The Locket

There was a late-night rush to get out of the car and off to bed. We had been out late and it was the end of a long day. My daughters, 5 and 8, came out clutching their toys and baby strollers with dolls securely belted in. I had found a good spot where the car could sit for a week without having to move it for street cleaning. In the rush to get out of the car and up to our apartment in Cobble Hill, it was inevitable that something would be dropped or lost. This time it turned out to be Elaine's flower locket, a plastic toy advertised on TV which promised to sprout a flower from soil if gently watered and placed in a sun-filled window. Both Elaine and Samantha had received such a locket as a casual present the day before.

In the morning we discovered that Elaine's locket was gone, to much distress. Of course, I went back to the car and peered inside, then scoured the ground under and around the gray Mazda 626, without success. The other locket -- placed in a bright window by both girls, was watered dilligently but did not sprout. After two days, more watering, and a move to another window, no flower appeared.

A week later, it was time to move the car. I remember getting into the driver's seat on a cold early March morning, noticing as I did so that the sun had heated the air in the car and that a trace of moisture seemed to linger inside. I looked down at the door pocket, and there, on the driver's side, was the other locket, doubtless left there by Elaine for safekeeping in a secure place. From the top a single green leaf grew, next to a tiny flower. Without wind and rain, with only sunlight and the moisture that had condensed inside the car, undisturbed, the flower had blossomed.