A long time ago, somebody gave me a bottle of wine shaped like a heart.
After an evening of enjoying the bottle’s contents, I filled the bottle with water and a coleus plant, placing it on a doily in the center of my dining room table. A month or so later, the giver and I parted ways. The bottle got moved to the bathroom window sill behind the circular shower curtain which should have — but didn’t — protect the dry wall from the running water of the after-market shower assembly.
On a late summer afternoon, a storm raged around my building. My niece Lisa, four at the time, sat at my dining room table with a studious scowl, listening to the howling wind and crashing thunder. I pulled her into a game, then lunch. I turned her favorite tape louder and louder. We joined hands and danced in the living room with our heads back, round and round. But every time lightening filled the room, Lisa flew into my arms.
An hour into the storm, a rush of wind through a forgotten open window crashed back the bathroom door. The heart-shaped bottle toppled off the window sill, smashing into a thousand splinters on the old enamel bathtub. Lisa screamed and buried her face against me. It’s okay, It’s okay, I whispered, over and over, rocking her trembling body. As the storm finally subsided, Lisa fell asleep, curled beside me in my wide living room rocker.
When she awakened, I took her into the bathroom to wash her face, getting her ready to depart. We stood in the door way and studied the mess. Lisa’s fright returned. It’s okay, really, it’s okay, I told her, over and over again. It’s just a bottle; it just broke, it’s okay. Lisa drew back, unsure. I reached to swing her higher and higher until she chortled and waved her arms. I put her down on the ground, still giggling. You’re silly, Aunt Mary! I washed her face with warm water, wiping away the tears, kissing her soft forehead, smoothing her silken hair.
Then I got a broom and swept the mess into a dust pan: the water, the dying plant, and the rubble of the broken heart.
🙂