Marsha\u2019s eyes opened. A grey light poured from the window. One of her hands was on Darrel\u2019s 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\u2019s dirty dishes didn\u2019t 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.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou making tea for both of us?\u201d Darrel called from the bedroom.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot feeling great?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh right. No milk for tea this morning,\u201d Darrel said. He stirred the teabag around with a spoon.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. But it will be good. An experiment.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot enough bread either. Only one slice,\u201d Darrel said.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s one pita left too.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marsha took her tea into the living room. The plant by the window drooped dramatically \u2013 in desperate need of water.<\/p>\n
\u201cI forgot to water the plant,\u201d Darrel said as he came in.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll water it, baby-boo. I\u2019ll water it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Esther the cat was looking at the wall as if something was there of interest. Marsha couldn\u2019t see what Esther saw, save for a few unmoving shadows.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t wait till we can sit on the back deck \u2013 on our Muskoka chairs,\u201d Darrel said.<\/p>\n
\u201cUh huh.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMarch 10 is daylight savings.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s exciting,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
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 \u2013 this time towards the light.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you brush your teeth yesterday?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. Before bed. There must be something wrong with my breath. Something wrong with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s nothing wrong with you. You just need to go to the dentist and get your teeth cleaned.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marsha thought about what to have for breakfast. Something that would make her feel slim and keep her appetite down.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you make me a boiled egg?\u201d<\/p>\n
Darrel nodded.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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\u2019t 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\u2019t 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.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was hilarious. That joke about how George Stroumboulopoulos calls out his own name when he\u2019s having sex. Does that mean he\u2019s egotistical in real life?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think he\u2019s known for being egotistical. But his show is called Stroumboulopoulos. So maybe in that way.\u201d<\/p>\n
Darrel continued playing and Marsha let her mind wander: That George guy looked different last night. Thinner. More stylish. He\u2019s 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: \u201cDid you make me an egg?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh shit. It\u2019s still boiling,\u201d Darrel said. She suddenly felt the urgency of hunger.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s okay. I\u2019ll get it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you ever feel the pain of the morning rain<\/i>,\u201d 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.<\/p>\n
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\u2019t add salt. Just sprinkled on some cayenne. Left the white pieces of shell on the counter.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Good Morning Marsha\u2019s eyes opened. A grey light poured from the window. One of her hands was on Darrel\u2019s 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 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1867,"parent":148,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-567","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/567","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=567"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/567\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1982,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/567\/revisions\/1982"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/148"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1867"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=567"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}