Hold Me Closer: The Tiny Cooper Story (7 page)

Tiny strides out in summer wear. When Joseph Templeton Oglethorpe the Third is mentioned, Ex-boyfriend #6 appears—he should be dressed as some character from some play. Use whatever garb is available, although Shakespearean dress would be pretty funny—this is yet another actor for Tiny to date.

The chorus should be Tiny’s fellow campers, each one more of a drama queen than the last. ’Cause that’s the way it is. (For further reference, please read E. Lockhart’s definitive tome on the subject,
Dramarama
.) Joseph sings along with the chorus, except for the chorus’s last line.

TINY:

(looking down at clothes)
Much better, right?

Welcome to Camp Starstruck. Land of the misfit boys, and all the girls who love them. We put on eight musicals in eight weeks—one minute you’d be bloody, bloody Andrew Jackson, and then you’d blink and you’d be Daddy Warbucks or Porgy or Bess. The directors had all the power, and we worshipped and reviled them accordingly. The food wasn’t up to
Oliver!
’s standards, the heat was somewhere between
Oklahoma!
and
110 in the Shade
, and the mattresses were more pea than princess.

But none of that really mattered. I had found my tribe. It felt like a family reunion for the family I’d never really known, a homecoming at the place where I was always meant to be but hadn’t known how to find.

The other campers have now finished setting up the camp, and Tiny’s ready to sing.

[“SUMMER OF GAY”]

TINY:

There was a time

when I thought I liked vagina—

but then came a summer

when I realized something finer . . .

JOSEPH
appears.

I knew from the moment he took top bunk

how desperately I wanted into his trunk.

Joseph Templeton Oglethorpe the Third

left my heart singing like a little bird.

TINY AND
CHORUS:

Summer of gay!

So lovely! So queer! Summer of gay—

TINY:

—set the tone for my year!

Mama and Papa didn’t know

they were lighting the lamp

the moment they sent me to

Starstruck Drama Camp.

So many Hamlets to choose from—

some tortured, some cute.

I was all ready to sword-fight

or take the Ophelia route.

There were boys who called me sister

and sistahs who taught me about boys.

Joseph whispered me sweet nothings—

Joseph whispers him sweet nothings.

—and I fed him Almond Joys.

Tiny feeds him Almond Joys.

TINY AND CHORUS:

Summer of gay!

So fruity! So whole!

Summer of gay—

TINY:

—I realized Angel would be my role!

Mama and Papa didn’t know

how well their money was spent

when I learned about love

from our production of
Rent.

Tiny wraps his arms around Joseph.

Such kissing on the catwalks!

Such competition for the leads!

We fell in love so often and fully—

CHORUS:

—across all races and sexualities and creeds!

TINY AND CHORUS:

Summer of gay!

Ended soon! Lasted long!

Summer of gay—

TINY:

—my heart still carries its song!

Joseph leaves Tiny’s embrace, goes offstage. The tempo slows, in an “It turned colder” sort of way.

Joseph and I didn’t make it to September . . .

but you can’t unlight a gay-colored ember.

I will never go back

to the heterosexual way

’cause now every day—

CHORUS:

—yes, every day—

TINY:

—is the sum-mer

of gay!

Fade to black. Or whatever color you like. If you can find a way to fade to pink or purple, please do.

When Tiny returns to the stage, he’s back in school clothes. Summer at Starstruck has given him what he needs—a sense that there’s somewhere he really, really belongs.

Now, don’t get me wrong—as you can see in the first act, my family was actually pretty cool about me being me. That’s important. But I wasn’t about to hang out with my parents for the rest of my life. I had to start making that second family, the one you choose once you’re given a choice. Starstruck made me see what that was like, on a limited-time basis. Now I had to start doing that at home.

TINY
(
spoken
):

I came back to school ready to be the big gay star I was meant to be. The breakup with Joseph was the first one that made sense. We could have tried long distance, but I didn’t like long distance—I didn’t see the point of having a boyfriend if I couldn’t have him next to me. Joseph and I cried our summertime tears, for sure. But the thing about summertime tears is that you know they’re made out of summertime. They evaporate when the school year begins. Joseph and I had an honest discussion about this as we said good-bye. I thought, hey, this must mean I’m growing up.

