I’m sorry Charles, I’m sorry, Edna wheezes through laughter. I’m not hurt or offended or anything, it’s just the champagne thing was too funny to pass up.
I understand, Charles says, drawing his yellow handkerchief from his breast-pocket and wiping at his face.
Edna can’t stop laughing. She stomps her heeled foot repeatedly. Her face is hot pink and tears dribble from the corners of her eyes.
Ohp there it goes. I just peed myself.
Really?
Edna nods furiously, laughter-paroxysms having rendered her speechless.
Do you need to change?
A hard sucking of air and big exhale and Edna begins to level out.
No Charles, it’s only pee. Your hanky please.
Charles hands Edna his handkerchief. Edna dabs at the corners of her eyes. When Edna hands the handkerchief back to Charles its yellow is smudge-darkened with eyeliner. Charles stuffs it back in his breast-pocket.
Edna you’re so free.
Am I Charles?
Yes. Yes you are. And this honesty stuff . . . it’s amazing.
You feel different, don’t you?
Yes. Like a new man.
You are a new man Charles. I can see it in your eyes.
Charles wonders what Edna sees in his eyes, what this new man looks like. He considers retrieving the compact mirror and checking out the new man, then decides he’d rather feel him and not see him.
You know Edna . . . abject shame can be a real aphrodisiac.
It can be. For some.
And you?
Ah Charles, Charly, Chuckles, Chaz, Chittles . . . do you understand where I’ve been? What I’ve done?
Edna steps out into the middle of the living room. Charles imagines that she is cast in a white-hot spotlight. One that really sets off her eyes and scarf.
Edna proclaims grandly:
I’ve gotten drunk with Fitzgerald and blanked that poor silly sod while Zelda was passed out in a corner, thumb plugged in her mouth. She did that a lot ya know? I’ve arm-wrestled Hemingway twice—
Edna throws up two fingers, a peace sign
—and beat him both times. Never before or since have I seen a grown many cry like that.
Edna crouches, a wild look lighting up her eyes.
Josephine Baker, the Moulin Rouge, front row, breasts—
Edna pantomimes breast-fondling
—leopard skin, bananas, scented oils.
Edna closes her eyes, breathes in deeply the memory of scented oils. She opens her eyes and:
I have lindy-hopped my way into and out of the hearts of many men and women Charles. I was alive during those times. But this is a new time, a new world, and blankness is no longer taboo. You Charles . . . you’ve got this sweet guilt-based innocence about you . . . very Biblical, very yesterday.
Edna draws closer to Charles.
It would disturb you, wouldn’t it, to know if you told me to lie down and take it in the dot-dot-dot, I would lie down and take it in the dot-dot-dot. Or if you said: Edna I want you to—
Edna presses against Charles and whispers in his ear
—I’d comply, no questions asked. These are new times Charles. The thrill of shame you’re seeking . . . it’s an old wive’s tale.
Edna appears drained. She sits down on the sofa and stares out, vacantly.
Charles is braced against the edge of the sofa. His finger traces tiny circles in the dimpled arm of the sofa. He looks at Edna then at his finger in motion then back at Edna.
Charles opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Edna, who is still staring vacantly in the direction of the window, doesn’t notice the suspended O-shape of Charles’ mouth. Then Charles’s O flattens until his mouth is a severe line. His mouth remains closed and the words, as if thrown by Charles the ventriloquist, fly in from somewhere else:
Edna will you come back with me?
Edna’s trance is broken.
What was that Charles?
Will you come back with me?
Where?
The past.
That depends Charles. Whose?
Mine.
How would we get there?
Simple. We hold hands and walk around the sofa three times.
That’s it?
Yes. I’ve done it before. Will you come?
Charles extends his hand.
Sure.
Edna takes Charles’s hand.
Really?
Yes. Wait. Can I have more champagne before we go?
Of course.
Charles picks up a glass and is about to pour champagne into it.
Wait. Straight from the bottle this time.
Charles hands Edna the bottle. Bottle suctioned to her lips, Edna tosses her head back and the champagne explodes foam in her face.
Charles points at Edna’s shiny face.
You’re all wet Edna. You’re all wet and foaming at the mouth.
