ALL the TIME in the WORLD a Written Creative Work Submitted to the Faculty of San Francisco State University in Partial Fulfillm
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ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD A written creative work submitted to the faculty of San Francisco State University In partial fulfillment of The Requirements for 2 6 The Degree 201C -M333 V • X Master of Fine Arts In Creative Writing by Jane Marie McDermott San Francisco, California January 2016 Copyright by Jane Marie McDermott 2016 CERTIFICATION OF APPROVAL I certify that I have read All the Time in the World by Jane Marie McDermott, and that in my opinion this work meets the criteria for approving a written work submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree: Master of Fine Arts: Creative Writing at San Francisco State University. Chanan Tigay \ Asst. Professor of Creative Writing ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD. Jane Marie McDermott San Francisco, California 2016 All the Time in the World is the story of gay young people coming to San Francisco in the 1970s and what happens to them in the course of thirty years. Additionally, the novel tells the stories of the people they meet along-the way - a lesbian mother, a World War II veteran, a drag queen - people who never considered that they even had a story to tell until they began to tell it. In the end, All the Time in the World documents a remarkable era in gay history and serves as a testament to the galvanizing effects of love and loss and the enduring power of friendship. I certify that the Annotation is a correct representation of the content of this written creative work. Date ACKNOWLEDGMENT Thanks to everyone in the San Francisco State University MFA Creative Writing Program - you rock! I would particularly like to give shout out to Nona Caspers, Chanan Tigay, Toni Morosovich, Barbara Eastman, and Katherine Kwik. I wouldn’t have made it through the program without the love and support of my wife, Mary. Te amo. 177 talking serious danger. Boston was in the middle o f school busing that was not going well and there were white nitwits everywhere just trolling for trouble. I told the girl I was with - it kills me that I can’t even remember her name now - that we needed to get out o f there so we started moving. We headed down Milk Street together going towards Congress and walking fast. I looked back and saw that the guys were following us. “We need to split up, ” I said and squeezed the girl's hand goodbye. She nodded and we looked into each other’s eyes one last time. God, she was a doll! Then she took off running towards South Station and I ran up towards the Common. I f they were following either o f us I was hoping it was me. I just kept running until I couldn’t catch my breath - almost all the way to Park Street Station. I didn’t even look to see if they were behind me or not. I ran into the station and downstairs and got on the subway thinking about that girl and hoping she was ok. She wasn’t at the club the following week or any week after that. Ifelt so shitty and powerless. I don’t blame her for not coming back to the club, but it pissed me off that these assholes could insert themselves into my world and fuck it up. I still think about that girl. I still hope that she was ok that night; it makes me sick to think she might not have been. Even though I can’t remember her name, I can still see her face. It went from sweet and sexy to scared in a second. That night, she might have ended up hating me. After all, I was a white girl, these were my people. My people. 178 That night was the first time that Ifelt like I was running for my life. I mean there had been some iffy moments before. But until then it was just dealing with assholes who would say shit. But now, in just one night, it felt like the rules o f the game had changed. The thought o f getting beat up both frightened and enraged me. How dare anyone get in my way like that? Boston was my fucking town - how dare anyone make me feel like I don’t belong? Look, I was a just a nice girl from Boston who wanted to find another nice girl to have a relationship with - day and night. I wanted to be able to have a relationship with a girl outside o f the safety o f the dance floor. I wanted safety everywhere all the time. Crazy, that. I wanted to stop pretending that I was just another red-headed member o f the Irish Catholic tribe waiting to meet the right guy. I had already brushed up against that nonsense working at the Prudential. I had decided to join the company’s women softball team - the Pru Rockettes. Piece o f the Rock? Get it? Our games were on Friday nights, usually in Southie or Dorchester and afterwards we ’d go to some joint and drink pitcher after pitcher o f beer. These places would be full o f other working stiffs in softball shirts drinking beer. It was a rollicking, jolly crowd. Fun, actually. Everyone feeling like they were part o f the same tribe: white, beer drinking, softball playing, knuckleheads. The thing is, I wasn’t really a member o f their tribe. I was gay and if anyone knew that things might not go so well for me. At the very least, things would probably never be the same with my team mates. Truth? I was afraid to risk it. There was nothing to gain by coming out and a lot to lose. So I shut up and drank my beer and listened to the queer jokes. 179 Reason two for leaving, a big - ass reason two: in 1978, in a day, Boston got more fucking snow than I had ever seen in my life. And I ’ve seen some snow. It was biblical, if there was snow in the Bible I don’t know. I ’m talking scale here. We were under freaking martial law for a week while these Army Corp o f Engineers guys from Georgia who didn ’t even know what snow was dug us out. I took that snow storm as a message from God telling me to get my Irish ass out o f Boston. It was my burning bush, if you will. When I made my decision to head west there had been all kinds o f wacky things about San Francisco in the news: the Jonestown massacre, the Moscone/Milk assassinations. My family asked me if I really wanted to move out to Fruit and Nut Land as they called it. Yes. Yes, I did. None of these things that happened fazed me. I knew that San Francisco was where the queers roamed free - or at least that’s what I had heard. You know what? I didn’t care if everyone there spoke French and ate dogs. I was done. Done, done, done with Boston. It was getting harder for me to breathe - like I had a brick on my chest. That’s what it felt like. I was ready to take a chance on the Golden West. When I got to San Francisco I lived in a rooming house for a few weeks until I got the lay o f the land. The rooming house was in the Tenderloin and everyone I met told me that I didn’t want to be there. You know, with the hookers and the drag queens, it looked like Stuart Street by home. I wasn 7 afraid. 180 I answered an ad in a local gay paper posted by a dyke named Darlene from Florida who was looking for a roommate. She lived on the edge o f the Haight. I had no idea what that was - she could have lived on the knife-edge o f hell as far as I was concerned. I was ready to settle in. I didn ’t even care that she had these two big goofy dogs. Darlene was hard on the outside, gooey on the inside. She turned out to be the biggest sweetheart I have ever met. Ifound myself a home in this big airy, hairy flat in the middle o f this wide-open town. The bonus that came with this apartment was that it was a short walk from a women’s bar named Maude’s which became my home away from home. I hung out there several nights a week. Good thing, too. That’s where I met my Margaret. When I met Margaret it was like scene from a freaking movie. Picture this: there I was hanging with Darlene, having a beer at Maude’s watching this just amazingly beautiful woman racking up. It was dark as hell in Maude’s but there was plenty o f light over the pool table. I could see that she had this crazy dark curly hair and was wearing a very sexy leather jacket and tight jeans. She was long-legged and slim with an amazing ass. I was trying not to be obvious that I was watching her, but I think she knew. In fact, I knew she knew. She was pacing around the table, chalking her cue, and making a big show o f setting up her shot. When she bent over to break, she looked up and saw me looking at her, and - 1 swear to god - it was like a choir o f freaking angels started singing.