Drag Teen

by Jeffery Self

  Tash walked out, grand and regal.

  “Good evening. I am legendary, I am divinity, I am Natasha!” Tash spoke way too loudly, and a little too proudly, into the microphone. She didn’t seem to care—but the audience, however, did. I could see a few of them shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

  Tash went on to give what was clearly a memorized speech. It was all done in his usual persona, and when there were jokes, he got laughs, and when he called out for responses, he got responses. But overall it felt so formulaic, so routine, so the Tash I’d met in the apartment. It was worlds away from the Tash he’d revealed to me, the Tash who had cracked out of the perfectly formed drag teen he’d built around himself.

  “Greetings, Earthlings. I come from the Planet of Natasha, in the galaxy of fabulous, in the universe of …” She didn’t stay a word here but instead snapped her fingers and vogued her arms into a spasm that was at once revelatory and violent.

  “I come to this pageant to pick up what is rightfully mine—the crown! Miss Drag Teen is in my blood. Along with fierceness, divinity, pizazz, and electricity. You want Miss Drag Teen to matter? Well, honey … now it does!”

  Her speech dragged on with self-congratulatory comments like, “My soul is made up of the same stuff as Beyoncé and Miss Heidi Klum. You prick us and we bleed beauty.”

  I couldn’t help but be disappointed. I thought I’d gotten through, broken past whatever guard he had, but the reality was that guards, when left standing long enough, get harder and harder to break. I made a promise to myself that no matter what, no matter the nerves, no matter the inhibitions or insecurities, I would break mine. I would break that heavily built guard and go out there and show me, show the real me, not just the me I wanted to show them, but all of it. Because that’s what drag meant to me … the truth. Sugarcoated, for sure, but the truth above all else.

  I heard my name being called to the stage. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as I walked back toward the microphone.

  “Hi. Wow. Does this look as bright out there as it does up here? They’ve really got to figure that out. The stage lights blinding you, I mean. At the very least, I’m going to need an eye exam after this, so if you’re an optometrist, leave your card.”

  My first laugh—a good one too.

  “My name is JT. As I mentioned earlier, I hadn’t really done a lot of this before tonight—only once before, actually. On my way here, I didn’t have a drag name, and I still don’t. JT is my actual name. Somebody told me to make my drag name what spoke to me, and I don’t know if I’m lazy or not, but whatever the reason, the only name that spoke to me was my own.”

  My second laugh.

  “And that’s not coming from a diva place or whatever—it’s just, I don’t know … what I feel. Somebody told me that the great thing about drag is that it allows you to be the you you’re afraid of letting loose, the you inside of you, and that’s exactly what I feel like I’ve done. Up until tonight, I’ve never felt comfortable in my own skin. But tonight, as I walked onstage to do this, as I felt this crowd, as I sang, danced in the opening number, I felt … well, I don’t know how to describe it, but right now I feel like I am exactly where I am supposed to be. More than any other time in my life.”

  I adjusted my wig.

  “I love being a drag teen. I do. And I hope that one day I’ll be a drag queen. But I just want to say that within the past week, I’ve learned so much. Not just about drag, but about myself, my fears, my insecurities, my passion, and what allows me to feel okay. And do you want to know what that is? It’s putting on a wig and some mascara and heels and shining before an audience. I am such a terrified human being. I worry about what other people are thinking so often that I dream about it. The minute I step into a room, I assume you don’t like me—or hate me, even. And sometimes that’s the case. Sometimes people hate me. Sometimes they don’t notice me. And I used to think that’s all I wanted, to blend in. But if I’ve learned anything this week, it’s that a lot of people not only notice, but they care. And that feels so much better than blending in ever has. Maybe I’m only half a drag queen, or half a boy, or half a something … but I want the world to meet JT. Sometimes JT looks like this. And sometimes he looks like this.”

  I pulled my wig off and fussed with my hair. Then I put the wig back on. Flawlessly.

