The house seems incongruous on the immaculate street. There are weeds invading the spaces between the broken tiles that lead up to the flaking front door, and a plastic bag rustles, as it struggles ... [+]
Once upon a time, there was girl born with a glowing heart. Everyone could see it tucked behind her rib cage, pulsing like a pink lighthouse. She didn't need a night-light, because her heart glowed like a firefly, on and off, to the beat of her pulse.
Her parents told not to worry about it. It was hardly noticeable under thick sweaters anyway.
One day, when she was six years old, the girl fell off the top of the monkey bars. She landed right in a puddle of mud. The other girls pointed at her dirty dress and teased her until she cried. The girl put a hand to her glowing heart. It was still bright and pink, but maybe it was a bit dimmer? For the first time, the girl worried about her glowing heart. What if the light went out?
That night, she offered her heart to her parents. "I'm too little to keep it," she told them. "Please protect it for me."
Her mother and father held it in their hands, a small beating star.
"Of course. We'll cherish it," Mama said.
"So beautiful and fragile," Daddy said.
And, for a time, that worked. Mama tucked the heart into her pocket when the little girl went off to school. Daddy sometimes carried it in his briefcase. But now and then, when things got busy at work, they forgot to care for the heart. Sometimes they put it on the mantle for safekeeping, with the trophies and awards. It was dimmer now, for sure.
"I can't let the light fade," the girl told herself.
She trusted her teacher, Miss Goode, so she took it to school.
"Will you keep my heart for me?" she asked.
"What an honor!" said Miss Goode.
She kept it on her desk, where it pulsed and sparkled. When Miss Goode put an A on the top of her paper, the little girl's heart brightened, but when she struggled to read out loud, it dimmed. One day, after she failed a spelling test, the heart flickered as though it might go out.
"This isn't safe, either," the girl decided. She took it to her soccer coach.
"You can trust me," he said, and placed the heart next to the jerseys and cleats. That night, when they won their game, the heart gave off little fireworks. Her teammates danced in the sparks and cheered. But a week later, when their rival destroyed them on the field, the heart turned pale. It was cold to the touch.
"It's getting worse and worse!" the girl panicked. "How do I keep it safe?"
On the way home, she spotted an animal shelter.
"Maybe if I am good and helpful," she thought, "my heart will stay bright and protected."
She put the heart in a cage and set about walking the dogs and cuddling the cats. She cleaned up poop and washed out cages. When she touched noses with a puppy, the heart filled the hallway with rosy light. But when she saw a sad old dog, lonely and lost in a corner, it faded. She worked harder and harder, desperate to keep her heart aglow.
She left the shelter very tired. She sat down at a bus stop with her heart in her hands. It flickered feebly, as though it had used up all its fuel in the shelter. It began to rain, and heart dimmed as the cold water washed over it.
"It's hopeless," the little girl said. "I can't save you."
Just then, a rosy glow, like a sunset, lit up the night. An old woman sat down beside the little girl. Her ancient chest glowed and pulsed like a pink lantern. She offered the shelter of her umbrella, and the girl scootched closer. The woman gave off warmth, as though a fire burned within her.
"My dear," the old woman said, "why is your heart outside your chest? It's cold out here."
"I want to put it someplace safe," the girl explained.
The old woman chuckled. "I tried that once, too, a long time ago. How's that working out for you?"
The girl smiled sadly. "Not very well, I suppose. I offered it to my parents, my teacher, my coach, and my community. I tried to keep it bright by getting good grades and scoring goals and doing good. But it always dims after a while."
"Well, that's the nature of hearts, honey," the old woman explained. "Sometimes they're suns, and sometimes they're candles. They can light up a room or fade to an ember. You can't control that."
"Then what do I do?" the girl cried. "How can I keep it from going out?"
"Tuck it back into your chest," the old woman advised. "It belongs to you and you alone. Let it burn when it burns and rest when it's tired. It helps if you keep it fed, too."
"How do you feed a heart?"
The old woman shrugged. "It's different for everyone. When I was young, my heart loved Christmas and puzzles and hot chocolate and my mama's singing. Now I'm old. I offer it good books, cozy quilts, and dinners with my family."
The girl put her heart back in her chest. She was warmed from the inside.
"Thank you," she said, and kissed the old woman's cheek. The light inside both their chests brightened.
She walked out into the rain, past the golden ring of streetlights. She was a little scared, out there in the dark, where shadows gathered and danger lurked. But the heart inside her chest burned brightly. It showed her the way home.