I’m shouting, my arms whirling with gesticulations, and I don’t even notice until I run out of important questions that Tiny is crying. And then softly, the softest I’ve ever heard Tiny say anything, he says, “If you could write a play about anybody . . .” and then his voice trails off.
I sit down next to him, put my arm around him. “Are you okay?”
Somehow, Tiny Cooper manages to contort himself so that his massive head cries on my narrow shoulder. And after a while he says, “Long week. Long month. Long life.”
He recovers quickly, wiping his eyes with the popped collar of the polo shirt he’s wearing beneath a striped sweater.
“When you date someone, you have the markers along the way, right: You kiss, you have The Talk, you say the Three Little Words, you sit on a swing set and break up. You can plot the points on a graph. And you check up with each other along the way: Can I do this? If I say this, will you say it back?
“But with friendship, there’s nothing like that. Being in a relationship, that’s something you choose. Being friends, that’s just something you are.”
I just stare out at the ball field for a minute. Tiny sniffles. “I’d pick you,” I say. “Fuck it, I do pick you. I want you to come over to my house in twenty years with your dude and your adopted kids and I want our f**king kids to hang out and I want to, like, drink wine and talk about the Middle East or whatever the f**k we’re gonna want to do when we’re old. We’ve been friends too long to pick, but if we could pick, I’d pick you.”
“Yeah, okay. You’re getting a little feelingsy, Grayson,” he says. “It’s kinda freaking me out.”
“Got it.”
“Like, don’t ever say you love me again.”
“But I do love you. I’m not embarrassed about it.”
“Seriously, Grayson, stop it. You’re making me throw up in the back of my mouth a little.”
I laugh. “Can I help with the play?”
Tiny reaches into his pocket and produces a neatly folded piece of notebook paper and hands it to me. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says, smirking.
Will (and to a lesser extent Jane),
Thank you for your interest in assisting me in the run-up to Hold Me Closer. I would greatly appreciate it if you would both be backstage opening night to assist with costume changes and to generally calm cast members (okay, let’s just say it: me). Also, you’ll have an excellent view of the play.
Also, the Phil Wrayson costume is excellent as is, but it’d be even better if we had some Will Graysonish clothes for Gary to wear.
Furthermore, I thought I would have time to make a preshow mix in which the odd-numbered tracks are punk rock and the even-numbered tracks are from musicals. I will not, in fact, have time to do this; if you do, it would be truly fabulous.
You are a cute couple, and it was my distinct pleasure to set you up, and I do not in any way resent either of you for failing to have thanked me for making your love possible.
I remain . . .
Your faithful matchmaker and servant . . .
Toiling alone and newly single in an ocean of pain so that some light may be brought into your lives . . . Tiny Cooper
I laugh while I read it, and Tiny laughs, too, nodding his head, appreciating his own awesome.
“I’m sorry about the other Will Grayson,” I say.
His smile folds in upon itself. His response seems directed more toward my namesake than me. “There’s never been anybody like him.”
I don’t trust the words as he says them, but then he exhales through pursed lips, his sad eyes squinting at the distance, and I believe him.
“I should probably get started on this, eh? Thanks for the backstage invite.”
He gets up and starts nodding like he sometimes does, the repetitive nodding that tells me he’s convincing himself of something. “Yeah, I should get back to infuriating the cast and crew with my tyrannical direction.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I say.
“And all the other days,” he says, patting me too hard between the shoulder blades.
Chapter eighteen
I start holding my breath. not like you do when you pass a graveyard or something like that. no. i’m trying to see how long i can do it before i pass out or die. it’s a really convenient pastime - you can do it pretty much anywhere. class. lunch. at the urinal. in the discomfort of your own room.
the sucky part is that the moment always comes when i take the next breath. i can only push myself so far.
I’ve given up on hearing from tiny. i hurt him, he hates me - it’s as simple as that. and now that he’s not texting me, i realize that no one else texts me. or messages me. or cares.
now that he isn’t into me, i realize that no one else is all that into me, either.
okay, so there’s gideon. he’s not much of a texter or a messager, but when we’re at school, he’s always asking me how things are going. and i always stop not-breathing in order to answer him. sometimes i even tell the truth.
me: seriously, is this what the rest of my life is going to be? i don’t think i signed up for this.
I know it sounds like teenage idiocy - the needles! in my heart! and my eyes! - but the pattern seems inescapable. i am never going to get better at being a good person. i am always going to be the blood and shit of things.
gideon: just breathe.
and i wonder how he knows to say that.
the only time that i pretend i have it all together is when maura’s around. i don’t want her to see me falling apart. worst case scenario: she stomps on all the pieces. worse-than-that case scenario: she tries to put them together again. i realize: i am now where she was with me. on the other side of the silence. you’d think that silence would be peaceful. but really, it’s painful.
at home, mom is keeping close watch on me. which makes me feel worse, because now i’m putting her through it, too.
that night - the night i screwed everything up with tiny
- she hid the glass bowl he gave her. while i was asleep, she put it away. and the stupid thing was, when i saw it was gone, the first thing i thought was that she was afraid i’d smash it. then i realized she was only trying to protect me from seeing it, from getting upset.
at school, i ask gideon
me: why is it upset? shouldn’t it be downset?
gideon: i will file a lawsuit against the dictionaries first thing tomorrow morning. we’re going to tear merriam a new ass**le and throw webster inside of it.