Miss Daisy's Vase

A satirical short story with a hidden messege.

             It was four o clock when one Miss Daisy pushed aside the door to the train compartment. She smiled as she sat down and unfolded the newspaper she had just bought from a vender inside the station. “Two thousand smashed vases lost to the building of the Ecrovid Structure in Central Park. Progress futile.” She gasped. It was an art project the university had been working on for almost a year now, and she herself at always protested it. She peered down at the little black and white image that showed a construction site where piles of glass and wood frames lay to be carried away by a garbage truck.

            Two months ago, Miss Daisy stood in her kitchen, arranging some flowers in an old heirloom from her mother. It was lovely; blue and red flowers with gold lining. Misses Ogottsirf, her all too nosy neighbor, rang the doorbell with a bag in one arm that twisted in an odd shape, telling Miss Daisy that something strange would be found inside.

            “You heard the news, didn’t you?”

            “No, you know I don’t pay much attention to it, Lilly.”

            Miss Ogotsrif let herself in and led Miss Daisy to the kitchen. The table was covered with flower clippings and those leaves that had to be removed before the rose could fit in the vase. She always wanted to know what project was underway.

            “You’re arranging flowers? In that old thing? Are you sure it’s going to match that upholstery you had redone last September?”

            “It’ll have to. You know how important it is. I couldn’t put it away, or invest in a new one. I haven’t the money or the heart to.”

            “How nice, really.” Lilly Ogotsrif set her large bag on the counter and Miss Daisy noticed the shattering sound it made. There was broken glass inside of it.

            “And what have you got there, Lilly?”

            “Well, that’s just what I came over to tell you about. It’s the newest thing, honest. Even Petunia’s sending her stuff in. You see, it’s this class. A certain professor, a very well to do art professor, is asking for all the old vases and glass decorations that the whole country can muster up. Now, you know it’s not like me to do something so drastic,”

            “No, I know you would never.” Lilly always participated in the most modern and new age scams.

            “It’s just that, I haven’t need for these ones. They’re building a structure!” Lilly clasped her hands. A structure! Certainly that would convince Daisy to participate.

            “You don’t say.”

            “A structure, Daisy! I’m not certain to what that is yet, but it’ll be in the news as soon as it’s done. And as I was saying, these old vases are out of date. They have some good qualities, but I could use a new one, one that would match the more modern décor.”

            “Of course,” Daisy halfheartedly answered, moving her roses around in the vase. Her floribundas were doing best this year, and she was glad. They had always been her favorite.

            “Now, I’m not saying anything about that old vase of yours, dear.  But I’m sure it would add a lovely element to that art structure. It’s time to liven things up in here. The colors are fading. The paint’s even chipped around the rim.” Lilly snatched up the vase to examine it carefully, and water spilled over the rim.

            “It’s always been like that. It adds a little character.”

            “Listen, I saw this nice new vase collection on the Home Changes network. And you know that lovely yellow plaid you’ve got on those chairs? The exact pattern!” Her eyes widened as she spoke. Daisy finished wiping up the puddle of water on the counter and hung up the towel, which was also a yellow. Yellow was, after all, her theme during her redecorating. She remembered the trouble she went to find that fabric. Was there really, a vase that matched it, after it took her so long to find one simple roll of dazzling yellow plaid?

            “It was awfully hard to find…”

            “Identical, dear. A perfect match.” There was a moment of silence as Daisy stared at the old heirloom. It was a little bit outdated. She might even appreciate it more, knowing it was a part of some big ‘structure’.

            “Well, you know what they say. Some things never change. No… you keep that old vase. It’s just- nice the way it is.” Lilly picked up her bag and gave a big sigh.

            Daisy stopped Lilly by raising her hand a little. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to update things a bit in here. Go ahead and take it, Lilly. As long as you promise to show me that yellow one on the network.”

            “My word, Daisy! Isn’t that just so nice how you’ve changed your mind. I’ll tell you I was hoping you would. And that new yellow collection will look just lovely in here.” She scooped up the vase, dumped the flowers into the sink and then gave it a big crack on the counter. It shattered into hundreds of pieces, which Miss Lilly scooped into the bag. Daisy was a bit surprised at her brutality.

            “They’ll certainly be thankful. Think of the character it’ll add to that big project! The art, Daisy, think of the art!” And with that, Miss Lilly Ogotsrif sauntered out the door, waving and sending reassuring phrases to Miss Daisy, who welled up a bit inside to say goodbye to her old vase.

            And the minute Miss Lilly made her way down the front porch, Daisy remembered that Miss Lilly was, and always had been colorblind.

            The train rattled as it lurched out of the station. Miss Daisy folded the newspaper and placed it in her bag. She knew she would never find another vase to replace the old heirloom, but she felt a sense of regret for it’s loss. It was cracked and faded, yes. But it would have been much lovelier with her roses in it than in the strange and abstract Ecrovid structure, which certainly wasn’t art.

Reviews

[Aaron M. Anderson]

I like this piece very much. It asks some interesting questions about human nature, particularly Miss Daisy's. As for the "hidden message" in the story, it sounds quite amusing, and I would guess that it is political in nature, but I am afraid that most readers, including myself, don't have the patience to work out the possible hidden metaphors. If the metaphor is quite simple, and I am simply overlooking the obvious, please correct me, as I am very sleepy. I see that if you rearrange a character's name, it spells out "first to go." Am I getting close?

I notice that you are writing from a third-person omniscient point of view because you explicitly state Miss Daisy's thoughts in the quotations below:

"Misses Ogottsirf, her all too nosy neighbor, rang the doorbell with a bag in one arm that twisted in an odd shape, telling Miss Daisy that something strange would be found inside."
"Her floribundas were doing best this year, and she was glad."

This kind of peek into the character's mind is generally done abstractly in more recent fiction. It is easier to see a "lumpy" shape than it is an "odd" shape, and we may already know that Miss Daisy is suspicious. Instead of saying "and she was glad," one might say "and she often mentioned them to her neighbors," or something else that would suggest her gladness. If you want to keep it the way it is, and it will be ok.

Also, you wrote that other sentence to sound like Mrs. Ogottsirf "...rang the doorbell with a bag..."

The story was super-entertaining, and I like the characters. Please send me a message if you write anything similar to this.