Nursery Bones (The Romance of Charles and Edna)

by Biscello, John

  Has it Charles? Is it because you’ve got a real woman—you fuck . . . one who fucks you back? I fuck you back, don’t I Charles?

  Edna flaunts her eyelashes.

  Don’t I?

  Yes Edna. You fuck me back.

  Edna stands toe-to-toe with Charles.

  Turn around Charles.

  Charles turns around, as does Edna, their backs aligned.

  Stand up straight Charles. Straight. Good.

  Edna’s hand glides and measures.

  I’m taller than you are Charles. I’ve got you by at least an inch.

  Charles and Edna turn to facing each other.

  Yes Edna but you’re wearing heels.

  Edna undoes the straps and steps out of her heels. Charles notices that the paint on her toenails matches her coat. Edna bends down, picks up the heels, holds them out to Charles.

  Put them on.

  No Edna.

  Charles. Heels.

  Charles takes the heels, bends down, slips into one heel, then the other. He almost falls when putting them on. Edna giggles.

  You’re hopeless with heels, aren’t you?

  Charles smiles, struggles with the straps.

  These straps are complicated.

  Edna places her hand over her mouth, still giggling.

  Here Charles.

  Edna quickly does up the straps. Charles tries to stand straight, totters slightly.

  Turn around Charles.

  Charles and Edna repeat the back-to-back measuring.

  Now you’re taller Charles. By about half-an-inch. I guess it’s a matter of shoes. Maybe I’ll bring you a pair. Your own pair. Would you like that?

  No Edna I wouldn’t.

  Edna’s eyes widen with outrage.

  Well maybe Edna . . . I don’t know.

  Edna smiles and looks down at Charles’s feet.

  My heels Charles.

  Charles nods, steps out of Edna’s heels. Edna steps back into them. Edna goes to the sofa, sits down, glass of champagne in her hand. Charles stands by the edge of the sofa, his hand resting on its arm.

  Seconds, Anyone?

  Tell me Charles: now when you see me at the flower shop, what do you think of me?

  I—

  Complete honesty Charles. Razors, baby, razors.

  Now . . . when I see you at the flower shop . . . I think . . . I mean I wonder . . . how many men you’ve been with?

  This is not the 20s Charles, you must remember.

  Edna sees something in Charles’s eyes and quickly revises her statement:

  No Charles, don’t remember. Don’t, okay? It’s whatever you want, baby, however you want. Tell me more. About seeing me at the flower shop.

  Well Edna to be perfectly honest—

  Razors laced with honey, baby. It’s the only way.

  To be perfectly honest . . . I wonder if they called you names . . . if any of the men you’d been with . . . if any called you names while . . . you know.

  Edna rises to standing.

  Of course I know Charles. I’m a woman. Very little I don’t know. Champagne?

  Yes please.

  Edna pours champagne into a glass, hands the glass to Charles. Charles drinks half of what’s in his glass, gargles, holds the champagne in his mouth, looks into Edna’s eyes. Edna’s face lights up.

  Oh my . . . you want to spit champagne in my face, don’t you?

  Charles vigorously shakes his head.

  You think champagne spit in my face would be funny?

  Um-umh.

  Edna lets her hands fall limply to her sides, thrusts her head forward, closes her eyes.

  Go on then. Go on Charles.

  Charles’s cheeks inflate and he spit-spritzes the champagne off to the side of Edna’s face.

  Edna opens her eyes, her mouth down-turned in a pout.

  That wasn’t funny Charles.

  I can’t Edna.

  Edna points to her face.

  In my face would’ve been funny.

  I can’t.

  Edna roughly tweezes the tip of Charle’s nose.

  You can Charles. And you will.

  Charles scrunches up his nose and rubs its tip.

  Edna walks away from him, surveys the apartment.

  This place really is a piece of shit, isn’t it?

  Charles lowers his head.

  Yes Edna, I’m afraid it is.

  Charles keeps his head down. Edna goes to her coat, takes the clock out of its pocket. She gently places it on the rug then repeatedly smashes her heeled foot into its plexiglass face. When the clock is good and broken Edna smiles:

  There Charles. Now we’re timeless.

  Charles looks at Edna, gives her an appreciative nod. Edna’s face brightens.

  Charles . . . should we continue?

  Continue?

  Yes remember the other night?

  Charles doesn’t remember. Edna holds her hand up, rotates it three times.

  The sofa, thrice around?

  Oh you mean . . . I don’t know Edna.

  Come on Charles. Let’s go back.

  I don’t know.

  It’ll be fun.

  I don’t—

  Forget it then—

  I don’tknow.

  Edna crouches, picks up a piece of the broken clock, examines it.

  Can’t we just stay here?

  Edna tosses the piece back into the pile of ruined time.

  I said forget it, didn’t I? I’m going to the bathroom.

  It’s—

  I know where the bathroom is Charles.

  Edna brusquely pushes past Charles en route to the bathroom. When she is halfway there:

  Edna. The past.

  Edna stops, turns.

  What?

  Let’s go.

  Really?

  Yes.

  Edna is smiling big as she practically skips back to Charles. She playfully knocks him on the arm, sister to brother.

  Okay, let’s go.

  Don’t you have to pee?

  Passed.

  Extraordinary.

