The Black Vase

Short story time!

The Black Vase - With years of professional performance experience, Cassidy Erickson finds herself back in her childhood church as the pianist. She is not known for her pleasant ways and finds herself coerced into mentoring Sam, a talented young sixteen year old girl. Sam is challenged by Cassidy, not only musically but by her condescending ways and hardened exterior. 

THE BLACK VASE

The joyous piano notes floated across the airwaves, out through the carved wooden doors, and bounced into the street. Passers by stopped to listen to the beautiful music emerging from the church, before continuing on to their Sunday morning destinations—coffee shops, all-you-can-eat brunches, and weekly visits to elderly loved ones in nursing homes.

Inside, the congregation was mesmerized by the talent of Cassidy Erickson. A forty something single woman dressed in a conservative navy blue suit with white round buttons. Her shoulder length brown hair shone in the spotlights above and was flawlessly combed into a purposeful flip at her shoulders. Periodically, the people sitting in the first few rows would get a glimpse of her intense green eyes as she turned the sheets of music set before her on the piano.

Cassidy’s fingers flew across the black and white keys of the baby grand with ease and perfection. Once an award-winning pianist who played at Carnegie Hall at the tender age of nineteen. And, had guest performed with numerous orchestras in venues across the United States and London to audiences a hundred times the size of this tiny church congregation.

Set on the glossy finished piano was a seven inch tall slender vase with a swirling handle. Gold and bronze inlays of swallows and flowers beautifully adorned the front side of the heavy black vessel. The opening in the top was only large enough for a single stem. The empty vase was always placed onto the piano when Cassidy played.

As the musical piece came to a close, the audience emerged in thunderous applause. Cassidy gave a small nod of her head, avoiding eye contact with anyone. She went about straightening out her music pages.

Pastor Jerry walked to the front of the church. “Please, stand and greet one another in love,” he said warmly. Then he covered his microphone and turned back around as Cassidy passed. “Very nice.”

“You need to find a new piano tuner. The keys are sticking, again,” Cassidy snapped as she passed him by and took her seat in the front pew.

He shook his head and smiled. He had started to become accustomed to her. Although, the listening congregants were appreciative of Cassidy’s talents and felt fortunate to have such a gifted pianist in their midst, her cold and calloused ways kept most people from wanting to have anything else to do with her aside from a polite obligatory comment here and there.

Then, there was Blanche. After the service, the still spunky ninety-six year old, pushed her now barely four foot nine inch body forward on her walker on a beeline to Cassidy. Seeing the hunched woman approach out of the corner of her eye, Cassidy quickly busied herself by searching for some unknown object in her large leather bag. She did her best to ignore the old woman. But, Blanche either missed Cassidy’s cues or just had passed the age of caring what others thought. She was an icon in that church having been a member for over sixty years and she made it her business to know everyone who crossed the threshold of the building.

Blanche stopped in front of Cassidy and spoke loudly, “I’ve got new hearing aids. Wonderful music this morning, dear.”

Cassidy just nodded in acknowledgment. Blanche held up the church bulletin which was custom created in extra large print for the distinguished, oldest member of the entire congregation. The paper quivered in the air from her constant tremble. “It says here you won’t be here next week.”

“I have to go out of town,” responded Cassidy.

“Eh?”

Cassidy raised her voice, probably beyond what was really necessary. “I said, I am going out of town.”

Blanche nodded. “I heard they got some new kid taking your place. Wonder if she’s as stubborn as you were at her age.” She winked at Cassidy, who wasn’t amused, then pushed her walker away to greet another woman.

The following week, dressed in jeans and a short sleeved cotton top, sixteen year old Sam finished playing a piano piece. The congregation applauded and smiling faces told her that she had impressed them. She had made a few mistakes, but Sam had brought a fresh, young style to a service that was typically filled with more traditional church music. She brushed back her blonde bangs. Her hair was short, but she liked keeping the bangs long and partly hanging in her eyes. Exactly six earrings donned each of her ears and a small diamond stud glimmered on the side of her nose.

As she made her way back to her seat, Sam saw her father, Mark, still clapping loudly and beaming with pride. Over-eagerly, he commented to the people seated around him, “That’s my daughter.” They nodded politely.

