A Short Story by Celia Blake
Cassie was a child with wonderful, stable parents and good friends. Even at nine years old she knew that not everyone was as fortunate, so she volunteered to teach one class at the community center. The organization was created by a few local people to help others, especially teenagers, socialize in a safe place and learn new skills or join small groups for therapy, bible study, as well as volunteer themselves at the center. The focus was on how every person had their own skills and interests and were special in their own way. Nobody was more important than anyone else and everyone should share their gifts while they learned new ones.
Cassie stood in the front of the room. An easel holding a blank page stood next to her. She waited for everyone to be seated. Behind her, leaning up against the wall, were four colorful paintings and two charcoal drawings.
“I started painting when I was three years old,” she began. The class became quiet. “My parents let me play with paint, splatter it,” she said excitedly. “Rip it, sprinkle it, stir it up, blow on it, touch it, guide it, give it life.” The students started to smile. It was easy to smile at Cassie because she seemed to release her own sunshine when she talked about her art. “I made abstract pieces like these,” she said pointing to the paintings behind her. “My parents loved them and they felt I had something special. My mom calls it inner light. She is a good mom.” The class nodded approvingly.
“Nowadays,” Cassie continued her speech, “I love to draw. I especially like sketching animals like horses, dogs, and unicorns. Oh, and dinosaurs!” Some students giggled affectionately at her enthusiasm. Cassie nodded, yes. “And today I am going to teach you how to draw a dog.” One student raised her hand.
“Yes?” asked Cassie.
“I’ve never used charcoal before,” she said.
“Oh, you’ll like it! It’s fun because you can blend it and create shading. But, be careful not to touch your clothes because your fingers will be dirty with charcoal.”
The girl smiled and nodded that she understood.
“You can draw whatever you want,” she said to the class. “You can even draw me, if you want,” she smiled brightly. “But, I’m here to teach you how to draw a dog. So here we go!”
Many students thought Cassie was adorable. Others were surprised that someone so young could be so good at art. They all drew dogs as Cassie instructed, and they put their own spin on their pieces. For instance, Cassie gave her dog a top hat with flowers sticking out of the top. Other kids drew their dogs wearing fashionable necklaces or pierced the dogs floppy ears. Everybody had a lot of fun.
When Cassie was wrapping up the class, thanking everyone for coming and complimenting their work, a bark was heard from down the hall. This was an unusual noise for the community center. Cassie went to open the door.
A dog wearing a top hat with flowers coming out of the top trotted into the classroom. The students clapped thinking Cassie had planned the dog’s appearance, but she did not. As everyone surrounded the dog, petting and loving it up, Cassie was simply shocked by the coincidence. She had never before seen this dog.
She stepped out of the room and looked down the hallway. Soon, a man appeared at the end of the hall. “Have you seen a dog?” he called.
“Yes,” replied Cassie. “She’s in here.”
“Thank you,” said the man, approaching. “I’m here to teach a dog training class, believe it or not.” He laughed. “Not a great start when your dog runs away from you.” Cassie giggled.
The man retrieved his dog and went on his way down the hall to another classroom. Cassie’s students left and Cassie’s mom showed up to help her load her artwork into the truck and take her home.
“So, how did it go baby-girl?” she asked.
“It was great! Can we stop for ice cream, Mama?”
“Sure.”
On their way out, Cassie noticed a flier on the classroom door, a sign-up sheet announcing an art class for the very next day. It said they would meet in the room but the class would be held outside (they would walk the few blocks to Pike Lake) because they would be drawing landscapes using pastels. There were two open spaces so Cassie decided to write down her name. She was excited to play with pastels, and she did not have much experience drawing landscapes.
Her mom decided to join in for some summer fun with her daughter, penciling in her own name to the last open slot. This made the both of them happy.
The lake was small but it had a beach. The park itself was beautiful. There was a playground and a few hiking trails. Many picnic tables and outdoor grills were scattered throughout. Some students drew their landscapes from a table and gazed at the forest. Others sat on the lawn and drew the tables themselves. Most drew the lake and added sunsets, even though it was only eleven o’clock in the morning.
Cassie enjoyed working with pastels because she could blend the colors so easily. Although they were instructed to do a landscape, the teacher said that a true artist will follow their imagination.
A bog floated in the middle of the lake. It looked like a small island. Cassie focused on that. She made it much larger and added a volcano to her island. Using many oranges and reds, she drew lava erupting up out of the volcano and down the outside, dripping color onto her green island and blending rivers of molten rock into her blue sea. Her picture turned out quite well for someone with no experience using pastels. Her mom loved it, too, as well as her own picture of a walking bridge down the hiking trail.
