Window for Two

Do you plan to get up today Max?

No Marge, you?

I am up.

You plan on staying up?

No, just wanted a spot of tea.

That’s very British of you.

What is?

A spot of tea . . . a spot.

I heard it on a TV program the other night.

Which one?

It was . . . something on B.B.C.

No I meant . . . which night.

Oh, umm . . . I can’t recall.

Very well.

Would you like a spot of tea?  I think it was Tuesday.  Or Wednesday. 

Yes those two are easy to confuse.  Yes I’ll have a spot.

(Marge leaves the room and comes back carrying two cups of tea.)

Thank you Marge.

 I hope you like cream.  I put cream in it Max. 

Yes Marge I love cream, you know I love cream. 

Oh yes.  It’s like Tuesday or Wednesday . . . sometimes it’s hard to tell.  Well? 

There was a raven perched on that skinny branch.  That really really skinny one. 

Point to it.

(Max points to the really really skinny branch.)

I don’t see a raven. 

No, he’s gone . . . he was there, was.  That’s the branch.

Oh I see.

It was lovely, his sleek blackness, his cool opaqueness, against that branch so skinny and sort of long. 

 (Sigh!)  That’s why I hate to get up.  Even for a spot of tea.

(Max and Marge laugh.)

So was it really lovely Max? 

It was . . . quite lovely.  But don’t worry Marge, I don’t want you to start worrying now.      

I won’t Max.

You promise?

I promise.  How’s your tea?

Quite lovely.

Like the raven? 

Different sort of lovely.   

Oh I know, just . . . you used that same phrase. 

Which one? 

Quite lovely.  You used it for the raven and for the tea. 

You’re a remarkable woman Marge. 

Thank you Max.

 (Marge and Max kiss. Slobbery, smacking. Unlock lips. Stare for a long while in silence.)

Did you see that leaf fall? 


It fell and there it is, the fetal one.

You sure that’s it?

I followed it all the way down.

Extraordinary.  And fetal yes, that’s just the right word. 


What it is. 


(Marge sips her tea.)



If I need to go out to the bathroom….


In a few minutes—which I’m certain I will . . . is it okay….

Yes, darling? 

If my tea is finished, is it okay . . . can I pee into the teacup? 

My darling, we’ve been married 44 years, of course, if you’d like. 

It’s just . . . I don’t want to get up again . . . maybe miss a raven or something else . . . quite lovely. 

No need to get up Marge, you’ve got a teacup to pee in. 

Yes, I do, don’t I?  You’re a wonderful husband Max. 

You’re an extraordinary wife Marge.

(Marge sips her tea. Max sips his tea.

They look at each other then out the window, unfinished.)

About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of three novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
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