Jerry’s voice came as the applause died down, “Friends, greet those around you in love.” Everyone stood up to begin shaking hands and giving friendly hugs to the same people that they shook hands with and hugged every week on Sunday morning. It was an amiable group.

Mark was still clapping his hands at his daughter when she arrived and plunked down in the seat next to him. “Dad, really?” she said embarrassed.

He laughed, walked towards the pastor, and waited patiently while Jerry finished talking with a couple. “Thanks for letting Sam play, today,” Mark commented to Jerry.

“Thank you, we enjoyed having her.”

“I’ve been wanting to get her back to church.”

“And you?” the pastor inquired tactfully.

Mark smiled and said, “Pastor, I need help with something.”

Cassidy looked down at her watch. It was the time when she would normally be playing the closing song at the church service. She hated missing the opportunity to play. But, it was the anniversary of her father’s death and she never failed at a chance to honor him. It was always a difficult day. She stood on the ledge of a steep cliff. Grasped in one hand was a bottle of water and in the other a small bouquet of flowers.

Solemnly, Cassidy looked out over the canyon breathing in its rich red and deep orange colors against the massive blue sky, not one cloud in sight. Then, as she did every year she made this respectful trek, she thought about how withdrawn and depressed her father had become after Cassidy’s brother had left. He began hiking more and more, always alone. Searching for some kind of solace from nature or forgiveness of himself or perhaps a pardon from God, for the harsh words that had fallen from his lips onto his dearest son.

Cassidy tossed the flowers over the edge into the chasm at her feet. She watched them bounce off several rocks on their descent. Suddenly the bouquet broke apart and all the individual flowers separately found resting places alone against the bases of jutting boulders and within the shadows of deep crevices.

The following Sunday morning, Cassidy hunched over the photocopy machine in the church workroom. She was wearing a freshly pressed dark green skirt with a matching blazer and a lime green blouse. Pressing a large music book opened onto the glass, she waited for the whirl of the machine to do its magic. For that particular hymn, single papers were much easier to maneuver than having to turn pages in a large bound book.

Jerry entered the workroom and leaned up against the book shelves that were filled with reams of copy paper, boxes of staples and pens, and other customary office type items. Cassidy looked up at him. “The father of the girl who filled in for you last week asked if you might mentor his daughter,” Jerry said.

“What?” Without even considering it, Cassidy delivered her excuse, which he completely expected. “No, I can’t do that. I don’t have time.”

Ignoring her objections, he continued, “She’s got potential, but needs some structure.”

“I’m not a teacher.”

Jerry straightened up, “Just meet with her a few times. Point her down the right road. You can do it on the clock.”

Cassidy tried to object, “I don’t--”

“I already said you’d do it. You can practice here in the church after the service. Her name is Sam.” Then satisfied with himself, he quickly exited before she could spout off any more reasons why this wouldn’t work.

Cassidy was not happy. Gritting her teeth, she finished her copying.

After the service, Cassidy was gathering together her music when Sam approached from behind. “Hi Cassidy, I’m Sam,” she said pleasantly.

Cassidy turned around. Her head moved up and down as she inspected Sam’s attire. She wore faded jeans and a bright yellow tee-shirt with a peace sign printed on it. “I see no one taught you how to dress for church,” she said bluntly.

“God doesn’t care what you wear.”

“And, it is Ms. Erickson.”

Sam rolled her eyes in protest. “I’m not like eight years old.”

Cassidy inserted her music into her bag. “I’m assuming Sam is short for Samantha?”

“Nobody calls me that, anymore,” responded Sam, not sure she was going to like this woman, at all.

“Samantha, where is your father?” demanded Cassidy.

“Out of town. He travels a lot for his job,” she responded with a sarcastic sigh.

Cassidy pointed at the piano bench. “Play something.”

“Like what?” Sam asked.

Folding her arms across her chest, Cassidy curtly responded, “If you were a serious pianist, you never would ask such a ridiculous question.”

Taken back by her rudeness, Sam sat down, thought for a moment, then started playing a song Cassidy had never heard before. She hid her surprise of the young girls talent.

Sam had been composing this original piece for the last several months and it was the first time she had played it for anyone. Feeling a bit anxious, she stumbled over a few notes and Cassidy interrupted her. “That’s enough. I can’t help you.”

