Ryan J. Haddad’s new monologue/play Hold Me in the Water, which opened Wednesday at Off Broadway’s Playwrights Horizons, has the confessional energy of an overdue catch-up session with a friend whose tendency is to overshare all the details of their recent romantic adventures. In this case, it’s Haddad’s recent romance with an improbably perfect boyfriend who seemed to have an intuitive sense of the needs of his body. That’s particularly important since Haddad, a man with cerebral palsy who uses a walker to move around the stage, frequently depends on others to help him navigate the physical world. And by Haddad’s account, this unnamed hottie moved in sync with him on beaches and stairways and other inaccessible spaces, as well as in the bedroom. Haddad goes into rather graphic detail about his sex life, and how a sudden shift in position can force him to lose not only his balance but also his erection.

In previous plays, like Dark Disabled Stories (performed at the Public two years ago), Haddad also explored the challenges that disabled people face moving about a world that is often unwelcoming and of depending on the literal kindness of strangers to complete even mundane tasks. That show benefited from presenting the experiences of multiple people, with various forms of disability, to raise issues that many of us might not even consider. (One that sticks with me: How does a deaf BDSM enthusiast sign a safe word when he or she is handcuffed?)

In Hold Me, we have only Haddad’s perspective on a relationship that seems transformative for him but whose meaning to his ex remains stubbornly elusive. Haddad has enumerated all the ways in which this man seemed anticipate the demands of a disabled partner. He scoped out accessible spaces for their meetings, brought an extra jacket for an outdoor date on the Highline, and showed patience in bed with a sexual partner who displayed more enthusiasm than experience. He seems like a keeper — which makes the rejection sting all the more acutely. Still, Haddad seems to feel more wistful than bitter, perhaps because — true to form — this hottie broke things off in the most gentle way possible. (“The next step would be a relationship, and I don’t want that for us,” he tells Haddad, and also, “I think you made more space in your heart for me than I did for you.”)

While Haddad the gay singleton can never know whether his disability was a factor in the breakup, or how big a factor, I wish that Haddad the playwright/performer had fleshed out his story and opened it up to additional perspectives (including imagined ones). Instead, he concludes by challenging the audience to consider whether a person’s disability would be a deal-breaker for them. That’s a worthwhile message for other singletons, those who haven’t already found their person, but it also shifts his highly personal account into didactic TED-talk territory.

As directed by Danny Sharon, the entire production is admirably designed to expand our understanding of accessibility. The house lights are dimmed but never fully dark, and theatergoers are welcome to leave and return mid-performance if they feel overwhelmed, with a “quiet space” in the lobby for that purpose. In addition, the script is projected above the proscenium for deaf audiences, and Haddad provides real-time (and often hilarious) descriptions of his appearance and movements for blind and low-vision theatergoers. (My favorite comes after the gallant then-beau tells off the host of a restaurant that falsely claimed to be accessible, prompting Haddad to narrate his swoon-worthy response: “I fan myself.”) There’s even an access dramaturg, Alison Kopit, who writes a lengthy essay in the Playbill.

Hold Me in the Water showcases Haddad’s talents in ways that show off his wit and personality. He’s a real catch, and I hope he finds his true love someday. It’s also a rather slight story about an all-too-brief romance. I also hope that in his future work he again finds ways to look beyond his heartbreak and even his own experience. ★★★☆☆

HOLD ME IN THE WATER
Playwrights Horizons, Off Broadway
Running time: 75 minutes
Tickets on sale through May 4 for $63 to $103