The picture revealed itself to me in the center of my mind, like it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to show itself to me.
A woman in a kitchen, her hands white with flour.
A child on the counter, legs swinging, laughing, the sound of it crystal clear.
Sunlight pouring through a window, catching the flour dust and turning it to gold.
The smell of bread hung in the air, filling my nostrils.
That laugh. Thefeelings—a love so all-consuming andsimpleit made my heart ache.
I moved back on instinct and heard my own gasp, as if I’d been suspended in time for at least a few minutes. I’d let go of the heart and it now swung lightly on its chain, same as before.
“That was…that…” I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs.
“That was someone’s best moment, saved inside thatglass.” March reached in and touched his finger to the same heart—and he inhaled deeply.
Just a second. He sucked in a breath, then stepped back, and he was smiling. Like he’dseenthat same memory I saw.
Except to me it had felt like I’d lived hours, if not a whole day in that kitchen. I looked at my own hands, swallowed hard, felt my lips stretching into a smile.
Time’s Teeth, this wasamazing.This was incredible. I wanted to live in this garden forever.
“Can I touch more?” Because I wanted to see more. I wanted to seeeverythingand feel all these feelings and just…breathe.Relish someone else’s memories, not have to wonder about my own.
“As many as you want,” said March, half a smile on his face as he watched me.
So, I reached for another glass heart.
Then another, and another…
A man on a bench, holding a hand I couldn’t see, the feeling of love so powerful it could blind me if I felt it too long.
A boy lying on his back on a rooftop. Stars everywhere on the dark sky. On his tongue—and mine—was the taste of something sweet, and in his chest the certainty that the person beside him would be there forever.
Then there was a girl running through rain as her heart all but soared from her chest, pumping with an almostrecklesshappiness that knowing you were about to see someone you loved brought.
A boy playing with a cat in a field full of roses.
A woman painting at twilight, a rich mixture of orange, blue, white and purple on her canvas, an identical replica of the sky ahead.
A dark memory, unlike any other, because whoever it belonged to had her eyes closed, and she only felt—her handspressed to another pair, her lips pressed to another pair, her heart beating the same as the one in the person she was chest to chest with. A kiss suspended in time forever.
Each one was different, the most precious moments in the lives of people I’d never know, never meet. Every memory felt like mine while I held those hearts, like I was borrowing them and giving them back, while I remained slightly fuller than I’d been before. Like the emptiness in me was…less.
Incredible how they were all almost the same, too. They all featuredsomeonethe person loved the most—a partner, a child, even a pet. They were all shared memories they’d chosen to immortalize.
March walked right beside me at all times. Sometimes he touched one too, and I’d watch his face change — soften, open, full. Once he chuckled that sound I loved, and when I looked at him, he said, “Adog!They saved the memory of a dog stealing food from a table.”
I laughed, too. Then somewhere along the laughter, I also cried. It was like I was being cracked open but also being filled up at once. All these people, all these emotions—and it was all justlovewearing different faces.
Eventually, we stopped on one of the other red benches, and the glass hearts clinked above us, and the light shifted through the canopy in slow, steady pulses. People walked past us, only a few, but they were all focused on the hearts. Nobody paid us any attention.
We were quiet for a while, just sitting there, holding hands,absorbingeverything we saw.
Then March said, “I used to come here when I was a kid. My mother brought me first, and then I snuck out and came back any time I could. She held me up so I could reach the hearts, and when I came back alone, I jumped from the benches and climbed the branches I could climb.”He looked at his hands holding mine between them. “I think that’s why I make glass. I think my hands fell in love with the feel and shape and texture of these hearts from the beginning.”
My eyes filled with tears again. “I wanna see your work so badly,” I said, in awe of him, the way his face looked from where I was sitting, the way the light brought every color on him to life.