Something strange happened afterwards. They went home to make lunch. They turned on the television. There it was—Cassie’s volcanic island was on the news. Well, it looked almost identical to her drawing. The positioning of the volcano and the island on the ocean was the same. Even the flow of the lava was similar. It was pretty amazing.
Apparently, one of the Galapagos Islands in the Pacific Ocean volcanically reactivated and lava destroyed everything in its wake, including many animals on the island. Snakes, lizards, and crabs were covered and disappeared with everything else into the island rock.
Cassie realized this happened twice now. She drew that dog with the flowers coming out of the hat—and the dog appeared. Now she had drawn an erupting volcano—and the volcano appears! What were the chances of that happening twice? She wondered. Did she make these things appear by drawing them? She did not want to be responsible for the death of those animals even if they were gross snakes and ugly lizards. This had her very worried, and for days she walked around the house agitated. At night she had a hard time sleeping.
When Cassie’s mom realized that Cassie seemed stressed out and wasn’t doing her artwork as usual she asked her daughter what was wrong.
Cassie explained her guilt and fears to her mom. Her mom insisted it was just a coincidence. She told Cassie that whenever she was worried, she could come and talk to her. Also, she should pray to God for answers and give her fears to Him.
That night, in bed, Cassie did just that. She talked on and on to Jesus, and she ended up falling asleep while she was still praying.
Cassie stood on a bridge. Her hands rested atop a spiraling iron railing as she gazed out over the misty clouds below to the incredible waterfall. The sun rose in the distant orange sky as pink feather clouds trailed on forever. She wished for a paint set and easel so she could capture the scene as she saw it and treasure it always.
She heard a bell behind her from the overlook platform. She looked and found a canvas covered easel! Beside it stood a table holding a paint set and brush holder filled with brand new brushes. She walked over to it. The cement was cool on her feet. She chose a brush and began her piece. Her nightgown blew in the breeze as she painted.
“It’s beautiful,” a voice sang over her shoulder. Cassie turned and saw Whitney Houston in a light pink dress wearing a silver crown and holding a wand.
“Good heavens, child, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” she said, chuckling.
“Are, are you a ghost?” Cassie stuttered.
The woman shook her head, no.
Cassie found her voice. “But you’re Whitney Houston! I love your music. I can’t believe you’re standing here with me! Am I dead?” she asked.
“What’s that? I’m having a hard time hearing you. Wait a minute.” She looked at Cassie’s painting, then out at the waterfall. She waved her wand through the air curving it up and down and around. The waterfall became more quiet, muted, so it would be easier to hear. Then she circled her wand around Cassie. Cassie was transformed from wearing her nightgown into her overalls—the pair she usually wore when she painted.
“That’s better,” she said. “But I’m not Whitney Houston,” the lady added. “I am your fairy godmother.”
“My fairy godmother!” Cassie exclaimed. “What is your name?” she asked.
“Jasmine.”
“Well, Jasmine, you look exactly like Whitney Houston.”
“Thank you,” Jasmine replied. “Do you know why I’m here?” she asked.
“No.”
“Sit,” she said, waving her wand again. A bench appeared.
“I’m here because of your. . . coincidences.”
“My coincidences?” asked Cassie.
“Yes.”
Cassie wrinkled her brow and looked down at her paint-stained hands. The paint sparkled and then changed to charcoal. She twiddled her thumbs and the charcoal turned to pastels. She brushed them off on her overalls and thought about it.
“Oh! Yes! My drawings.” Her face was lit up with awareness, but her expression then fell to sadness and worry.
“Now, now,” said Jasmine. “Get that look off your face, child. This is why I am here. I’m sure you feel that it was truly not a coincidence that you drew a dog and a dog appeared. Then you drew a volcano and a volcano appeared.”
Cassie recalled the news program and the picture of her volcano on the screen. “They said many snakes and lizards and crabs were destroyed by the lava!”
“Yes.” Jasmine reached over, touching Cassie’s chin to tilt her head up so she could look into the girl’s eyes. “You did not cause the volcano,” said Jasmine.
“I didn’t?”
“No.”
Relief flooded Cassie’s heart. She no longer felt guilty. Her drawings did not cause the dog or the volcano to appear. But now she was confused. “Then how is it not a coincidence?” she asked.
