Blue Tag Sale
By Beth Cato
Lindsay was surprised to be named the beneficiary of Grandma’s soul. Most folks’ souls just drifted free immediately after death. As old-fashioned as Grandma was, Lindsay had expected hers to do the same.
“Mother would do this, just to be difficult,” said Lindsay’s mom. She paced back and forth, a black matte bag with satin handles swaying from her arm. It looked like something from a high-end retailer, but it bore the silver monogram of the funeral parlor. “And you wouldn’t believe the piece she chose to be put in. It’s an old blue carnival glass vase. It might have actually been worth something.”
Mom set down the bag. After some rustling, she pulled out the object in question. Lindsay couldn’t help but smile. She recognized it; that vase had sat atop Grandma’s piano as long as she could remember.
The carnival glass was blue with an iridescent tinge, narrow as a column and flaring like an orchid’s petals at the top, except now it had been modified. A bell of silver capped the petals. Near the base was a fixture like a miniature faucet lever, a dime-sized silver mesh just below it.