And I wasn’t the only one who’d grown up. I returned to my high school to find that the rainbow had connected, big-time. I used to be able to count the number of gay kids on one jazz hand, but now there seemed to be more gay kids in our high school than there were minutes in
Miss Saigon
. I plunged right in.

EX-BOYFRIEND #7
enters. He looks like a lost puppy, but has the heart of a bitch.

TINY:

Evan was new to town. I showed him around. The tour included my bedroom.

Within two weeks, he wanted off my welcome wagon.

EX-BOYFRIEND #7
(
reprise from “Parade”
):

I’ve found another guy!

TINY
(
spoken
):

He felt bad about it, but he had a crush on someone else. I’m sure I would’ve dwelt on it . . . but three days later, I found myself flirting for the first time during football practice. His name was Ramon. He’d been on my team since fifth grade.

EX-BOYFRIEND #8
enters and stands next to Ex-boyfriend #7. Bonus points if Ex-boyfriend #8 played a non-bully football team member from earlier.

TINY:

I thought we had so so so much in common. But he fumbled all of my passes, and soon I sensed his heart wasn’t in the game. It only took nine days for him to tell me he wanted to bring our relationship off the field. I begged him for an explanation.

EX-BOYFRIEND #8
(
reprise from “Parade”
):

I don’t have to tell you why!

 . . . but as he sings the line, he takes Ex-boyfriend #7’s hand. They look each other lovingly.

TINY:

Evan and Ramon started dating the next week.

EX-BOYFRIEND #7
(
sung
):

I like you!

EX-BOYFRIEND #8:

I like you!

EX-BOYFRIENDS #7 AND #8 TOGETHER:

I like you so, so much!

They skip off the stage together. As they do, they pass Phil, who’s walking in.

PHIL:

Hey.

TINY:

Hey.

PHIL:

I heard about Ramon. And Evan. And I think you were maybe dating one of them? Or even both of them? Either way, that sucks.

TINY
(
coming slightly unhinged
):

I don’t understand! What is the point of being the big gay star I was meant to be if nobody wants to date me past the first trimester? It’s like a cruel joke—to work so hard to be completely me, and then to feel so incomplete.

PHIL:

You don’t need to have a boyfriend to be complete. For example, I don’t have a girlfriend. And look at me.

TINY:

I
know
. Look at you!

Tiny gives Phil the once-over. It’s clear that he’s concerned.

PHIL:

If attacking me makes you feel better, I will allow you to do so for two more minutes. But only because you’ve just had either one or two boys break up with you.

TINY
(
shaking his head
):

No. It’s not you I should be attacking. Clearly, it’s me.

PHIL:

That’s not what I meant.

TINY:

I’m repulsive!

PHIL:

You’re hardly repulsive.

TINY:

But I repel people!

PHIL:

Please tell me this pity party ends early. Or at least serves cake.

TINY:

I’m unlovable!

PHIL:

Your mommy and daddy and fwiends wuv you very much.

TINY:

But most of all, worst of all, I’m inadequate!

PHIL:

Inadequate.

TINY:

Inadequate! A boy may look my way, but he never stays longer than a few days. How is that supposed to make me feel?

PHIL:

But, Tiny—

TINY:

No, Phil. For just one moment, I want you to act like a girl. Be my friend, but be my friend like a girl would be my friend, not like a straight boy would be my friend. That’s the only way you’re going to understand.

I know I shouldn’t want it so much. I know I should be happy alone. But all I can feel is the missing piece. All I can feel is—inadequate! A boy may say he’s mine, but after a very short time, he forgets why.

PHIL:

Don’t be so hard on yourself!

TINY:

Sweet of you to say! But you know what? No matter how much I love myself, I’ll wonder why no one else will love me. No matter how loud I sing, I’ll wonder why there isn’t another voice there, singing right back.

PHIL:

I’m here.

TINY:

Yeah, well, you don’t count.

PHIL:

It’s not all about romance, Tiny. There are other kinds of love.

TINY
(
covering ears
):

I CAN’T HEAR YOU.