Surprised, Sam turned to stare at her, “The pastor said you had trained at The Juilliard School in New York.”

“Yes, and at The Royal College of Music in London. I have had some of the finest instructors and have played all over the world.” The words rolled off Cassidy’s tongue easily, she had murmured them in conversations a thousand times.

“So, why do you work here?” inquired Sam. Half out of pure curiosity and half out of a touch of spite. Surprised by the question, Cassidy walked over to her music bag. “What? I just wondered,” said Sam.

As Cassidy rummaged through her bag, Sam picked up the black vase that was still on the piano. She started to examine it. Cassidy removed sheet music to a piece and looked up. Horrified, she rushed over to Sam and grabbed the vase out of her hand. “Don’t touch that!”

“Geez, sorry.” Sam apologized as Cassidy put the vase into her bag. “So, I guess you don’t know how to teach, huh?”

Taking that as an insult, Cassidy bristled. “I will give you three lessons, then you will play at church again.”

“Woohoo. Great.”

“Curb the attitude, Samantha.” Cassidy put the music in front of Sam on the piano. “We’ll start with this one.”

Sam grimaced at the music. It looked hard. Putting her fingers on the keys, she struggled with the first few measures. Cassidy was irritated. How could Jerry have done this to her.

The next week after church, Sam sat at the piano with Cassidy behind her. She managed to get through the first page of the music, then made a mistake and struggled to get the notes correct.

“Did you not practice this week?” Cassidy asked.

“I could only get down here a couple of times,” Sam replied, still trying to plunk out the right notes.”

Cassidy put her hands on her hips. “You don’t even have a piano at home?” Sam took her hands off the keys and shook her head as Cassidy began to pace. How could this girl expect to play if she didn’t even have a piano to practice on.

Sam looked at the black vase that was still sitting on the piano. “Why do you always put that little vase on the piano when you play? Is it your lucky vase?”

“It’s none of your business,” bit back Cassidy.

“Maybe I need to have a little thingie on the piano when I play.”

Cassidy pulled a metronome out of her bag and solidly placed it on the piano. “This is the little ‘thingie’ you need on the piano. Your timing is atrocious. Especially starting at measure twenty-four. Again.” She turned the metronome on; it ticked. Sam began to play.

After Sam had left, Cassidy appeared outside the open door of Jerry’s office. She knocked as he looked up from his reading and waved her in. She handed him a paper. “This is for next week’s bulletin,” she said and began to leave.

“How are the lessons going?”

With a heavy sigh, Cassidy sat down in the chair in front of his desk. “You are right, she does have potential, but it’s her attitude. And sometimes her focus is not on the music.”

“Well, she’s just a teenager. Besides, Blanche told me a story or two about you in the youth group,” he grinned, but Cassidy was serious.

“I had difficult things going on in my life at her age. More than just what type of jeans I should buy.” There was a momentary silence.

“What makes you think that Sam doesn’t have challenges? Have you talked with her?”

“She’s not my kid,”

The pastor shifted in his seat. “Surely, with all of your worldly experiences, you know how to talk to a child. Don’t you have friends with kids?”

Cassidy shook her head. Honestly, she had no friends at all.

Jerry sensed her loneliness. He had never seen any family with her even on those two special times a year, Christmas and Easter, when the churches swelled with people. “Do you have any family, cousins, siblings?”

Cassidy began to talk quietly as her eyes remained fixed on the scraped and marred wood of his old desk. “I was only married a couple of years before my husband left me. My mother died when I was young. My father raised my brother and me alone. My father’s dead, too.”

Jerry listened. He had only been called to this particular congregation a year earlier and was still getting to know the members and their stories.

She continued. “My brother meant everything to my father; he could do no wrong. You know, first born male and all.” Cassidy thought about the many hiking trips her father and brother would take that she was never allowed to go on. She was always told that these weekends were for father-son bonding time or some other insufficient excuse. “Then, he got into some serious trouble in high school,” she continued. “My father was a proud man, a lifetime member of this church, and he was so embarrassed that his son could be so irresponsible. They had an enormous argument.”