  “But sometimes, this wig, this eyeliner, this all-of-it … it’s just the boost of confidence I need to feel really and truly and happily me. And so that’s who I am, JT. We all need our own form of drag sometimes, to wrap ourselves up in, as we brave the frontier of self-discovery. There’s been a lot of talk in this pageant about the four key words: glamour, talent, heart, and soul. I found the first two moderately quickly. Those you can rehearse. But the final two—well, that took coming here and doing this to solidify.”

  I cleared my throat.

  “Heart. I have the sweetest and most beautiful boyfriend in the world, truly. I’d ask him to stand up if I weren’t afraid of all of you stealing him.”

  The crowd laughed and looked around like dogs for a treat that had just been tossed into the yard.

  “And soul. I’ve realized that all of this … performing, letting go, feeling beautiful, feeling loved … that’s my soul. That’s everyone’s soul. And I’ve found that here, a happy equation of it all, which I suppose is the whole point of tonight. Despite every setback, every failure, every mishap and freak-out … here I am. JT. Take me or leave me, wig and mascara and all. I’m just JT, and that’s why I drag.”

  As I stepped away from the microphone and the audience applauded, I caught a glimpse of Daryl in the wings.

  He was giving me a thumbs-up.

  THERE WAS A SHORT INTERMISSION as the judges deliberated. The ten of us gathered in the dressing room, making idle small talk, each of us too focused on what would happen in the upcoming ten minutes to have any form of real conversation.

  Pip asked to lead us in a group meditation, but no one really jumped at the idea. A few of the contestants kept to themselves; Roxanne Roll and Miss Hedini chain-smoked on the fire escape, while Tash kept touching up his makeup in the mirror. From the way that he wasn’t looking up and was avoiding conversation with everyone entirely, I could tell he wanted to be left alone.

  Lady Rooster was pacing back and forth in the hallway, on her phone, angry with someone about something having to do with a gay cruise and somebody named Charo. The music began to play on the stage, and the stage manager called us to our places, each of us jittery and wishing each other halfhearted good-lucks.

  We formed our line of ten across the stage as the judges all smiled at us, with the tension of knowing that nine of us would soon hate them. I kept telling myself that winning wasn’t the point—the point was all that I had learned about myself in the past week.

  But let’s be honest: I wanted that scholarship.

  Daryl returned to the stage thanking everyone, again, for their support, and announcing that the evening’s tickets and donations had raised a grand total of one hundred and fifteen thousand dollars, an amount of money that seemed so unfathomable to me that it might as well have been a million. He reminded us contestants that each of us was a winner, and all that other crap they always tell people in pageants. We each nodded and smiled politely, but it was clear that in each of our minds, the thought was the same: Shut up and give me that crown!

  As if the wait hadn’t been long enough already, the judges each gave their own little pep talk about how we were all some of the best young drag performers they’d ever seen. I was on the verge of exploding and shouting Just tell us! when Samuel Deckman said I had looked beautiful all night … at which point I briefly forgot about the pageant entirely.

  Daryl introduced the currently reigning Miss Drag Teen, Princess Latifah, to the stage. She was a beautiful, very tall African American girl with the best makeup I’d seen all night. Her face was more than a perfect drag makeup job; it was a work of art. She wore no wig, but instead a shaved h
ead, earrings that must have weighed at least ten pounds each, and the most beautiful gown I’d ever seen. She looked like an elegant Kerry Washington, but bald. She also had this air about her, like she wasn’t one of us but instead a legit star, and not in an egotistical way.

  “Princess Latifah, welcome back.”

  She bowed modestly to the audience. “Thank you, Daryl. It’s lovely to be back among so many familiar faces.”

  “What has been the best part of your year in the crown, Latif’?”

  She even looked regal while thinking. “Getting to see so many sides of the gay community and just how big and varied it is. It’s easy, I think, as a young queer person, to not feel like you belong to your queer brothers and sisters, because maybe you’ve never met the ones you identify with. If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that no matter who you are, where you are, or how you feel, there are people out there for you. This enormous community is its own tribe, but within that tribe are countless smaller tribes. If you open yourself up, you’ll find yours.”

