Miss Mannes - a short story by Florence Liberfarb...

Sibyl Mannes was brought up to be polite at all times. Her mother insisted upon it.

“I want you to be a perfect, little lady," she told Sibyl, over and over." Just because we have to live in Portland, Maine is no reason why you can’t grow up with elegant manners. “Isn’t that right Ira?”

Sibyl’s father hid behind his newspaper or a book, while her mother gave instructions on etiquette. This often happened at mealtime, when dinner conversation had to include, please pass the butter or, may I have more asparagus, please? And no one was allowed to leave the table until the meal ended without a, may I please be excused now? Followed by a reason.

As a grown-up, good manners came as naturally to Sibyl as a hiccup. Her brother, who had a speech defect, escaped most of the exactitude of her mother’s lessons.

Many years later, when Sibyl retired and began to winter in Florida, she was surprised by the lack of courtesy she encountered.

“I suppose I must set a good example. How else can I justify my mother’s life?”

While she was waiting, with several others for a bus outside the supermarket one day, she had her first opportunity. Most of the shoppers were laden down with heavy bags. Sibyl imagined this happened because, like herself, they must have got caught up in the vastness of the market, amid enticing smells and sights, and were carried away in the excitement, their resistance ebbing, as the reached for this and that no-no.

When the bus drew up to the curb Sibyl noticed one quite elderly lady, in particular. She was carrying a very hefty, bulging shopping bag. Sibyl didn’t hesitate.

“May I help you?” she asked, reaching for the woman’s bag. Unfortunately, the lady misunderstood, because she immediately became alarmed, holding tightly to the bag and yelling, “thief!…thief!…thief!”

She had a very loud voice for someone so seemingly frail, and was about to swing her umbrella at Sibyl, when the bus driver intervened.

It was all very embarrassing. While Sibyl stood in shock, the other passengers silently boarded the bus, glancing at her warily, some with sympathy.

Her next experience, although less dramatic, was not necessarily a success either. It happened one afternoon, while walking to a friend’s house that she noticed a strong odor of gasoline as she passed a parked car.

Thinking that the car must have a leak, she felt it was only proper to inform the owner. She checked the number in front of the parking space, then rang the doorbell.

A man opened the door, dressed in shorts and an undershirt.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I was just passing by and I noticed an odor of gasoline coming from your car. I thought you might like to know. Perhaps there is a leak somewhere,” Sibyl told him.

“Lady,” he said, evenly, “If you must know, I missed slightly when I was getting gas this morning. So, thanks but no thanks. And if you’ll excuse me, I’m eating my lunch right now.” And he closed the door smartly.

Sibyl still kept to her course, although not as often as before. Some of the challenge and adventure had gone out of it.

Another day, not long after, she was on her way to the recreation building, carrying craft supplies in both arms.

“Some days life can make a person a little weary,” she sighed.

As she approached the entrance, a lady walking just ahead of her was opening the door. She turned, and seeing Sibyl weighted down as she was, held the door open for her. Sibyl smiled gratefully.

“Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome,” the lady said, smiling back.

Sibyl walked down the long corridor, thinking how it really didn’t take much to turn a person’s day around.

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.

Miss Mannes by Florence Liberfarb

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Poems, Stories, and Plays by

Florence Liberfarb