Edna squats menacingly and holds up her hands as if they were claws.
Champagne rabies Charles. I’m the champagne rabies monster.
Edna twists her mouth viciously and growls. Charles laughs. Edna squats closer to the floor,
growls deeper. Charles looks into Edna’s eyes and wonders: animal-glee, animal-cunning? Charles waves Edna off.
That’s enough Edna.
Edna—low to the ground, growling—keeps coming.
Really that’s enough Edna.
Edna stops, straightens up, normalizes her mouth.
You ready Edna?
Edna nods, places her hand inside Charles’s. Charles tightens his grip on Edna’s hand as they circle the sofa three times, Charles leading the way.
A Wrinkle in Timelock
Here we are.
Where’s here?
The house where I grew up. Charles points:
That’s the TV I’d watch all the time. I’d sit right here and watch the TV for hours.
You sat awfully close to the TV.
Yea. They say it can ruin your eyes but my vision’s 20/20.
Charles pivots right and points:
My babysitter Trish would sit in that recliner while I watched TV. She’d usually be reading
Cosmo or Vogue. Sometimes she’d read out the questions from those relationship surveys.
Edna smiles and waits for what she knows is coming next.
6 . . . 7 . . . 8:
Edna do you wanna play Trish?
And you’ll play you?
Yes. Unless you wanna play me?
No I think you’d be better.
How will I know Trish’s lines? I haven’t rehearsed.
They’ll come to you. The past can’t be changed.
Are you sure?
Yes.
Edna points:
Should I sit here?
Yes.
Edna sits in a wooden chair.
Am I reading Cosmo or Vogue?
You choose.
Cosmo.
Good. I’ll sit here and watch TV.
Charles sits down cross-legged and clicks on the imaginary TV. Edna sets the imaginary Cosmo in her lap and flips through the pages, licking her thumb after every flip. Then the flipping stops:
If your date comes to the door dressed in a rabbit suit, do you: A) Politely ask him to leave B) Keep an open mind and go on the date anyway C) Offer him a carrot. Whaddya think Charles?
Charles uses his hand to screen one side of his mouth and whispers:
She called me Charles, Jr.
Sorry. Whaddya think Charles, Jr.
I think those magazines are stupid and I’m watching cartoons.
You know Charles, Jr., you shouldn’t sit so close to the TV. It can ruin your eyes.
Whatever.
You want brain damage?
Why you got some?
Little snot.
Edna goes back to flipping pages. She stops, tilts her head, and scrutinizes a woman in an ad. Then she cups her hands over her breasts.
Charles, Jr., do
you think I need breast implants?
Yes.
Really?
Charles turns away from the TV and looks at Edna.
I wouldn’t lie about something like that Trish.
Little snot.
Edna hurls the Cosmo at Charles’s head. Charles ducks and smiles.
What does Billy think?
Says they’re fine the way they are.
He would know. He’s the one that gets to touch em.
Edna sets her lips to vibrate and slumps in her chair. Charles looks at her.
Bored?
Edna doesn’t respond. Charles, remaining cross-legged, turns until he is facing Edna directly.
Hey Trish, I’ll stop watching TV if you tell me a story.
No.
Why not?
Because . . . I don’t want to put things in your head.
Fine. I’ll just sit here, ruin my eyes, get brain damage.
Charles swivels and faces the TV. Edna adjusts her posture.
Which one?
What?
Which story do you wanna hear?
The one about you and Billy. That night . . . in the park.
I’ve told you that one a thousand times.
How about a thousand and one?
Edna leans forwaYou really like that one, don’t you?
I like the way you tell it.
Edna slaps her thighs.
Okay.
Wait. Can I sit on your lap?
No.
The lap’s the best part.
Edna’s finger shoots out and wags.
I said NO.
Pleeeeaaassssee.
Edna sighs and pats her thigh.
Come on up.
Charles goes to Edna and positions himself in her lap.
Comfy?
Yes.
Okay. So me and Billy were at the park one night and . . . I . . . hmmm . . . I can’t . . . I can’t remember.
What?
I can’t remember my lines.
Just tell the story.
I can’t. I don’t know what happens next.
Charles begins to squirm in Edna’s lap.