Ex-boyfriend #9 comes sauntering across the stage.
DEVON CHANG
. Oh, man, Devon Chang. Sometime over the summer, he went from geek to god, and became The Boy Who Launched a Thousand Texts.

Tiny is distracted from Phil as he and Devon make eye contact. There is some wordless flirtation. Devon starts to walk off the stage.

TINY (TO PHIL
):

I’ll be right back.

Tiny runs after Ex-boyfriend #9, leaving Phil alone onstage. (Don’t judge. Real friends understand.)

PHIL

(
looking offstage, then turning to the audience
):

We can only wish them the best. Let’s see how it went.

At this point,
DJANE
comes out. (In a former incarnation of this musical, she was Janey, but I think Djane fits her personality better.) I hope Phil and Djane don’t mind me saying this in the stage directions, but Djane is the girl that Phil Wrayson should really be going out with. It would have happened long ago, if they didn’t keep getting in its way.

Djane shakes her head.

PHIL:

No luck?

DJANE:

All of the clovers had three leaves.

PHIL
(
thinks for a second
):

Oh, I see what you did there.

DJANE:

All he found at the end of the rainbow was a pot of—

PHIL:

Stop! This is a family show.

DJANE
(
deadpan
):

In what way is this a family show?

Phil just looks at her.

DJANE:

What?

PHIL:

It’s just that . . . I don’t know . . . you look nice?

Djane gazes at him strangely.

DJANE:

Now, why would you do that?

PHIL:

Because you look nice-ish?

DJANE:

Oh, now it’s nice-ish.

PHIL:

My head is starting to hurt from contemplating all the possible ways I could offend you.

DJANE:

Why would you choose now, of all times, to tell me I look nice-ish?

TINY
(
offstage
):

I’m ready for the next number!

DJANE:

I’ve got to go make sure Oscar Wilde knows his lines.

Djane exits.

PHIL
(
flustered, calling after her
):

Now, don’t get too Wilde now, you hear? That man could win an
Oscar
for his
Wilde
-ness! (
to audience
) Lord, did I just say that? I guess it all goes to show—I’m making a transition here—that love sometimes causes you to do stupid things. And even when the lessons are clear to everyone else around you, sometimes you have a hard time seeing them yourself. When people say love is blind, they act like that’s a good thing. But some people find their way around in the darkness a little better than others.

Tiny is wheeled onto stage in a bed (if a rolling bed is readily available). He is wearing a pair of silk pajamas. At first it looks like he is asleep. But then he is illuminated by a cell-phone glow, and it’s clear that he’s texting.

PHIL:

Even if someone told Tiny it was over, he wanted to believe it wasn’t. Perhaps because it was easy to see him coming, he didn’t make it a habit of chasing people down IRL. But a phone—a phone couldn’t run away. It would just keep receiving text after text after text. So he kept sending text after text after text.

As Tiny falls asleep, Ex-boyfriends #9, 13, 15, and 17 appear on the side of the stage and sing the following in a round, to the tune of “Row Row Row Your Boat.” #9 sings a full verse first, then repeats, and the others chime in, in a round.

EX-BOYFRIEND #9:

Text text text your heart all across the screen,

scarily scarily scarily scarily, love’s not meant to be.

Text text text your heart all across the screen,

scarily scarily scarily scarily, love’s not meant to be.

EX-BOYFRIEND #13:

Text text text your heart all across the screen,

scarily scarily scarily scarily, love’s not meant to be.

EX-BOYFRIEND #15:

Text text text your heart all across the screen,

scarily scarily scarily scarily, love’s not meant to be.

EX-BOYFRIEND #17:

Text text text your heart all across the screen,

scarily scarily scarily scarily, love’s not meant to be.

TINY wakes with a start as soon as they’re done. Phil Wrayson has left the stage. In his place is The Ghost of Oscar Wilde. (Bonus points if you can make his appearance a surprise.)

TINY:

Who are you?

THE GHOST OF OSCAR WILDE:

Why, I’m the ghost of Oscar Wilde, making a visitation to you while you sleep.

TINY:

Because of my singular promise as a dramatist?

THE GHOST OF OSCAR WILDE:

More because of your disappointing love life and the behavior that results from it. I have seen your manic LOLs, and I’m not laughing. No. This is an intervention. Put the phone down.

