Marcus and his Rose

He could almost hear the clouds speak to him, but not quite.

For many hours of the day, Marcus Anderson farmed the land his grandfather and his father had once owned. His grandfather planted tobacco, his father planted corn, and now Marcus planted wheat. It was a slow and tedious job but one that suited the Anderson family well. Every Anderson man married a quiet-mannered girl from the country, each named after a flower; Daisy, Dahlia, and then finally, Rose. Rose was the perfect wife. After a long day of work, Rose would prepare dinner, somehow keeping it the perfect temperature until right as Marcus came home. Rose would busy herself with the average chores, needlework, housecleaning, and cooking. Nothing about her ever seemed to change. Except every morning, Marcus would leave for the farm by saying to Rose “I guess I’ll go out on the farm today” with a solemn and satisfied look on his face. Rose shockingly would reply with something different every day. Sometimes it was a simple “Okay” and sometimes it was “Have a great day,” with a awkward smile.

But now, both Marcus and Rose were beginning to groan when they stood up and there was more grey hair than brown on their heads. Things were beginning to change, not only with Marcus and Rose, but with the farm. Wheat was no longer in high demand or in any demand at all. Money was tight, and it seemed that the older the couple got, the more money they needed. The farmhouse was beginning to fall apart after five generations of families, and Marcus was a bit too old to fix it. Marcus and Rose were forgetting a bit more than just where they had put their shoes or accidentally putting the ice trays in the pantry. Maybe they were in the beginning stages of dementia or maybe it was just a natural sign of age.

Rose forgot a little bit more than Marcus did. But years before any of this started to happen, they made a promise. They promised that they would never forget each other. It seems that everyone has or at least should do this, but Marcus and Rose’s promise was different. If anyone were there to see it, they would have sworn Marcus and Rose would have given their life to remember each other. And maybe they did.

Everything was falling apart with Marcus and his Rose; except for the clouds, they were always there. Marcus could see the clouds through the tractor’s small windows surrounding him.

He breathed in the familiar sweet smell of diesel fuel and listened to the loud, soothing murmur of the tractor’s engine, the vibration of the steering wheel underneath his palms, and the taste of sweat as he licked his upper lip.

Marcus abruptly widened his eyes, pupils dilating at the sunshine. His breath became inconsistent, and he felt as if a weight was on his chest. His heart began to beat faster and faster and faster until it felt like it may burst. His esophagus had shrunk to the size of a straw and he began to wheeze. Frantically, he looked around. Not a cloud was in the sky. The vibration and murmur of the tractor was so unfamiliar to him in this moment; then in the next it all rushed back to him. He remembered. He remembered he was sitting in a tractor. He remembered it was a new tractor he had bought with the money the city had given him for the 200 years of farming his family had done.

Then, he looked around; there, there he saw his Rose, standing in the field covered in soot and mud. She was screaming towards Marcus “I forgot, I forgot, I forgot.” Sympathetically, Marcus climbed down from the tractor and wrapped his arms around Rose’s small frame. She began to weep into his chest as she repeated over and over “I forgot, I forgot, I forgot.”

This had happened before. Two mornings ago, Rose had run out to the tractor, panicked and hysterical, screaming that she had forgotten to say ‘Have a good day.” Marcus reminded her that she had talked to him that morning and that she had not forgotten.

This was their worst fear; to forget. Throughout the 60 years that Marcus and Rose had been married, they had continually reminded each other that they would never forget. They would never forget the farm, the children they never had, and the love that they shared. Most importantly, they promised they would never forget each other.

By the looks of it, they may have to break their promise.

Marcus came inside, poured a glass of lukewarm water from the tap and sat in the spot the couch had formed for him. For the past 60 years, in that exact spot, Marcus had stared at the clouds. It was almost like that spot was meant for looking at the clouds. Rose came into the living room, unaware of the previous events. Rose’s memory was not entirely gone, but she was beginning to forget recent events. She did not remember what happened yesterday or the day before or where she was supposed to go tomorrow. Marcus did not believe that Rose would ever forget him; he had known Rose since they were young.

He hoped she would never forget him.

Ever since Rose had began to forget, Marcus had taken on the household chores. Every Thursday he went to the market and bought all the groceries that couldn’t be made out of wheat. Every Tuesday and Wednesday he went to the market to sell the scarves, hats, and socks that Rose would make throughout the week. Usually, every week Rose would sell anywhere between five to ten items at the market, but now she would only hand Marcus two or three items to sell.

