Fate brought Maribelle to the structure of my life, and she ran down the hall, irreverent with a friend. I played basketball with the other boys until we decided to go outside. The breeze was cold and the sky clear, and from here the mountains reminded us of our insignificance.
“This lead ball is impure,” said Peterson, holding a gray musket ball between his fingers. “I say impure because the lead is full of impurities. But not for long.” He sparked a torch with a striker and held it to the musket ball. We craned to see the liquid metal that shimmered like alien material. He poured the liquid into a heart mold. “Notice the slag keeping back, like our sins stay back when we’re purified by Christ.” Peterson held the ingot into the inspection light. The result, a clean heart ingot, free of impurities.” From a bag he removed another heart of the same size but specked with stained black. “Over time, dirty thoughts and acts will tarnish the heart and purifying will require more fire.”
I worried about my heart getting smaller each time it burned. After so much forgiveness, my heart would be like a seed you could smash between fingers. Peterson made hearts for all seven of us, and when he gave me mine, I said thank you and put the warm heart in my pocket, where it would remain for years and would remind me when I needed burning.
That night, as I said my prayers, I knelt and told God about Maribelle. I pictured God’s grandiose throne in gold and white, illuminating. I imagined hundreds of glass globes around the room lit by screens playing moments from my life. The globes rolled freely like someone dropped them from above. One rolled into a scarlet drape. I asked God why scarlet among all this white, and he said to represent blood.
While praying on my knees I thought about pushing my face into Maribelle’s thick hair and smelling the last meal she made, or the last conditioner she used. My front turned stiff and I pushed into the box spring and asked God for the strength to resist temptation. I thought Maribelle tying her hair back, lifting her arms and using her thin fingers to handle herself. I found a space between the box spring and mattress. I told God to forgive me of my filth and I thought about Jesus frowning and reaching his hand into the mortal plane, onto my shoulder. I found a sweet spot between the mattress and box spring with the top padded and the bottom ridged. I’m doing okay. I pressed my hips, then pulled back, then pressed.