Tiny is very, very excited about Will. As a result, he babbles uncontrollably to Phil and Djane. “DRUNK ON LOVE” is their take on this situation—and a resolution to the unbearable sexual tension between them that their friends have been enduring for weeks. Tiny should basically be talking the whole time, with his voice fading out as Phil and Djane sing. When he talks, he should sound very, very drunk. In parts where he doesn’t want to talk, he can also do a happy This Fella’s in Love dance. He should seem completely intoxicated by this new relationship—soon to be the most serious one he’s ever had.
[“DRUNK ON LOVE”]
TINY (spoken drunkenly):
So I’m sorry I didn’t go back to Frenchy’s to meet you, but I figured you’d guess I just took a cab, which I did, and anyway, Will and I had walked all the way down to the Bean and, like, Wrayson, I know I’ve said this before but I really like him. I mean, you have to really like someone to go all the way to the Bean with him and listen to him talk about his major major problems and also I sang for him . . .
DJANE (sung to PHIL):
Oh my God, who would’ve thunk?
PHIL (sung back):
Our dear friend Tiny is drunk . . . on love.
DJANE:
Get the Breathalyzer
and cue the synthesizer!
Our dear friend Tiny is drunk . . . on love.
TINY:
And I get texts from him like every forty-two seconds and he’s a brilliant texter, which is nice because it’s just a little pleasant leg vibration, just a reminder-in-the-thigh that he’s—see, there’s one. (checks phone) Aww.
PHIL:
It looks like our pal is out of his funk.
DJANE:
Tiny Cooper, drunk . . . on love.
PHIL:
His spirits are higher
than those of a frequent flier.
Tiny Cooper, drunk . . . on love
TINY:
It’s been eight days since I met him, and I haven’t technically liked someone who liked me back for eight days in my entire life, unless you count my relationship with Bethany Keene in third grade, which obviously you can’t, since she’s a girl.
PHIL:
Good ol’ Bacchus
needs in on this fracas.
DJANE:
Aphrodite’s throwing a fest
and Tiny’s the honored guest.
PHIL:
Look at him frolic.
Look at him skip.
It makes me wonder
if we should sip.
The music abruptly stops. Tiny stops. Djane stares. Did Phil really just do what she thinks he just did?
DJANE (spoken):
Did you really just do what I think you just did?
PHIL
(continuing the song, moving closer to Djane):
I’m not promising you
it’ll be a slam dunk,
but, Djane, I’m thinking
we should get a little drunk.
Uncork the bottle and
drown the monk.
We won’t know if it’s sink or swim
’til we’ve swum or sunk.
DJANE (moving even closer):
You know what I have to say to that?
PHIL
(even closer—they both kinda know what’s coming):
What?
An explosive kiss between them. It’s impossible to tell who kissed who first.
They take it offstage.
TINY (to audience):
Now, that’s what I’m talking about. And that’s what Will and I had. Only, we had other things, too. Like fear. And vulnerability. And uncertainty. I tried to shine my way through all these things . . . shine us both through all these things. But sometimes it’s not that easy.
The bed gets wheeled in again, with different sheets on it. We’re in Will’s bedroom now. It’s very much like the inside of his head—part childish, part intense. Although the sheets weren’t actually black, they might as well have been.
Will and Tiny have been dating for a couple of weeks now. Tiny is SO into it, and he feels that Will is, too, even if Will isn’t as open in expressing his enthusiasm. But that’s okay. Tiny has learned to understand that his emotional volume tends to be a little louder than other boys’, and he wants Will to be his complement, not his twin. It’s okay that they’re different, in no small part because Tiny thinks his buoyancy can lift whatever’s weighing Will down. They’ll balance out.
Will enters the bedroom and joins Tiny.
TINY (to audience):
This is the first time I ever got to see Will’s room. You can tell a lot about a guy from his room. In Will’s case, I was searching for signs of life.
Tiny approaches a goldfish bowl next to the bed. You do NOT have to have goldfish in it. This is acting. And no goldfish should have to swim under a spotlight.
TINY:
Goldfish! What are their names?
WILL:
Samson and Delilah.
TINY:
Really?
WILL:
She’s a total slut.
Tiny leans over for a closer look at the fish food and finds a bottle of pills instead.
