The Green Vase

The Green Vase.

Krysta Walker

Amelia held the vase in her trembling hands.

Freshly green. Forest green.

Four years ago she had received this vase. A wedding gift. For four years, that vase had held a multitude of occasions.

Valentines Days.

Birthdays.

Funerals.

Several times it was home to dead leaves and wrinkled stems.

Two years ago she had aimed and flung vase, water, and dead plant at Harold. She missed and later glued green pieces together. She did a horrible job. Several pieces weren’t recovered.

She had stared at the reflective surface, not seeing herself. She'd wondered why she wasn't enough.

A fresh bunch of flowers were placed in the broken vase when Harold returned. It sat in the foyer of their apartment, the only witness to a sinking marriage.

Sick green. Pale green.

The vase was knocked from its perch in the heat of an argument. The carpet saved its fall but took a bit from the top. The vase was launched at a wall when Patricia accidentally called Harold's house instead of his office.

Jealous green. Mealy green.

One year after she flung it, Amelia and the vase watched as Harold grabbed his suitcases from the foyer and the vibration from the door gently shook the house.

Amelia sat in a dark room holding a broken vase.

The broken vase that sat in a broken home for four years.

She saw all the effort she had put into her marriage in that vase. Chipped glue. Peeling paint. Dead stems.

Dead love.

Dead green.

Broken promises. Broken home. Broken woman.

Broken vase.