The chorus members leave the stage, with Tiny remaining on the bench, still flanked by his parents.
TINY:
My parents kept me sheltered, protecting me from the haters that were out there in the world. I was my mom and dad’s favorite thing, and this was always clear to me. But the older I got, they couldn’t be there all the time.
DAD:
I have meetings.
MOM:
So many meetings interceding. I have functions.
DAD:
So many functions we can’t function.
MOM:
We’re committed to commitments.
DAD:
So committed to commitments.
On the bench, Mom and Dad start to pull away, doing other things. Tiny changes his button so it reads AGE: 5.
TINY:
Because of my size, everyone always thought I was older than I really was. The kindergarten teacher actually tried to turn me away on the first day of school. She probably would’ve served me a vodka tonic if I’d asked for one. But even though my body had grown, my heart and my mind were still the age they were supposed to be. And as my parents drifted further and further away, other people came into my life.
Mom and Dad leave the bench. LYNDA appears in the wings. She is dressed like a very cool, down-to-earth sixteen-year-old girl.
TINY:
The first close relationship I had with anyone outside my family was with Lynda, my lesbian babysitter. I have no idea if my parents knew she was lesbian or not. I have no idea if I knew what that meant at the time. All I knew was that I worshipped Lynda. To me, she was everything that adulthood stood for . . . making phone calls, knowing what was on TV, driving a car. To me, sixteen seemed like the height of adulthood. And every now and then, Lynda would let me get close to it, to see what it was really like.
LYNDA:
Who’s my favorite guy?
TINY:
I am!
LYNDA:
And who will you never date?
TINY:
Jerks and assholes!
LYNDA:
That’s right.
Lynda sits down next to Tiny on the bench. Even though Tiny sees her as being effortlessly old, she’s really just a sixteen-year-old girl dealing with everyone’s shit, including her own. The time she spends with Tiny is her escape from the outside world, and she wants to teach him a few things about life before she inevitably leaves him for Oberlin.
“THE BALLAD OF THE LESBIAN BABYSITTER” is vulnerable and wistful, as if Joni Mitchell herself had come over for ten dollars an hour to share some world-weary wisdom with her big, gay babysittee.
Bonus points if you can find an actress for Lynda who has hair long enough to sit on. She was that awesome.
Cue music.
[“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.