Tiny will not relinquish the phone. He surreptitiously tries to finish a text.

THE GHOST OF OSCAR WILDE

(
unaccountably shrill
):

STEP AWAY FROM THE PHONE! PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND STEP AWAY FROM THE PHONE!

Tiny, not ready for such shrillness, especially from an Irish theatrical legend, drops his phone onto the bed. The Ghost of Oscar Wilde picks it up and powers it off.

THE GHOST OF OSCAR WILDE
(
back to politeness
):

Good. Now please, allow me to share some hard-won wisdom, from one green-carnation wearer to another.

Music begins.

[“DON’T HIT SEND”]

THE GHOST OF OSCAR WILDE:

Take some advice from me

as I wander around eternally

thinking of the love I lost

and all the things it cost.

I fell for Bosie’s bottomy guile

and lost my wings in a sodomy trial.

Surrounded in jail by thieves and rakes,

I had plenty of time to ponder my mistakes.

I can’t say I regret breaking nature’s laws

but I do regret not taking a pause

to see there was far from a surfeit

of evidence saying the boy was worth it.

Believe me, I understand the urge

to push all your means to an end.

But I must intercede here and inform you now:

Whatever you do, do not hit send!

You think it’s a good idea—

but it’s not.

You think you have something new to say—

but you don’t.

It’s common enough behavior

to think that words can be your savior

but they cannot raise the dead

or change the thoughts inside his head.

When you text the seventh time

with no word from the other side

it’s a sign, my friend

and the sign says END.

It used to be

if you wanted to embarrass yourself

you’d have to wait a few days

for the embarrassment to be delivered.

But now in an instant

of desire most insistent

you cross before you’ve looked

and your rawness leaves you cooked.

Don’t hit send!

Don’t think for a second

that your phone is your friend.

You may be afraid of pauses

but every pause has its causes!

You think it’s a good idea—

but it’s not.

You think you have something new to say—

but you don’t.

It’s common enough behavior

to think that words can be your savior

but they cannot raise the dead

or change the thoughts inside his head.

When you text the seventh time

with no word from the other side

it’s a sign, my friend,

and the sign says END.

It used to be

if you wanted to embarrass yourself

you’d have to wait a few days

for the embarrassment to be delivered.

But now in an instant

of desire most insistent

you’ve managed to destroy

any last chance you had with the boy!

Don’t hit send!

Don’t think for a second

that your phone is your friend.

You may be afraid of pauses

but every pause has its causes.

More words will not persuade him—

they’ll only infuriate him.

So take if from me

whatever you do—

Do not . . . hit . . . send!

On that note, The Ghost of Oscar Wilde finishes his song, hopefully to more applause than he got toward the end of his life.

OSCAR (TO TINY
):

Believe me, I understand all the modern dickstractions—I mean,
dis
tractions—that you have. Especially on your phones. I admire your feverish belief in the power of words to keep a connection going even when it’s not there. But you only have so many words in your life, Tiny, and rather than giving them all away, you should keep some for yourself.

TINY:

What do you mean?

OSCAR
(
reciting, not singing
):

Look forward to the moment

when it all falls apart.

Look forward to the moment

when you must rearrange your heart.

It might feel like the end of the world—

but it’s the beginning of your art.

TINY:

Texting? That’s my art?

OSCAR
(
shaking his head
):

No, Tiny. Words.
Passion.
The danger of falling in love is that you mistakenly believe the loved one is the only source of passion in your life. But there is passion everywhere. In music. In words. In the stories you tell and the stories you see. Find your passion everywhere, and share it widely. Don’t narrow it down to one thin line.

TINY:

But you don’t choose to fall in love, do you? Don’t you just fall?

OSCAR:

You fall and you fall and you fall. There are things you cannot control. But that is why you must hold on to the things you
can
control.

I will let you in on a secret, Tiny. Are you ready?

TINY:

Yes.

OSCAR
(
on the verge of disappearing
):

You think you’re an actor, Tiny. We all think we are actors, given our scripts. But really? You’re the playwright. You’re the composer.

Before Tiny can ask any more questions, The Ghost of Oscar Wilde has vanished just as strangely as he appeared.