ears some more until the static was mostly gone. “No homework tonight. All I have to do from now until September is write to that new pen pal the school gave me down in Orange County.”
“Oh, that’s right. I suppose after nine months of teaching, my brain’s gotten as foggy as those seventh-graders’. Well, all the same, we have to be at school on time.” Mom bounced her foot on the lumpy carpet. The Miami report was over, and now the network anchor was talking about Queen Elizabeth. “Your brother’s never been this late before.”
I wished Mom wouldn’t talk about Peter. I was already worried enough about him without having to worry about how worried she was.
The Miami vote was all he’d talked about for the past week, whenever Mom wasn’t around to hear us. His shift at Javier’s Groceries had ended more than an hour ago. Mom had called the store to check on him, but no one answered. I’d snuck into the kitchen when Mom wasn’t paying attention and tried calling the pay phone at the back of Javi’s, the one next to the walk-in cooler that no one but Peter and I ever use, but no one picked up that line, either.
“Should I call Kevin?” I asked. Kevin’s my boyfriend, and he goes to Javi’s for a Coke almost every night after he gets off work. “I can find out if he saw Peter.”
“No, no. I’m sure your brother’s fine. Besides, it’s too late for phone calls.” Mom stood up and switched off the TV, stretching her arms over her head. She was trying to pretend things were normal, but I’d learned how to see through that act by the second grade. “Up to bed with both of us.”
I followed her silently up the stairs, but I couldn’t imagine going to sleep.
Peter may not talk to Mom about everything, but it isn’t like him to stay out late without telling me.
If he’d heard about the vote, he would’ve been upset. Maybe he heard the news on the radio and was too depressed to come home. If he was at the store, though,