  It was as if Princess Latifah was speaking directly to me, but from the look on all my fellow contestants’ faces, I could tell they were thinking the same thing. Which was a cool thing to realize, that we all feel like out-of-place weirdos even within what’s supposed to be our own community.

  “Well, Princess Latifah … are you ready to hand over the crown?”

  Lady Rooster brought the results to Daryl, making a long, grand strut across the stage.

  “Inside this envelope is the winner of this year’s Miss Drag Teen Pageant,” Daryl announced. “This contestant will win a full scholarship paid for by the John Denton Foundation, as well as hold the title and responsibilities of being Miss Drag Teen USA for the next year.” All of us contestants joined hands. “And the runner-up will receive a cash prize of one hundred dollars and the responsibility of fulfilling all Miss Drag Teen USA duties if the winner should become unable to do so. Drumroll, please.”

  The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a sharpened bobby pin.

  “The runner-up of this year’s Miss Drag Teen Pageant is … Red Sia!”

  Red gasped and stepped forward as the audience applauded. Each of the rest of us looked more nervous and yet satisfied to have not heard our name called. Red thanked the audience over and over as he shook hands with Daryl and Princess Latifah.

  “And now,” Daryl proclaimed, “without further ado, the winner, the new Miss Drag Teen USA representing the John Denton Foundation is … Miss Hedini!”

  The audience roared with applause and howling. Miss Hedini, immediately beginning to cry, stepped forward. The spotlight hit her and followed her to center stage, where she shook Daryl’s hand and lowered her head before Princess Latifah, who ceremoniously placed her crown on Miss Hedini’s enormous Afro. Daryl hung the sash over her shoulders, and Nathan Leary got up from the judge’s table and gave her an enormous bouquet of roses. As she stood center stage, doing a perfect pageant wave, she looked beautiful. The other contestants and I, disappointed, made our way backstage.

  It was over.

  I’d given it my best shot, more than my best shot, and while I was really bummed, I couldn’t help but feel extremely proud of myself. I thought back to when Seth had first introduced the idea of this whole adventure—I never could have imagined actually going through with it. But I did. I had.

  A few of the contestants were angry, whispering snide insults about Miss Hedini to each other. Milton wasn’t fazed; after all, I suppose few things can shock you after you’ve had a flaming wig on your head. I sat down in front of my makeup mirror to begin wiping my face off. But first I took one last look at my beautiful creation. I had a makeup wipe over my eyes when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Hey.”

  It was Tash. She was looking down, timid for the first time ever.

  “Sorry you lost,” she said.

  “You too, Tash. You looked great.”

  She nodded, looking over her shoulder as if she was searching for what to say next. “Look. I just wanted to say thanks. No one’s ever talked to me like you talked to me today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I guess no one ever really talks to me at all. And I just thought I should give these back.” She handed over a trash bag; when I looked inside, I saw it was full of my missing costumes and wigs. “It was cruel and cowardly, I know. And if you never want to speak to me again, I get it. Why would you? But I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry and that I thought what you said out there, in your speech, was really cool. I don’t think I would ever know how to be honest like that.”

  I didn’t know what to say. What she’d done was indeed cruel and cowardly, but on some level I understood. Maybe I’d never sabotaged someone else because of my own fears and insecurities, but I’d certainly sabotaged myself, and who’s to say what’s worse?

  Tash shook her head. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t speak from my heart or my soul. I guess I just don’t know what they even sound like.”

  She was staring at the tiles on the floor, biting her lip, little smears of pink lipstick smudged across her front teeth, and I knew in my heart that I should forgive her. I pulled her toward me; she stood stiff and awkward in my arms. I could feel tears falling from her eyes onto my shoulders, and I kept her there as she whispered softly, “I don’t remember the last time somebody hugged me.”