Cassidy remembered hearing that fight from her room. All the yelling and accusations. She had never heard them argue so badly. At the tender age of fourteen, she believed in some odd way that finally her father would see that her brother wasn’t perfect. In some adolescent way, she thought that perhaps she might finally share in the attention of her father that she so desperately craved. Even if it was for just a little while. Maybe she would finally have the chance to go on a hiking trip with him. But that wasn’t what happened.

Without emotion, Cassidy explained, “I made sure my brother knew how much our father was disappointed in him. I told him that my father wanted him to leave. So, he did.” she stopped talking.

“Did he come back?” Jerry asked gently. She shook her head. She had never considered that her brother would not come back, ever. She found herself longing for his return and of those meals spent together as a family. To see her father happy again and gloating once more over his son’s glorious achievements. Cassidy’s face flushed and she suddenly felt embarrassed for revealing such a personal story. She was always careful and very private. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to share all that.”

Jerry smiled sympathetically. “I’m a pastor. You can tell me anything.”

“I’ve got to go,” she said and quickly exited Jerry’s office leaving him there pondering.

It was Tuesday afternoon and Sam sat at the piano struggling with a section of the music. Cassidy stood over her like a hawk. “No, no, again.” Cassidy knew she was not cut out to be a music teacher. Her patience was just too thin. The girl kept trying, her fingers just not moving as quickly as her brain. Finally, Cassidy burst out, “You’re not ready to play this on Sunday.”

Still focused and determined to get it right, Sam kept trying. “No, I can get it, Ms. Erickson.”

Flustered at hearing Sam continue to make the same mistake over and over, she shook her head in protest. “Perhaps you should play an easier piece.”

Sam stopped momentarily and looked up at Cassidy, “I can get it.” After she began again, she realized that she was trying too hard and now couldn’t even get the easier parts right. Calmly, she put her hands in her lap and inhaled deeply attempting to refocus.

“It takes time to be as good as me,” Cassidy said thinking that somehow this would comfort her. It did not.

Sam’s head snapped towards Cassidy not believing what she had just heard. She glanced back at the piano, then stood up directly in front of Cassidy. “I don’t want to be anything like you,” she said coldly and walked out.

Knowing that probably was not the right thing to have said, Cassidy put her hand on her forehead and exhaled a long breath. As the door slammed shut, she sat down at the piano herself and began playing the song. Her fingers easily pressing all the correct notes. She thought about all she had lost with her career. It had started out so well, but the guilt she held inside after her brother had disappeared and not returned, began to build. Over the years, people simply accepted her stinging personality as part of being a brilliant pianist. More and more she was having difficulty sleeping, but somehow she found enough strength to continue performing. No one suspected that the remorse she carried was becoming debilitating and was a growing paralysis.

Cassidy kept playing through the musical piece, turning the pages, but not needing to concentrate on the music any longer. Her eyes took in the notes and her hands naturally responded bypassing her brain completely while she remembered that fateful night.

Everything had come to a head the night before she was to perform at a sold out concert in London. She received word that her father had fallen to his death while hiking. She suspected he had done more than just slipped off the edge into that canyon and that he most likely had finally self-imposed his atonement by jumping to his death on one of his soul searching hikes. Cassidy was overwhelmed that she had never told her father the truth. That she was responsible for her brother leaving and never returning. She felt so alone that night, all of her family now gone from her life.

Cassidy knew she had to sleep that night in order to perform the next day, but her mind would not stop racing. Totally exhausted and with no more tears left to cry, finally at dawn she swallowed not one or two but three sleeping pills. They had become saviors on those nights she was unable to get the rest she needed, which had become more frequent. Since she wasn’t due to the venue until seven that night, she felt sure there would be plenty of time to make it on time and she set her alarm for late in the afternoon. Cassidy didn’t realize that her path in life was about to abruptly change course.

When Cassidy finally awoke at nine-thirty that evening, despite her grogginess she realized what had happened. She sat on the edge of her bed, stiff and shocked that she had accidentally slept through her alarm, through the panicked phone calls from the venue’s producer, and through the entire performance time. Too embarrassed to admit what she had done, she waited for the producer to call her the following morning. He was beyond upset and although she tried to explain how deathly ill she had been, her lies fell onto deaf ears. She hung up the phone not wanting to listen any longer to his threats about how he was going to sue her for the recovery of the money he had to refund to many irate patrons.