Today was Thursday, the day he would go and buy groceries. Before leaving, Marcus asked Rose if she needed anything.

She answered, “I would like two oranges, one banana, and three large tomatoes.”

Marcus replied with tears in his eyes “Alright, sweetheart, I will be back soon.” All of those things were sitting on the counter, uneaten, because she had also asked for them last week. So, he went to the market, bought those three items and returned home.

As he pulled his truck into the gravel driveway, Rose was sitting in her rocking chair on the front porch. He looked up at the clouds to reassure himself of who and where he was. He whispered to himself,

“I am Marcus. My wife Rose is sitting on the porch on our farm where we have lived for the past 60 years.”

Anxiously, he got out of the truck, and walked up to Rose. Marcus pinched the inside of his palm. He always did this when he did not want to cry. She had the look that Marcus could recognize from a mile away; confused and scared. But then, in one instant, it was gone. She said to Marcus,

“Where have you been all afternoon? I have been sitting on this porch for three hours waiting for you!”

Marcus replied with a heavy sigh, “Rose, I was at the market buying the groceries-I bought the three things you asked me to.”

“And what would those three things be?”

“ You asked for two oranges, one banana, and three tomatoes.”

There it was again. That look. This time Marcus pinched his palm so hard it drew blood. “Oh, I, uh, I don’t remember that, umm but, uhh thank you.”

Marcus looked up to the sky so quickly his neck cracked. The clouds were moving so fast, he could not look at one long enough before it would disappear. His eyes darted back and forth between clouds, the sky, and Rose. His Rose was sitting there, so fragile, the look overcoming her face again. Tears were streaming down Marcus’ face. His chest started heaving and his shoulders slumped down. It was happening. The clouds were moving too fast.

Marcus ran inside before his Rose could see him cry. Again, he sat on the spot the couch had formed for him. The tv sitting in front of him was now only a box. The room was so unfamiliar to him. Three weeks before, Rose had painted it an awful shade of yellow. The kind of yellow where it singes your eyes a little to look at it. Three weeks and one day ago, it was Marcus’ favorite color, red. He recognized the feel of the couch cushion on the back of his thighs but everything was out of place. He got up, filled with confusion and scared for his own mind. While walking towards the kitchen he remembered. He was in his house; his house he had lived in for his entire life. It was the yellow, the yellow made him forget. Nothing to worry about. He made a note to tell Rose to repaint that room.

Weeks passed and the clouds still remained. They moved faster than Marcus had ever noticed though.

One cool morning, Marcus walked out to do the morning chores of the farm and his Rose was sitting on the front porch entirely still. He looked at her face. The face he had stared at for the past 60 years. This was the first time he didn’t recognize it, but he recognized the look. The look he had watched take over her body for the past year was laid upon her face. This time when he said “Good morning Rose, how did you sleep” it took the look longer than usual to leave.

She replied “What?” The warmth of her breath visible in the crisp fall morning air.

Marcus repeated himself.

“Oh, I slept okay.” The look returned.

Marcus walked down the four steps down the front of their house toward the field. Mid second step, he turned around, pinched the inside of his palm, looked at his beautiful Rose and let out a sob. He said to her “My sweet Rose, I’m going out to the field. Stay here on the porch, I will be back soon.”

The look never faded, “I’ll always be here.”

Marcus felt the beating of his chest like a drum. He walked back to his tractor sobbing. The weight of his world against his shoulders. Rose sitting behind him on the porch.

This happened for the next six mornings. Until one morning, Rose was sitting at the kitchen table finally eating one of the many bananas on the counter. Surprised, Marcus said to her, “It’s good to see you this morning Rose” expecting to see the look on her face.

She replied, looking like his usual Rose, “I forgot didn’t I?”

“Forgot what?’

“ I forgot about your birthday yesterday.”

Sighing, Marcus replied “ Oh Rose. Don’t worry about that. I have had plenty of birthdays. I don’t need another one.”

Now sobbing Rose mumbled, “But, I promised. I promised I would never forget.”

“You never did Rose. You never forgot me.”

“How could I? How could I forget the farm?”

“And how could I forget my Rose?”

They walked out of the farmhouse, Marcus holding his Rose’s hand so tenderly. They laid on the ground, smelling the familiar scent of fresh dirt they would never forget and looked up at the clouds. The clouds were always there. But this time they weren’t.