Marcus and Leigh Smelled No Smoke

Trailing behind an old Massey Ferguson driven by a wandering man, Marcus and Leigh picked at the straw bales on which they sat. Small anger rested on their eyebrows, respectively, for both Marcus and Leigh were fatigued from travel, and their differences in temperament had been exacerbated. Leigh, forever open to enjoying himself, looked down at an iPad with his mouth open. Drew Barrymore smiled a warm smile with a look of love from within “The Wedding Singer”. Leigh accepted her smile as if it was for him, not Adam Sandler. Marcus shook his head invisibly. He didn’t believe movies to be good, but bad; loving gazes should never be intercepted, he thought. Marcus shunned plenty of things, wielding bespoke criteria that he had homegrown in his mind.

The trailer rocked softly along the slow dirt path; the tractor puttered. Panoramic and pathetic was their momentum through the farmland. Marcus and Leigh held onto rusty railings to steady themselves over a slight descent.

Seen from far away the house looked to be engulfed in flames. Smoke rose like a signal of distress; a dramatic view that led Marcus and Leigh to share a glance of reassurance. Up close it was more clear, the smoke belonged to a cookout, a barbecue.

Marcus and Leigh arrived at a cookout, a barbecue, having travelled by hayride over the plains. Faces met voices met smoke which followed music, rock n’ roll in the style of smoked brisket, scrambling Marcus’/Leigh’s abilities to perceive in a timely manner. Traeger grills crowded the driveway, bludgeoning cuts and cutlets and burgers with tremendous smoke/heat. Smoke rose like jungle mist throughout the front yard, also wafting into the garage, also smoke entered everyone’s nose. Velcro smoke clung onto the grill master’s big shirt and eyebrows.

Marcus and Leigh ate barbecue. They stood in a corner with barbecue sauce running around the mouth, and for Marcus, a bit of spicy sauce behind his ear, somehow. Soon, they were both wrapped in blankets and once again placed on top of two mounds of hay, trailing a tractor, now in the direction of home:

“What was it that was different about that cookout?”

“The one from back there?” Marcus points to the expanse behind the trailer.

“Yes.”

“It was something, wasn’t it?”

Pause. Birdsong.

Marcus and Leigh begin to smell deeply into their clothes. Marcus pulls down a strand of his hair from above his forehead, smells it. They remove their jackets and trade them, once again smelling, now smelling each other’s jacket instead of their own.

“No smoke smell, huh?”

“None. But the taste was smoky.”

“Of course. But, no smell. There was so much smoke.”

Marcus and Leigh brace themselves as their trailer falls softly into the ditch.