Cassidy stopped performing. She withdrew, as her father had. She never admitted what had actually happened to anyone. The phone calls from the press eventually ceased when she told them enough times that she was retiring for health reasons. Cassidy had found herself back at the church she had grown up in, accepting the barely livable wage for the pianist position. For ten years, she had clung to the hope that her faith would heal her, but she found herself profoundly hardened, impenetrable by neither human nor divinity.

Finishing the last few measures perfectly, Cassidy suddenly realized that Sam had not taken the music with her. She sighed heavily, muttering to herself, “How is that irresponsible girl supposed to practice without her music?” She took the sheet music, her keys and left the church.

As Cassidy walked up to the modest home, she noted that the short white picket fence was in dire need of painting. And, the screen door was broken. She heard some type of loud pounding music coming from inside the house and it took three attempts at the bell before the music finally turned off and Sam answered the door.

“Why are you here?” said Sam, still a bit put off by that completely unbearable woman.

“You forgot your music,” Cassidy said and gave an awkward smile.

The gesture of bringing the music to her house, which was at least a half hour drive, and seeing the first half-attempt at a smile softened Sam and she opened the door.

Cassidy entered and followed Sam down the hallway into the living room. Once there, Cassidy reached into her bag, retrieved the musical pages, and handed them to Sam.

“Thanks. Guess I’ll be needing that this week,” Sam grinned. “So, you wanna soda or something?”

“Iced water would be fine,” Cassidy said as she was already scrutinizing the room.

Sam nodded and walked into the nearby kitchen. “Iced water. Who says iced water?”

Observing the half unpacked boxes and piles of clutter around the room, Cassidy began stepping around the mess to gaze at various objects. “Are you moving?” she called out.

“Na,” Sam responded from the kitchen while she hunted for a clean glass. Not finding one, she figured it best to rinse one out and dry it spotless. “My dad isn’t done unpacking, yet. It usually takes him at least a year.”

Running her finger along a shelf, Cassidy cringed at the dust build up. She turned her head sideways to read some of the titles from an unorganized stack of books. Nothing half intelligent. From an opened box, she picked up a triangular shaped wooden frame that contained an officially folded United States flag. Something in the bottom of the box fell to the side and caught her attention. Taking in a small gasp, Cassidy couldn’t believe what she saw in the bottom of that box. It was her black vase. She quickly picked it up and slipped it back into the bag that still hung over her shoulder.

Sam walked into the room holding the sparkling clean glass of iced water and saw Cassidy holding the flag. “They gave that to us for my mom, she--” Cassidy abruptly dropped the flag back into the box. “Hey!”

“I knew I shouldn’t have wasted my time on a girl like you,” Cassidy snarled. Then she stormed out of the house, banging the front door closed.

Sam just stood there wondering what she had done. Maybe the glass wasn’t clean enough? Not enough ice?

Thirty minutes later, Cassidy strode into her own kitchen. She removed the black vase from her music bag and set it carefully on the table. There was a deep scratch on the side and that infuriated her. “You careless little thief,” she said hatefully. Reaching back into her bag, she roughly removed her music and slammed it on the counter. Then reaching in once more, she felt something with her hand and looked into the bag before sitting down hard onto the kitchen chair.

Every day that week, Sam was in the church practicing after school. She avoided the hours that she knew Cassidy would be there. When she wasn’t at the church, Sam practiced in her mind and rehearsed difficult parts with her fingers on the kitchen table. She was determined to play flawlessly and to show up, Ms. Erickson.

On Friday night, Sam told her father that she was going down to the church the next day to practice. “I made special arrangements with the pastor.”

“How are things going?”

“I really can’t stand that woman,” replied Sam.

“But, have you learned anything?” Mark asked, hoping things would smooth out a little bit.

“Yeah, I guess some stuff,” she said as she cleared the dinner dishes.

He smiled, “Enough that you might want to continue lessons?”

“Not in a zillion lifetimes. Not with her.” Mark just raised his eyebrows at Sam’s reaction and asked nothing further. He had hoped his request of Jerry wasn’t back-firing.

On Sunday, Cassidy waited for Sam to enter the church. The black vase gripped tightly in her hand. When Sam entered, Cassidy watched as she walked up to arrange her music on the piano before the service was to begin.

