A Garden of Roses

When they met for the first time, he gave her a red rose. She would tell that story over and over until all fell asleep. That story for her was a way of remembering him. A week earlier, her vision started to blur, people would fade away into blankness and all she could hear were voices, some loud, some soft, some angry and some sad. She always sat on rocking armchair, feeling the wind on her face and that made her smile. He was in his late twenties, pale skin, grey eyes, with a French crop, a vandyke beard and a soft smile. It was a dare, he said that years later when she almost had a garden full of roses. He was on his knees, with a ring in one hand, the same one that he accepted when she proposed ten years ago. He told her, he used to reenact that proposal scene in his office to let colleagues know the happiest was he that day. Some cheered but most thought he was a nutjob. She took the ring from his hand, underneath the ring was a small piece of butter paper and in it were the words, 'it was a dare', written in round, sloppy letters. She smiled, a generous knowing smile. Since that day, he promised to plant a rose, every month in her garden, 'a maiden's blush'. Water fell on her cheeks, armchair quaked, she could close her eyes and he would be there, as alive as he was that day. She smiled, one smile for one good memory, she told herself every night. It made her sleep easier and quieter. He was the kindest person she knew and every month they planted a rose, she told him, roses are like babies, they need care and nurture, he then laughed and called her, 'rosa mama', a nickname she carried ever since. Every evening, kids would swarm around her, eager to listen to the same story over and over. They enjoyed they way narrated it, her face animated and voice cartoonish. She made the kids laugh and she laughed with them. Her voice coarse and aggressive, so unlike the woman, she used to be, it was cough and the uneasiness of old age that made everything take effort, a lot more effort than needed. The kids always loved her, they too called her 'Rosa Mama', a name one of them came up with. When that little girl of twelve in a purple yoke frock called, 'Rosa Mama', tears filled her eyes. The girl got scared, but then she hugged the girl so tight and for so long, that every kid in that room started to weep. And at night she would sit with them, and sing a lullaby and tell the story of how they met. There used to be a little boy of around twelve who lived near his office. The boy watched him every day, he walked with a tattered old leather briefcase and wore an oversized black suit with a striped blue-black tie. The boy asked him to give a red rose to the first girl that walks through the opposite pavement. She imagined him, nervous and sweaty, taking up a dare from a twelve-year-old. She was the first woman he saw. The boy observed with earnest curiosity the way she took the flower from him. The kid liked her and liked him, he said that to her on the wedding day. 'You know the kid near my office, he likes us,' he said with a grin. Her face brightened at that thought. The kid then gave him a rose every day, freshly plucked from the garden, and every day he would bring her that rose. She was never in the same place, but he always found her. She walked from lane to lane and block to block, one part as an exercise and one part a search for a job. He never followed her or searched to find her, every day at some point their paths crossed. Later they would call it destiny. One of the kids woke up, she heard the cry but was unable to see in the darkroom. Sluggishly she moved in an attempt to find the way, kids were on the floor, sleeping, their snores confused her, she took a step and took one back. It felt like an eternity trying to find the way. She remembered him. He always coughed and spoke in a delicate manner, every word uttered with consciousness. He talked about the scent of her rose garden. He lay on a cot outside observing the bloomed maiden's blush. His face happy and sad, she sat beside him, holding his hand, her eyes fixated on the latest bloomed rose and his eyes on hers. Like a picture from a postcard, they both sat still, breathing in the scent of roses infused with memories. She walked further and further and traced two steps back. The presence of little kids guided her as she took another step. She followed the snores, each little snore, some hushed and others loud. She then smiled, every kid held a special place in her heart. Everyone listened to her with so much patience that the hollowness within her filled with a strange kind of love. A love she wished he too knew and experienced. As she took another step, a familiar smell woke in her, the smell of a late bloomed rose. She allowed the smell to wrap her and comfort her, and for an odd second she let herself be transported to the world of roses, a world filled with warmth and joy. A single tear was frozen on her eyes, and an overwhelming ache to be with him engulfed her. The smell grew stronger and stronger and like a worshipper, she followed it blindly. The sound of the kid crying echoed through her ear louder and louder and the scent of the maiden's blush grew stronger and stronger. Two more steps and she touched the kid who was sitting, it was the same little girl who called her Rosa Mama. She smiled and soothed the girl to sleep. She recalled the story of how they met, and in a hushed voice narrated it. The girl's hands wrapped around and head on her lap, with eyes filled with tears she smiled at her little garden of roses.