Jasmine stood up. “Why don’t we go for a walk?” She twirled around and around with her wand circling above her as sparkling mist from below rose and covered them into a silvery cloud. A moment later they were walking down an endless row of bright purple plants toward a large tree. It was now sunset.
Cassie sniffed the air. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “These are lavender plants. There are so many!”
“Acres upon acres. This is one of my favorite places to walk.”
“I would love to paint this scene!” Cassie became excited, hoping the easel and paint set would appear again.
“We are running out of time, dear,” said Jasmine, looking out towards the sun setting in the west. The sky was peach upon the endless horizon of purple blossoms.
“Where are we?” asked Cassie.
“We, my dear, are in the high plateau near Gordes.”
“Gordes?”
“We are in France, my dear.”
“France! Wow.” Cassie’s smile was so bright it sparkled like magic.
“Come along. Let us sit beneath that tree.”
So, they found a comfortable spot on the grass beneath the tree as they gazed out at the blooming lavender fields.
“Do you know what a prophet is, Cassie?”
“Hmm. Like a psychic who predicts the future?”
“Not quite. Psychics are people with an excess of intuition. And that kind of thing can also be learned. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Cassie replied.
“But a prophet is in a way, chosen. They are given a special gift.”
“By God?”
“Yes,” said Jasmine.
Cassie thought about what her mom had told her about her having an inner light. She wondered if she was a prophet.
“Yes,” said Jasmine again, answering the silent question. “Cassie, you are a true prophet.”
“Oh, my,” Cassie replied.
“There are many, many,” she emphasized, “fake prophets out in the world. But, you, my dear, are a true spirit.”
Cassie plucked a few leaves of grass and twirled them around her fingers. “I don’t know what to say.” And she did not know what to say. She was unsure what this meant. Cassie felt something was different when she had seen that dog with the hat with the flowers coming out of it, but she would never have guessed it was a gift from God. “What on earth am I to do now?” she asked.
“Well,” Jasmine replied, “continue painting. This is where your gifts lie. It is your purpose.”
“That’s it? Just create art?”
“Yes. However, I have some instructions to help you live this charmed life.”
“Okay.” Cassie yawned. The smell of the lavender was making her very sleepy.
“Don’t go yet, dear,” said Jasmine. “Let’s walk again.”
As they walked down another row of plants and the sky turned from peach to purple, it seemed they were inside an amethyst crystal and the world sparkled many shades of lavender and jasmine.
“You must remember to stay humble,” said the fairy godmother. “You must keep love in your heart—love for God, love for family and friends, love for yourself, and love for mankind. And, be encouraging to others.”
Cassie nodded her head, yes, as they strolled.
“Also, if you do not want this gift, it most likely will not come to you. But, if you desire this gift, allow it to happen and that will help you prophesy.”
Cassie nodded again. Jasmine’s voice seemed more distant, muted, but she could still hear her.
“You must be aware that you will have critics, and some people will hate you. But you must not feel the same way towards them. You must let bad feelings go and give them to God.”
“Okay,” said Cassie. She thought this seemed like a lot of responsibilities for a nine-year-old. And, she had no idea what would happen. But, if all she had to do was do art and follow these instructions to love others, she would be okay. She heard the waterfall now and wondered where it could be in this sea of violet.
“Lastly, you must never lie,” said Jasmine. “It is okay to be silent when you need to, but do not tell lies.”
“I will not,” said Cassie, looking over to her fairy godmother. She did, in fact, look like a ghost now. A breeze blew the blooms in waves across the land, like an ocean, rocking, calming, drifting by them. “I can see through you to a violet sea,” said Cassie, fighting sleepy eyelids.
“Goodbye, my dear. And good luck!”
Cassie woke up.
“Honey!” She heard her mom’s voice calling to her, then a knocking. Cassie opened her eyes.
“Are you up, honey? Time to get ready for church.”
“Yes, I’m awake,” said Cassie, sitting up in her bed. She touched her nightgown and pinched herself to make sure she was truly awake. Ouch. Yes. She was up.
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Can we stop at the art store after church. I need more purple paint.”
“Sure. Now up and at’em. Your dad wants to be there early because he’s singing in the choir today.”
“Okay. Thanks, Mom.”
Her mom smiled and walked away.
Cassie thought about her dream: The enormous waterfall, the fields of lavender. All the colors in the flowering skies. Her fairy godmother. She remembered everything Jasmine had said to her.
She knew some of her art would be prophecy. Some would not. But all she had to do was create her art and show love and trust the process. She couldn’t wait to get started.
The End
—Celia Blake