TINY:
You feed them prescription drugs?
WILL:
Oh, no. Those are mine. (pause) It’s a depression thing.
TINY (lighthearted, not really getting it):
Oh, I feel depressed, too. Sometimes. (pause) Which one’s Samson and which one’s Delilah?
WILL:
Honestly? I forget.
TINY (as if he’s just seen it for the first time):
Look! A bed!
With an almost-shy grin, Tiny sits gingerly on its edge.
TINY:
Comfy!
Will takes one look at Tiny sitting there and laughs happily. It’s a wonderful sound when he laughs happily, especially because it surprises Will whenever it happens.
TINY:
What?
WILL:
There’s a boy! In my bed!
Will joins Tiny in the bed. They share a tender kiss, then Will lies in Tiny’s arms. It’s very sweet. And I wish we could end the scene here. With all my heart, I wish we could end the scene here, and Will could let this be exactly what it seems to be. But Will can’t accept it. He pulls out of Tiny’s embrace, sits up.
TINY:
What? What is it?
WILL:
Look, Tiny—I’m trying to be on my best behavior, but you have to understand—I’m always standing on the edge of something bad. And sometimes someone like you can make me look the other way, so that I don’t know how close I am to falling over. But I always end up turning my head. Always. I always walk off that edge. And it’s what I deal with every day, and it’s not going away anytime soon. It’s really nice to have you here, but do you want to know something? Do you really want me to be honest?
Tiny nods. Of course he wants Will to be honest. When you’re falling in love, you always think honesty is the right answer.
WILL:
It feels like a vacation. I don’t think you know what that’s like. Which is good—you don’t want to. You have no idea how much I hate this. I hate the fact that I’m ruining the night right now, ruining everything—
TINY:
You’re not.
WILL:
I am.
TINY:
Says who?
WILL:
Says me?
TINY:
Don’t I get any say?
WILL:
No. I just ruin it. You don’t get any say.
Tiny touches Will’s ear lightly, tries to lighten the moment.
TINY:
You know, you get all sexy when you turn destructive.
His fingers run down Will’s neck, under his collar.
TINY:
I know I can’t change anything that’s already happened to you. But you know what I can do?
WILL:
What?
TINY:
Something else. That’s what I can give you. Something else.
The next song is a ballad, almost a lullaby, delivered from Tiny to Will as Tiny cuddles him close. Tiny wants so badly for Will to see how much he cares. As happens with love, he cares carefully, and he cares carelessly, and he cares a lot about how much his care is received. He sees Will is hurting. He knows Will is hurting. And he wants to change that. And he believes that the first step to change is letting the other person know that you’re there, and that you want to help as much as he needs help.
I wanted to be his escape plan. I thought I could write it myself.
[“SOMETHING ELSE”]
TINY:
If you’re tired of feeling,
tired of fighting,
I understand.
If you’re tired of twisting,
exhausted by existing,
I understand.
Sometimes it takes all your strength
to get up in the morning,
only to face a day
that seems aimless and boring.
But don’t despair
because I’ll be there
to lead you away.
I’ll be your weekend,
your fire escape,
the dream you never leave—
I’ll be your day off,
your stopped clock,
your glorious reprieve.
Let me be your something else.
Let me put your past up on a shelf.
Let me unfold you from your problems
and let you be yourself.
If you’re tired of the mess,
tired of the stress,
I understand.
If you’re tired of every thought,
sick of feeling caught,
I understand.
Sometimes it takes all of your strength
to make it through the night,
only to wake up
and find little that feels right.
But don’t despair
because I’ll be there
to lead you away.
I’ll be your weekend,
your fire escape,
the dream you never leave—
I’ll be your day off,
your stopped clock,
your glorious reprieve.
Let me be your something else.
Let me put your past up on a shelf.
Let me unfold you from your problems
and let you be yourself.
Just come away with me.
Come away with me.
Put all the rest of it aside
and come away with me.
We all miss our heavens
and we all fight our hells.
So please let me be there
to be your something else.
The end of the song lulls them together. It’s almost possible to believe they’ve made it to something else. It’s almost possible to believe they’ve made it to where they need to be.
This is hard to write. Please know this is hard to write.
Lights out.