  “JT!!!!!” I could recognize Heather’s scream no matter where I was. I pulled away from Tash to find Heather and Seth walking in. “You were amazing!!!”

  Tash, wiping her eyes, nodded hello to them and scurried back to her station.

  “Really, JT, she’s right. You were incredible. So beautiful, babe.” Seth hugged me so tight he cracked my back in that way he always does.

  “How do you feel?” Heather was beaming, no trace of loser’s remorse whatsoever.

  “Ya know what? I feel okay. I feel pretty good, actually.”

  “She shouldn’t have won. It is so ridiculous.”

  I cut her off. “No. It’s not. Miss Hedini did a really great job, but you know what? So did I. And I didn’t get a scholarship and that blows, but I did it. I actually did it. And right now, maybe I’m just a little high on the excitement, but I feel like that’s enough.”

  Seth locked eyes with me, his sparkling like twinkly Christmas lights in the rain. Inside them I could see my own reflection. We stayed like that for a while as Heather launched into some argument about why Miss Hedini would be a completely forgettable flash in the drag teen pan. I just let her keep going because I could tell it was giving her joy.

  “Hey, let’s let you get changed and stuff. Meet us in the alley, okay?” Seth asked after a while.

  “Okay. I’m so starving. I want to eat everything in New York City and some of the outer boroughs too.”

  Seth kissed me one more time.

  “Hey, can I talk to you alone for a second?” Heather asked quietly.

  Seth smiled and let himself out of the dressing room. Heather released a deep breath.

  “Seth’s already heard my apology, but I just wanted to say I’m sorry to you too, about freaking out and storming off like that last night.” Heather was nervously shifting her weight from one foot to another. “I was being dramatic.”

  “Well, I certainly have no understanding what that is like,” I joked.

  She grinned. “Really, though. It was stupid of me to go off and meet that guy. I know you were just trying to protect me and that you don’t think of me as just some fat-girl sidekick.”

  She handed me another makeup wipe.

  “Thanks. I’m glad you realize that,” I said, rubbing off my eye shadow. “Was it fun, at least? Your adventure?”

  “It was. But I ditched Roger pretty quickly. You were right—he’s a total creep.”

  “Then where were you all night?”

  “Oh. With Daryl.” Heather laughed, as if remembering something funny that you had to be the
re for. “Roger brought me to the club and was trying to get me drunk. He got super handsy, and when I asked him to slow down, he got mad. So I kicked him in the crotch and told him to screw off. Daryl saw me and invited me to crash at his and Lady Rooster’s place. We went out for cheeseburgers and ice cream at four a.m. and watched the sun come up over the river from their apartment window. It was legit perfection.”

  I gave her some serious side-eye.

  “So do you still think gay guys hate women?” I asked.

  “Not all of them.” She grinned even wider. “I mean, some of you are total bitches, but the smart ones, you’re better than anyone else.”

  She squeezed me so tight I felt my Spanx pop.

  I finished taking off my makeup and changed back into my regular clothes. I had spent only a few hours away from them, but it still felt strange to step into the shoes of just another regular person after so many hours of being a diva.

  Red and Milton told me I had to come to the after-party, an annual event thrown at Daryl’s loft for the contestants to celebrate and commiserate their losses. I told them that if there would be food, I’d consider it, but would need to talk to Seth and Heather first.

  I packed up all the costumes, the wigs, the shoes, everything. It felt as if I were putting an entire little world I’d created for myself back into a bag, and I was sad to see that world go. As I headed out into the alley, I spotted Daryl by the door.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He turned around with his big friendly smile and gave me another bear hug. “You were so wonderful, JT! You feel good?”

  “Yeah. Really good. Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for taking care of Heather last night. We tried to keep her from going, but she was in rare form and, well, she’s her own person.”

  Daryl squeezed my shoulder. “She’s a great girl, JT. You’re lucky to have her as a friend. Never take the girls in your life for granted. You hear me?”