Fiction:

The Red Vase

by Barbara Black Fox

It was morning, muggy and buggy. I sat in the mulberry tree, thinking about the July carnival two weeks away. Daddy had promised us if we did our chores daily, no nagging, we’d each get $2.00 to spend. Otherwise, we’d have to pay our own way. I was 12 years old, and since my access to money was limited in those days, I’d taken his warning to heart and done all my work early. Now I had nothing to do, except sit in the mulberry tree, think about the “Fourth,” and eat mealy mulberries.

“Hello there, Birdie.” Grandpa walked over under the tree and chuckled. I’m named Roberta after my Uncle Robert, but everyone calls me Birdie. Grandpa was laughing because Birdie was in the tree. He and I had many jokes together, most so familiar we didn’t have to say them aloud.

“Hello there, yourself. Back from your walk already?” I jumped down and rubbed my hands on my pants, trying to remove the purple stain.

“Yup. I guess I’m still alive.” We laughed again. Every morning except Sunday, Grandpa went for a walk. “A man who stays in the house may as well trade his bed for a coffin,” he’d say.

He was really my great-grandfather, but we called him Grandpa because that’s what my mother called him. He lived with Mom’s family when she was a girl. Now he lived with us. His wife, Marie, died in 1932. He never remarried.

I was the youngest and only daughter, so my family had a tendency to treat me like I was still in Sunbeams. But Grandpa was my best friend. He didn’t treat me like a little kid. And I didn’t treat him like an old man.

“Are you ready for the fair?” I asked, squinting in the sunlight. “Great gray grizzlies couldn’t keep me away,” Grandpa replied. But on carnival morning Grandpa felt sick and couldn’t go with me. Dad gave each of us our $2.00. Don, Ricky, and I left early so we wouldn’t miss anything. Ted, however, was 23, home from his mission, and too old to go to the fair in the daytime. He and his fiancée, Katie, would go that evening. Nights at the carnival were romantic. Even I knew that.

I liked Katie. She always smiled and said, “Hi Birdie,” just like I was her best friend. Once she tried to fix my hair like hers, after I told her how much I admired her hair style. Since her hair was long and blonde and mine was red, short, and mop-curly, the results were disastrous. But we giggled the whole time. None of Ted’s previous girl friends ever acknowledged my existence, so I was glad he was marrying Katie—except they were moving to Utah to finish school. So I had to think of something extra perfect for a wedding present. And I had to get it before August.

The carnival was in the town park. There were twister rides, bumper cars, a double-decker Ferris wheel, and more. Rows of game booths stood around the rides. And the food booths smelled so good I got hungry just smelling them, even though I’d eaten breakfast less than half an hour before. Since Grandpa hadn’t been able to come I tried to print the entire scene in my memory. I walked slowly and separated sights, smells, and sounds. I wanted to tell it to Grandpa so lifelike that he’d close his eyes and the kitchen (where I’d be telling it over buttermilk and fruit) would magically change into a fairground with sawdust on the ground and birds flying to your feet, pecking up popcorn and hot dog bun crumbs.

I was just about to have one of my dollars changed for some ride tickets when I saw it.

Usually I don’t waste my time on game booths, since Grandpa says they’re all rigged against you. Sometimes I stand back to watch people try their luck, but not for long. So many people walk up with hope in their faces and walk away grumbling how they were gypped. The old men running the booths never seem to care. But the operator at this booth wasn’t an old man “carnie.” He was young with bright red hair and a faceful of freckles, and he wore a fluorescent yellow shirt that read, “James.” And his booth didn’t have big faded stuffed animals hanging from it, like they’d been waiting for years. This booth had all sorts of glassware stacked up in the middle—and you threw dimes. Whatever your dime landed in, you took home.

Normally, a bunch of glasses, even pretty ones like these, wouldn’t interest me. But near the middle was a tall, dark, red-rose vase. Flowery and frilly, with the sun glowing through.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” The red-haired “James” said. I jumped. I was used to people ignoring a 12-year-old.

“It sure is. It would be the perfect present for Ted and Katie.”

“Just one dime, and it’s yours. I’ll even put it in a box with tissue paper. You can take it home,” James said.

“I, I don’t think I could,” I stammered.

“It’s easy.” He picked up one of the many dimes on the floor and flipped it casually between his thumb and middle finger. It made a clear “ping” as it dropped into the vase. At the same time a boy on the other side threw a dime into a red and blue Spiderman bowl.

“I won! I won!” He screamed.

