Classmates - a short story by Florence Liberfarb...

Freya and Gert were from the old school, where morality meant something, and they were not to be swayed by any of the new thinking. They had met about two years ago at sewing class, and it didn’t take long for them to discover how much they had in common. But it was their disapproval of the way people carried on these days that turned them into best chums.

“Damn shame, that’s what it is,” Gert told her, as they stayed after class to finish up their sewing projects. “We were taught right from wrong; right?”

“I couldn’t agree more," Freya answered, letting her machine rip away.

“Who do they think they’re fooling, anyway?”

“They’re kidding themselves, that’s who.”

“You said it!”

Their concern was not limited only to people they knew. Any juicy bits of TV gossip or in newspapers also fueled their moral indignation.

So it was an unpleasant surprise – after being home with a cold for nearly a week, and on her very first day back out into the sunshine – for Freya to hear Gert’s big news.

“Where did you meet him?” Freya hissed.

“In the library.”

“It’s so cold there. How could you stay long enough to meet someone?”

“I wore a warm sweater.”

“And…what is he like? Nice respectable person?”

Freya’s curiosity was endless. What bothered her most, however, was the change in her friend’s demeanor. Gert now wore a silly grin, which infuriated Freya. She missed Gert’s familiar expression – always close to a haughty sniff.

But she consoled herself that this was just temporary, a passing thing which her friend would soon be over. Freya resolved then, to be patient, but the times, when she and Gert got together became less frequent, while Gert began to see that man more often.

Suddenly one day, Gert informed Freya that she and he were leaving for a long weekend at a mountain resort.

“Of course we are having separate rooms,” Gert reassured her friend.

But Freya would not be put off that easily. In fact, she felt betrayed. Everything they had talked about now came back to mock her. “Who can you trust?” she thought bitterly. And during that infamous weekend, Freya went about in a kind of mourning, wanting to unburden herself to someone, but who?

It was at this point that Hy, her next-door neighbor, whom she had never paid much attention to – a quiet fellow who shuffled about in slippers – came into the laundry room, as Freya’s mind was grinding away on thoughts of Gert.

Freya was wearing one of her faded housedresses, which she saved for laundry days. But he didn’t seem to mind, because after she finished telling him about her disappointment in her friend, out of the blue he said, “So now maybe I can ask you out.”

She turned to him in shock, blinking in the harsh overhead lights. He looked like such a kind, sympathetic person, standing there. She began to pat her hair and smooth her dress.

“I’ve had my eye on you for some time,” he continued, there in the privacy of the laundry room, “but I hesitated. I didn’t want to interfere in your friendship. Maybe a movie? Think about it. I don’t look so bad when I get dressed up. And I still drive at night.”

Freya just stood there, unable to shake off the grip of silence.

Hy went on. “Today I got delivered to me from New York, a chocolate rum cake from my daughter. It’s very good. Maybe you could stop by now for a taste and some coffee?”

She nodded.

He left then, quietly pleased.

When she returned to her apartment, she quickly changed into a fresh blouse and a flowered skirt, combed and fluffed up her hair and added a little lipstick. She looked at her flushed reflection in the mirror.

“I hope I’m not going to become immoral,” Freya thought, as she hurried out the door for some of that chocolate rum cake.

Florence Liberfarb writes poetry, short stories and plays. You may freely republish this story for non-commercial use provided you follow the Publisher Guidelines and provide a hyperlink (electronic media) to the Wordly Web Site. You may not alter the copyright notice or edit the content of this story. Please notify the author of your intent to republish. Commercial use of this story requires written permission and payment of a royalty.

Classmates by Florence Liberfarb

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Poems, Stories, and Plays by

Florence Liberfarb