[“THE BALLAD OF THE LESBIAN BABYSITTER”]

LYNDA:

Come over here

and give me a hug

because my soul’s been treated

like a threadbare rug.

Me and Heather

were meant to be forever,

but now she’s into leather

and Red Bull dykes

who keep her out all night.

TINY:

Is there anything I can do?

LYNDA:

Just rub my shoulder

because I’m feeling so much older.

Rub my back

and drain me of the black that’s left

when a relationship ends.

He rubs her back.

Now hand me my sketchbook

so I can use this pain

to pull my hopes

back out of the drain.

Watch carefully, Tiny,

how to disable your rage

by unleashing it onto

an empty page.

TINY (to audience):

It didn’t matter that I was five—

I saw her pain come alive.

Just like a sorcerer

fighting a deadly foe,

she met it eye to eye

and wouldn’t let go.

Drawing the girls who always hurt her,

sketching the loves as they’d desert her.

All the drama became less troubled

once the hard words had been inked and

bubbled.

LYNDA (TO TINY):

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.

Lynda sketches during an instrumental, then puts down the book, sighs, and sings the next verse to Tiny.

LYNDA:

Come over here

and give me a peck

because my faith in people’s

a miserable wreck.

He kisses her cheek.

Me and Leigh

were meant to be,

but now she wants to flee

into the arms of a maître d’

at a boulangerie—

and she doesn’t even like

to French.

TINY:

Is there anything I can do?

LYNDA:

Just rub my feet,

ease my defeat.

Rub my neck

so I’m no longer the speck that remains

when a relationship ends.

Now hand me my sketchbook

so I can use this pain

to pull my hopes

back out of the drain.

Watch carefully, Tiny,

how to disable your rage

by unleashing it onto

an empty page.

Are you listening?

TINY:

I am listening.

LYNDA:

Are you watching?

TINY:

I am watching.

LYNDA AND TINY:

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.

Lynda rips out a page and gives it to Tiny, who folds it carefully and keeps it. (He still has it.)

The song ends, but the advice continues. (He still remembers it.)

LYNDA:

Don’t get trapped into thinking people are halves instead of wholes.

TINY:

People are halves?

LYNDA:

They’re not trying to sell you on it yet, but believe me, they will. The idea that two is the ideal, and that one is only good as half of two. You are not a half, and you should never treat someone else like a half. Agreed?

TINY:

Agreed!

She hugs him. End scene.

ACT I, SCENE 4

As the stage goes dark (and the scenery is changed), Tiny steps forward, again in the spotlight.

TINY:

Having a babysitter and two parents in your corner is great—but what I really wanted was a best friend. I had plenty of friends—there was no shortage of birthday party invitations in my cubbyhole—but I had yet to find my co-conspirator, my co-adventurer, the right-hand man who I’d give my left arm for.

And then Phil Wrayson came into my life.

Now, I’m sure that I joined Pee Wee League because I wanted to play baseball. But soon I found that the best part of Pee Wee League wasn’t the playing—it was all the time when we weren’t playing, when we were just hanging around in the dugout or on the field. Phil Wrayson and I went to school together, but it wasn’t really until Pee Wee League that we got to know each other.

At this point, a kid dressed as a batboy should walk out and give Tiny a baseball cap and a button that reads AGE: 8.

When the lights rise on the stage, it’s been turned into a dugout. Right now the only kid sitting there is PHIL WRAYSON, deep in thought. An open book is in front of him, although he’s not reading it. All the other players are on the field.

Physically, there’s nothing remarkable about Phil Wrayson. He’s cute, but there’s nothing striking about his cuteness. You can imagine hundreds of other guys who are just as cute. The thing about Phil is that he’s a really good guy. I know that’s hard to show onstage, but there’s something about his goodness that needs to be conveyed. Again, it isn’t striking—a guy who advertises his own goodness is just another kind of asshole. The goodness is just a part of who Phil is. He doesn’t even realize it.

The cadences of “HEY, WHATCHA DOING?” are very much the cadences of two eight-year-old boys—even if the vocabulary level may admittedly be heightened here for dramatic/comedic (cometic? dramedic?) effect. Tiny is trying his darnedest to start a musical conversation with Phil, but at first, Phil’s not into it. Luckily, Tiny’s persistent—like Angel in Rent, but without the cross-dressing and the specter of AIDS hovering over everything. By the end of the song, Tiny and Phil are friends.