“Everyone’s a winner here.” James handed him the bowl. When he turned back to me I held out one of my dollars.

“I’d like change, please.”

He put the dollar in his pocket and picked ten dimes up off the floor. “Just remember, it’s all in the wrists.”

I looked at the dimes in my hand. One of them was going to land in the red vase. Maybe it would even be my first try. I wiped my sweaty left hand on my shirt and pitched a dime at the vase. It missed by a foot.

“Oh, a south paw,” James said. I nodded. “We always give lefties two first tries.” He picked up a dime and pressed it into my hand.

Embarrassed by so much attention, I hurriedly threw the dime and missed again. Only I missed much closer. Again and again I threw my dimes until I only had one left. Disillusioned, I started to leave. Then I thought. “What if this is the dime that will go in?” That thought got stronger and stronger. I still had one dollar left. So what was one dime? My heart thumped. I tossed it. It slid around the frilly edge, off the side, and landed in a jelly glass.

“A winner!” James cried out. He handed me the stupid jelly jar I didn’t want or need. Now I only had one dollar left. The whole day and fair were before me. I walked over to a food booth.

“How much for a hot dog?” I asked.

“Twenty cents. Mustard or plain?” The woman looked at me and waited. I wanted a hot dog, but I couldn’t spend any money. If I spent two dimes for a hot dog, I might spend the dime that would win my vase.

“Will you take this for a hot dog?” I asked, holding up my jelly jar. She glared at me. I walked back to James and the vase.

“Ten more dimes, please,” I said, shivering. Here it was, a hot Nebraska summer day, and I was shaking like it was zero degrees.

One by one I tossed all my dimes. One by one, they all missed. I kicked at the dirt and turned to go.

“Hey, Red!” It was James. “Come on back!”

“I don’t have any more money.” I jammed one hand in my pocket and gripped the jelly jar with my other.

“Us redheads got to stick together,” he grinned. “If you go get more money, I’ll help you get the vase, okay?”

“Okay!” I shouted, then frowned. Where was I going to get any more money?

I searched frantically until I found Ricky and Donald. “You spent the whole two bucks already?” Ricky gasped. “Isn’t that just like a girl.” Donald shook his head in disbelief. “Can I borrow a dime?” I begged. But they laughed and ran off. “I’ll sell you this jar for a dime!” I followed them but soon gave up. I shoved the jar on top of an overful trash can. I kept my eyes on the ground, looking for pennies, because I didn’t have any more money at home.

“Yes, you do.” I thought. “In the vitamin jar on your dresser is 37 cents.”

“But that’s tithing money!” I couldn’t believe I’d thought such a thought.

“You can pay it back,” I told myself. “And James promised to help. You’re sure to win the vase for Ted and Katie this time.”

“But it’s not my money. Anything in the vitamin jar is already tithing.” I argued with myself as I walked. When I looked up I was home. I felt like a thief as I walked into my room.

“What’s the matter, Leftie?” James asked when I returned. “I only have 37 cents and I have to win the vase this time.” He gave me four dimes and winked. I threw the first three. They all missed.

“I can’t do it,” I whined. “I try and I try, but they all either bounce off the rim or miss completely!”

“Give me your last dime.” He pointed to his palm. I handed it to him. “I’ll throw your last dime for you.” A flip of his hand and the dime went into the vase.

“You’re a winner!” He picked up the vase, put it in a box, and handed it to me. I smiled at the people clapping for me, but I didn’t feel like a winner. I felt like a real loser.

I ran straight home to my room, put the box up in my closet behind some dirty clothes, and lay down on my bed.

Grandpa knocked at the door. “Home already, Birdie? It’s only 2:00.”

“I don’t feel well,” I answered.

“Would you like some buttermilk?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I just want to be alone.” He left, and I lay there, more alone than I’d ever felt before, thinking all sorts of terrifying thoughts. I’d stolen from the Lord. What if I died before I could pay back that tithing?

August came, sunny and hot in the daytime, dark and hot at night—and sticky. The sweat stuck in the creases of your arms and knees. Katie was the only one who didn’t seem to mind the weather. She was over all the time, talking and laughing with Mom about the reception and married life.

I was feeling good again, too. I hadn’t died. I’d earned enough money and repaid the Lord. And I had the best present for Ted and Katie. To ease any remorse, I’d convinced myself that maybe the fact that I’d spent tithing money to win the vase made it more special. Guilty people can be real stupid.