  Edna places her hand over her mouth, giggles.

  You ready Edna?

  Hold on a sec.

  Edna goes to the table, pours champagne into a glass, downs it in one inspired gulp. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, returns to Charles.

  Okay. Hand.

  Charles places his hand inside Edna’s. They circle the sofa three times, Edna leading the way.

  The Beginning of Forever

  This is the house where I grew up.

  Charles points:

  That’s the bed I slept in. If you notice . . . the bedroom door is half-cracked. Mama always left it half-cracked.

  Sounds like a good mother. Can I play little Charles? Charles, Jr? Is that okay?

  Sure. Who will I play?

  You’ll play . . . Charles the Mother.

  I don’t know. You think I can?

  Of course you can Charles. She’s your mother.

  Charles pats Edna on the head.

  And you’re my Charles, Jr.

  That’s right. And don’t you worry about remembering my lines, I’ll improvise okay?

  Okay Edna.

  I’m now going to lie in my bed.

  Edna goes to the sofa and lies down on her side. She draws her knees in toward her chest, inserts her thumb in her mouth, suckles. She closes her eyes then opens them. Takes her thumb out of her mouth.

  It’s late.

  Yes.

  Very late at night, okay?

  Yes.

  Edna is about to plug her thumb into her mouth again, stops:

  Wait.

  Edna goes to Charles. She unwinds the scarf from her neck and winds it around Charles’s neck.

  There.

  Wh—

  It’ll help you. Charles the Mother.

  Charles nods. Edna goes back to the sofa, curls up, thumb plugged in her mouth. She begins stirring and moaning. The moaning grows lo
uder. Charles remains frozen, staring uncomprehendingly at Edna. Edna opens one eye, to see what Charles is doing. Or not doing. Then she closes her eye and her moaning morphs into a shrill scream.

  Oh yes.

  Charles rushes over to the sofa.

  What is it? What’s wrong Charles?

  Edna screens the side of her mouth with her hand, whispers:

  She called me Charles, Jr.

  No. Just Charles. The past can’t be changed.

  It can. Charles, Jr.

  Charles sighs and places his hand on Edna’s upturned shoulder.

  What’s wrong? What is it Charles, Jr?

  I . . . a dream.

  Bad dreams are called nightmares Charles, Jr. You had a nightmare.

  Edna sits up. Charles sits down next to her and massages her saliva-moist thumb.

  It wasn’t all bad. Some parts…

  Yes?

  Some parts were exciting.

  Charles tousles Edna’s hair.

  Little boys don’t need excitement when they’re sleeping.

  Edna smiles.

  Mama are you going out tonight?

  You worry about the future too much Charles, Jr. Tomorrow’s a long time from now.

  I know. But are you going?

  Yes Charles, Jr., I’m going out. But Trish will be here. Trish will be with you, okay? Okay?

  Edna nods. Charles plants a soft kiss on her cheek.

  Good night Charles, Jr.

  Charles rises to standing.

  Mama?

  Yes Charles, Jr?

  Can I . . . can I hold you?

  Charles digs his nails into his palms.

  No. No you can’t. We’re done.

  Wait Mama.

  Edna takes Charles’s hand. Charles rips his hand away from her.

  Let go of me. We’re done.

  But Mama.

  MAMA-MAMA-MAMA. Don’t call me that. I’m not your goddamned Mama. I’m Charles. Charles, Jr. Just Charles. I’m not your Mama, Edna. We’re done, okay, done? Let’s go.

  Charles rigidly extends his hand to Edna. Edna stares at Charles’s hand, doesn’t take it.

  Mama why are you so angry?

  Charles grabs a champagne glass and fling-shatters it against the wall. His hands open and close, open and close, like twin beating hearts.

  YOU STUPID BITCH I’M NOT YOUR MAMA NOT MAMA. It’s me, okay, let’s go, we’re done, this is . . . do you understand? Do you? We’re done.

  Charles runs out of steam. His head lowers, his shoulders slump. Edna pops up from the sofa and goes to Charles. She speaks softly into his ear:

  Charles it’s me, okay, it’s me . . . I’m your Mama, me Edna, your Mama, okay?

  Charles nods weakly.

  Charles I need to ask you an important question. Charles an important question.

  Charles looks into Edna’s eyes.

  Do you want to fuck? Charles . . . do-you-want-to-fuck?

  Charles nods. Edna takes Charles’s hand, leads him to the sofa.

  Not here. Not this bed.

  Okay.

  Edna leads Charles to the wooden chair. Edna sits down. She pats her thigh.

  Charles I want you to sit down on my lap. My lap Charles.

  Charles plants himself in Edna’s lap. Edna unwinds the scarf from Charles’s neck and ties it tightly around his eyes. She waves her hand in front of his face.

  Can you see?

  No.

  Better?

  Yes.

  Good. Now I’m going to tell you a story.

  Is it scary?

  Some parts.

  Is it beautiful?

  Some parts.

  Is it true?

  Of course it is Charles. I would never lie to you.

  Charles settles in, leaning into the support of Edna’s arm.

  Once upon a time there was young boy named Charles and a young girl named Edna.

  Edna uses her free hand to undo Charles’s zipper. She reaches in.

  And they had been in love . . . since before time.