As Sam walked by Cassidy on her way back to her seat, Cassidy stood up, but Sam didn’t make eye-contact nor stop. As she continued walking, she called out loudly, “I don’t need your stupid vase. If I screw up, it won’t be your fault.”

When it came time to play, Sam was nervous. Butterflies buzzed in her stomach and she wiped her sweaty palms onto her pants. But, once she began playing, she played beautifully.

From the front pew, Cassidy watched and listened, her body motionless, but her mind crowded with thoughts. Thoughts that had led to conclusions over the previous few days. How she had closed herself off from the world. How she had emptied it of any possibility of love. How she allowed guilt coupled with pride to fuse into such a powerful poison that had resulted in a nasty takeover of her life, slowly eliminating anything resembling gratitude or joy.

Sam finished her piano piece and the audience showed their appreciation of her almost flawless performance. With the butterflies now replaced with a warm feeling of contentment, Sam took a little bow and left the piano to return to her seat as Pastor Jerry stood and ritually invited everyone to greet one another in love.

When she tried to walk past, Cassidy stood up in front of Sam, blocking her way. “Samantha, stop.”

“I don’t get why you’re so...so stuck up,” she said frustrated. “I don’t even know what I did.”

Cassidy held the vase up in front of her. “Where did you get this?” Sam shook her head and shrugged. “I took this from your house, where did you get it?”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I’ve never even seen it before.”

Reaching into her bag, Cassidy removed an identical black vase, minus the scratch, and held them both up. Sam looked at them. “Both hand made by my father,” said Cassidy quietly and almost tearfully.

Sam still didn’t understand what this had to do with her.

Mark stepped up behind Cassidy, “Hello Sis.” Sam gasped as Cassidy turned to see her long-lost brother.

Just then, Jerry busted in happily. “Well, I see the cat’s out of the bag.”

Shocked, Cassidy glared unbelievingly at Jerry. “You were part of this?”

He just smiled knowingly and scurried away to greet newcomers.

Cassidy drew in a long breath and stumbled over her words. “I...you...I don’t...” She looked down and covered her eyes. She had tried to rationalize how this vase had ended up at Sam’s house. Perhaps from a garage sale or found in a local Goodwill store. She had not wanted to admit that deep down she had prayed for it to be true—that it belonged to her brother. “My rationalizations are useless,” Cassidy mumbled as tears fell from her eyes.

Mark smiled and took her in his arms for a long, close embrace. He whispered in her ear words she had ached to hear, “It’s okay.” She hugged him even more.

Meanwhile, Sam stood there with her mouth gapping open. All she could think about was that this awful woman was her aunt. She never even knew she had any relatives. But, of all people, why her?

After reunited brother and sister hugged, Cassidy wiped her cheeks and turned to Sam with a stern face. She thought perhaps Sam was a part of this whole scheme.

“I swear,” said Sam, “I didn’t even know about you, Ms. Erickson.”

After a moment, Cassidy sighed heavily, “Well, I suppose you can call me Cassidy, now.” Then, she smiled widely as her tears started to flow again, and she hugged Sam tightly.

Still not totally convinced, Sam hoped her aunt would be more tolerable now they were blood related—so she hugged her back.

Just then, Blanche pushed her walker up. “If it ain’t the scoundrel, himself,” she said loudly to Mark.

“Hello Blanche. You’re still here?”

“They just can’t get rid of me,” she laughed. Then she draped her old weakened arm over Sam’s shoulder. “So, you’re our little oops baby. You turned out very beautiful, Sally.” Blanche squeezed so hard, Sam’s face smashed up against Blanche’s chest.

“It’s Sam,” but Blanche either missed or ignored the correction. Instead she pushed Sam out to arms length and nodded towards Cassidy.

“So, you taking over for old sour puss?” Sam burst out laughing. Mark chuckled. Cassidy’s mouth turned up just slightly revealing a barely visible smile—but it was there, nonetheless.

Jerry tapped on Cassidy’s shoulder as the congregation started to quiet down. “I hate to interrupt, but...” he tilted his head towards the piano.

Quickly, Cassidy carried both black vases to the piano and carefully set them side by side. Then, she sat down to play.

Mark put his arm around Sam who was mesmerized by Cassidy’s skill.

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