Good Morning
Marsha’s eyes opened. A grey light poured from the window. One of her hands was on Darrel’s bare back, the other behind her head. She must have slept in, because she felt so well rested. But the clock on the dresser said 8:30 a.m. It was still early enough. She wondered whether she would waste other nights like the one she wasted last night. Some things always got done and some things would never be done. Instead of lingering in bed, Marsha got up quickly. In the mornings, everything was better. Even last night’s dirty dishes didn’t bother her. She put the water on to boil. Grabbed two cups and lined them up side-by-side on the counter. The Scotch bottle was still out.
“You making tea for both of us?” Darrel called from the bedroom.
She emptied the sink, placing the dishes on the counter. Let the sink fill with hot water and added soap. She cleaned a plate, three bowls and a glass. Then did a few more before the kettle whistled. While the tea steeped, she did the last pan. Darrel came in just as Marsha finished. He groaned.
“Not feeling great?” she asked.
“Oh right. No milk for tea this morning,” Darrel said. He stirred the teabag around with a spoon.
“No. But it will be good. An experiment.”
“Not enough bread either. Only one slice,” Darrel said.
“There’s one pita left too.”
Marsha took her tea into the living room. The plant by the window drooped dramatically – in desperate need of water.
“I forgot to water the plant,” Darrel said as he came in.
“I’ll water it, baby-boo. I’ll water it.”
Esther the cat was looking at the wall as if something was there of interest. Marsha couldn’t see what Esther saw, save for a few unmoving shadows.
“I can’t wait till we can sit on the back deck – on our Muskoka chairs,” Darrel said.
“Uh huh.”
“March 10 is daylight savings.”
“That’s exciting,” she said.
It seemed only a handful of days ago they were on a train up north and it was the Fall Equinox. The brink of change coming round again – this time towards the light.
“Did you brush your teeth yesterday?” she asked.
“Yes. Before bed. There must be something wrong with my breath. Something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. You just need to go to the dentist and get your teeth cleaned.”
Marsha thought about what to have for breakfast. Something that would make her feel slim and keep her appetite down.
“Can you make me a boiled egg?”
Darrel nodded.
She picked up the paper and read in the silence. The kitchen clock ticked so loudly you could hear it in every room, if you listened. Darrel ate his cereal, then got the egg boiling on the stove.
He took out his guitar. Made the first strum across the strings and it sounded like a rainbow. Marsha loved this time of day when he practiced. The music made her feel like something good was getting done and that she could also get something done. She could do her stretches. Or have a bath. But that wasn’t quite the idea of getting something done that she had in mind. They could have gone to the awards last night. They sat up and watched it on TV instead. Neither one of them had the proper clothes to go to such an event. Plus they were tired and couldn’t quite muster the energy needed for a last minute call to action on a Sunday night. Their friend had phoned to offer them his tickets just a couple of hours before the Screen Awards were about to start.
“That was hilarious. That joke about how George Stroumboulopoulos calls out his own name when he’s having sex. Does that mean he’s egotistical in real life?”
“I don’t think he’s known for being egotistical. But his show is called Stroumboulopoulos. So maybe in that way.”
Darrel continued playing and Marsha let her mind wander: That George guy looked different last night. Thinner. More stylish. He’s not even a movie or TV star. Why was everybody making such a big deal out of him? She went off to the bathroom. While sitting on the toilet she said, raising her voice: “Did you make me an egg?”
“Oh shit. It’s still boiling,” Darrel said. She suddenly felt the urgency of hunger.
“It’s okay. I’ll get it.”
“Did you ever feel the pain of the morning rain,” Darrel sang. The sad song changed the morning. Not in a bad way. Marsha thought: I need more tea. Marsha thought: The morning ends at 12 p.m. The day sours as it grows old.
She cooled the egg under the tap. Peeled it on a piece of paper towel. Put the egg in a bowl and cut it open with a spoon. She didn’t add salt. Just sprinkled on some cayenne. Left the white pieces of shell on the counter.
