Showcasing Select LGBT Media of the Gay Civil Rights Movement
Is There Life on Mars?
This is a short-short I wrote in college, for an assignment. It was originally published in the U.S.C. online lit magazine, Angelingo. The idea of the short-short is to squeeze an entire story into just a few hundred words....
Is There Life on Mars?
You’re standing there awkwardly in your new red dress and matching lipstick, hair plastered to your head like a 1950s movie star (there isn’t much you can do with short hair). You are hiding behind a red velvet curtain, the only thing separating you from total humiliation, and behind you sitting at the piano is Ricky, your best friend since kindergarten. He’s wearing a brown corduroy blazer over a button-up white shirt, and pinstriped slacks that don’t match. His hair is clean cut and parted on the side.
You were in Cub Scouts together.
He is terrified, but he has your back no matter what.
Your heart is beating furiously.
On the other side of the curtain the crowd is hushed. Mr. Simonson, the theater coach, announces you and you realize that you can’t do this, you want to go home, you wish you were dead, anywhere but here, but the curtain parts and there you are, before God and your high school, a faggot in a red dress.
Ricky starts playing immediately, before they can stop you, just like you had planned the night before. You were feeling much more courageous then. You had something to prove, then. You have no choice but to sing, and so you do, your voice trembling and deep, harmonizing with Ricky’s, and the audience begins to react. There’s murmuring. There are giggles.
“It’s a god awful small affair…”
You look over the crowded auditorium, hundreds of people who just want to see their classmates’ talents. But then you have to go and do this. You have to ruin it. You hate yourself. But you keep singing.
The song is building now, and so is the noise in the crowd. The principal is furious because he did not okay this. This is not what you rehearsed. He is pacing in the back of the theater, unsure of what to do. The jocks in the fourth row begin shouting.
The whole audience erupts. They're throwing things.
And then Ricky explodes on the piano behind you and your heart bursts and you remember what you are doing there. You are not ashamed. The crowd becomes uncontrollable as you scream into your microphone.
“LOOK AT THOSE CAVEMEN GO!”
You hear a crash behind you. Ricky has kicked the piano bench out from underneath him. He is standing now and hammering the piano with all of his strength. He is furious. He has lost his mind. He is committing suicide. And he’s doing it for you.
You let go of everything.
The principal is trying to make his way through the crowd, which has poured out into the aisles now, seizing the opportunity for chaos. You walk towards the edge of the stage, kicking papers and pencils and books back at the crowd as you go, singing with all of your might. You are doing this. You have to go and spoil it for everyone. You have to.
The principal has reached the stage and just before he unplugs your microphone and you belt, in a glorious falsetto, “IS THERE LIFE ON MAAAAAAAAAAAAARS??”
And then you are silent. And Ricky stops playing. And the crowd slowly calms down. Someone in the back of the auditorium is clapping. It's your mother.
The principal is staring at you, speechless. Everyone in the crowd is staring at you. You stare back, your breath heaving. Ricky comes and stands next to you. He looks nervous and exhilarated. You both know that you’re dead, but you look at each other and laugh. The curtain closes.
Is There Life on Mars?
You’re standing there awkwardly in your new red dress and matching lipstick, hair plastered to your head like a 1950s movie star (there isn’t much you can do with short hair). You are hiding behind a red velvet curtain, the only thing separating you from total humiliation, and behind you sitting at the piano is Ricky, your best friend since kindergarten. He’s wearing a brown corduroy blazer over a button-up white shirt, and pinstriped slacks that don’t match. His hair is clean cut and parted on the side.
You were in Cub Scouts together.
He is terrified, but he has your back no matter what.
Your heart is beating furiously.
On the other side of the curtain the crowd is hushed. Mr. Simonson, the theater coach, announces you and you realize that you can’t do this, you want to go home, you wish you were dead, anywhere but here, but the curtain parts and there you are, before God and your high school, a faggot in a red dress.
Ricky starts playing immediately, before they can stop you, just like you had planned the night before. You were feeling much more courageous then. You had something to prove, then. You have no choice but to sing, and so you do, your voice trembling and deep, harmonizing with Ricky’s, and the audience begins to react. There’s murmuring. There are giggles.
“It’s a god awful small affair…”
You look over the crowded auditorium, hundreds of people who just want to see their classmates’ talents. But then you have to go and do this. You have to ruin it. You hate yourself. But you keep singing.
The song is building now, and so is the noise in the crowd. The principal is furious because he did not okay this. This is not what you rehearsed. He is pacing in the back of the theater, unsure of what to do. The jocks in the fourth row begin shouting.
The whole audience erupts. They're throwing things.
And then Ricky explodes on the piano behind you and your heart bursts and you remember what you are doing there. You are not ashamed. The crowd becomes uncontrollable as you scream into your microphone.
“LOOK AT THOSE CAVEMEN GO!”
You hear a crash behind you. Ricky has kicked the piano bench out from underneath him. He is standing now and hammering the piano with all of his strength. He is furious. He has lost his mind. He is committing suicide. And he’s doing it for you.
You let go of everything.
The principal is trying to make his way through the crowd, which has poured out into the aisles now, seizing the opportunity for chaos. You walk towards the edge of the stage, kicking papers and pencils and books back at the crowd as you go, singing with all of your might. You are doing this. You have to go and spoil it for everyone. You have to.
The principal has reached the stage and just before he unplugs your microphone and you belt, in a glorious falsetto, “IS THERE LIFE ON MAAAAAAAAAAAAARS??”
And then you are silent. And Ricky stops playing. And the crowd slowly calms down. Someone in the back of the auditorium is clapping. It's your mother.
The principal is staring at you, speechless. Everyone in the crowd is staring at you. You stare back, your breath heaving. Ricky comes and stands next to you. He looks nervous and exhilarated. You both know that you’re dead, but you look at each other and laugh. The curtain closes.
Add a Comment
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Comment by Patrick Yaeger on April 25, 2009 at 1:38am - Thanks. I can see it all now. I enjoyed reading that. Love when the mother starts clapping. What was that about Ricky committing suicide? Just a way of saying he was destroying his rep?
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Comment by Patrick Yaeger on April 25, 2009 at 12:38am
- Add an extra space after the paragraphs that aren't breaking properly. It'll be easier to read that way. ;)
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