Two days before the reception Grandpa and I were sitting in my bedroom drinking apple juice and club soda. Grandpa told me again about the day he married Great-grandma Marie, the civil ceremony in Fremont, and then, the train ride to Salt Lake City.

“Ted and Katie can fly to Salt Lake and get married tomorrow. But it took us three days by train,” Grandpa explained. “So we were married before, to make the trip respectable. It was an expensive marriage for me, but it was worth it.” He smiled at me. “The right things are difficult sometimes, but they’re always worth it.”

“Do you want to see what I got them?” I bounced up off the bed. “I haven’t shown it to anybody. I haven’t even looked at it since I got it. But if you want, I’ll show it to you.” I was already to the closet.

“What did you decide on, Birdie?” he asked.

“Wait until you see it. It’s the most beautiful present in the whole world.” I uncovered the box. He held it while I removed the lid and folded back the tissue paper. Somehow it looked different.

“Very nice,” he said.

“No, it’s not.” I turned away and looked out my window. “It looks like junk.” The vase, which had been the most exquisite object I’d ever seen at the carnival was now, in the afternoon light of my bedroom, all flawed. One side was much thicker than the other. Air bubbles marred the entire surface. “I don’t understand. It was so pretty at the carnival.”

“Is that where you bought it, the carnival?” Grandpa put his arm around me.

“I’m so ashamed,” I sobbed, and hugged him.

“You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of,” he comforted.

That made me feel worse. “Oh yes I have.” And between crying and blowing my nose I told him the whole regrettable story. “I’m so sorry.” I sniffed.

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m sure the Lord knows it, too. I wish I could have gone with you and spared you all this. But it seems to me, Roberta, you’ve learned a hard lesson.” He patted my back.

“When do I get to start learning easy ones, Grandpa?” I asked. Then, without waiting for him to reply, I stuffed the vase back in its box and gave it to him. “Please, do me a favor and take this to the trash. I never want to see this ugly vase again.”

When Ted, Katie, and the parents left for Utah, Grandpa stayed home with me and my brothers. We got the happy couple a gift certificate. Grandpa paid for it; I made the card. That was eight years ago. I’d almost forgotten about it.

Grandpa’s funeral was during finals week. When I came home from school there was a box on my dresser wrapped in plain brown paper. I carried it out to the living room. Mom was doing some mending.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“I found it in Grandpa’s bedroom when I was cleaning up,” she said. “It had your name on it.”

“Did he leave any others, for the boys or you?” I asked.

“No. That was the only one,” she answered. I felt kind of important as I opened the package. But the feeling didn’t last long. When I took off the lid I felt the same nausea and embarrassment I’d felt at age 12. Grandpa had left me that ugly red vase.

“It’s even worse than I remembered.” I felt like crying.

“What made him give you that?” Dad asked.

“There’s a note, Roberta.” Mom picked it up and looked at me. I was straining not to cry. “Would you like me to read it?”

I nodded.

She read:

“Dearest Little Birdie,

“I want to give this to you. It is the most important thing I can leave you. Do you remember how bad you felt the day you first showed me this vase when you told me the story behind it? I want you always to remember how bad you felt, because someday it may help you from feeling much worse.

“In life there are a lot of red vases: power, fame, beauty, money. And here on earth these things look so good to some people that they do anything to obtain them. They do far worse things than spending tithing money. When these people die, they will see with new eyes the goals they worked so hard to attain during their mortal existence. Those will seem as cheap and worthless as this vase seems to you. Only they will have spent a whole life on their red vases, while you, if you learn, will have only spent one hard lesson on yours.

“If you read the scriptures and heed the words of the prophets, ancient and latter-day, you won’t need to worry about whether the things you strive for in this life will be worthwhile in the next. You’ll know.

“So throw this ugly vase in the trash, if you must. But I would hope instead, you’ll keep it nearby at all times. So any time you’re tempted to lower your standards for money, worldly praise, or a man who is not worthy of you, anything you will have to compromise yourself for, you can take out this old vase, look at it, and remember how you felt that hot summer day. Then, ask yourself if it’s worth it.

“All my love, Grandpa.”

After crying for a while and explaining the vase story to my mother and father, I picked up the gift from my wise grandpa, carried it into my bedroom, and placed it on my dresser. And I’m going to take it back to school with me, too. I don’t know if my roommate’s going to think much of my taste, but I’m going to display it proudly in a prominent place in our apartment.

That red vase was a more expensive present than I ever dreamed on that carnival day. I will never let anything cost me that much again.

Illustrated by Lori Anderson