You do know Trish, you’ve told me the story a thousand times, you said so yourself.
Charles, stop. STOP. It’s me. I’m telling you, there is no story.
YOU’RE A LIAR. I know there’s a story. The past can’t be changed. Tell me the story. How it goes.
Edna’s arm snaps back then forward, delivering a hard slap across Charles’s face. A stunned
Charles flattens his palm against his cheek.
That’s not it. That’s not how it goes.
Edna leans in, her voice warming Charles’s ear:
Tell me Charles, Jr. What happens next? What happens?
Charles shoots up to standing and stiffly extends his hand.
Give me your hand.
Edna does so and lets Charles pull her up.
Is the past done?
For now yes.
Charles disengages his hand from Edna’s and walks to the edge of the sofa, his back to Edna.
Come here Charles. Charles here.
Charles walks over to Edna, his head lowered. Edna sits on the wooden chair and pats her lap.
Here.
Charles plants himself in Edna’s lap. Edna toggles his earlobe.
I’m going to tell you a story.
Charles looks into Edna’s eyes.
You are?
Yes.
Charles adjusts his position.
Is it one I’ve heard before?
No. It’s a new story.
Is it scary?
Some parts.
Beautiful?
Some parts.
Is it true?
Of course Charles. I wouldn’t lie to you.
Edna takes a deep breath and a glassy blankness comes into her eyes as she gazes inward.
Once upon a time there was a young boy named Charles and a young girl named Edna. They met on a day like today, a very long time ago, and came to understand the meaning of true love.
Recursively Yours
Charles checks his wristwatch. Perplexed by the time it’s telling, he taps its glass face with two fingers. Then he presses his ear against the watch and checks again.
Hmmm.
Charles looks at the spot on the wall where the clock should be: it isn’t there. Charles smoothes his fingers through his hair, goes to the window, looks out. Almost dark.
Charles goes to the table, takes inventory: chips, dip, champagne, gummy worms, sparkling non-alcoholic cider. After the incident with the glass Charles has decided against pretzels.
Charles checks his wristwatch, two-finger taps the glass face, presses his ear against it. Junk,
Charles speaks aloud, just as the doorbell rings.
Charles fiddles with his bowtie, goes to the door, opens it.
Good evening Edna.
Evening Charles.
Edna is dressed exactly the same as she was the first time, except:
You’ve got a coat tonight?
Edna runs her fingers along the inner-lining of her coat: an indigo faux-fur with convex bone-white buttons.
May I take it?
Where?
What?
Where . . . where would you take it?
Charles looks around.
I’d take it to the, uh, bedroom?
Edna lays both her hands on the top of Charles’s shoulders, touches her nose to his.
You’ve become an animal Charles. A naughty little beast.
Edna laughs a quick vicious laugh, turns her back to Charles.
Go on. Take it.
Charles removes Edna’s coat, drapes it over his arm, and gestures. Edna enters, looks around, quickly surmises:
There is no party, is there Charles?
I must confess Edna, there isn’t.
Edna goes to the table, pours herself a glass of champagne. She takes a healthy sip, then turns to Charles.
Champagne, Chuckles?
I’m good Edna.
Edna nods, takes another sip of champagne, gargles, spits it onto the rug.
That’s okay, right? Because your rug is a piece of shit, not from a street bazaar in Morocco.
Truth be told Edna, my rug is a piece of shit. Like the rest of the apartment.
That’s what I love about you Charles. Your honesty.
Charles smiles.
Oh, your clock is in my pocket.
What?
Your clock Charles, your wall clock. I borrowed it. It’s in my coat-pocket.
Why did you—
Because . . . let’s see—
Edna’s eyes roll to the ceiling
—I could say something about borrowed time, stolen hours—
Wasted time?
That’s right, Charly boy. You get the idea.
Edna smiles big, goes over to Charles, pinches his cheek: hard.
Oww.
Charles rubs his hand over the spot on his cheek where Edna pinched him.
That’s to make sure you’re not dreaming. You’re awake, right Charles?
Yes Edna, I’m . . . my life has changed. I’m a changed man.
Edna fingers her scarf.
Nursery Bones (The Romance of Charles and Edna) Page 2