Seize the Night - a short story by Florence Liberfarb...

How could such a thing happen, missing the last bus home? After her friends had left the show at the Recreation Hall a little early, not only did Beatrice stay until the last drum beat, but she then had to go back for her sweater.

Now outside, she saw the dim rear lights of the bus as it lumbered off into the night.

She could call a cab, being frugal; she asked herself if this was really an emergency. She walked often, but not so far and not at night. Ignoring voices that said, remember your age and don’t over do it, she put her sweater on and decided on no taxi. There were other walkers, as well as an occasional car that sped by.

But as frisky winds began to play tricks with shadows that seem to jump out at her, she quickened her pace. Unfamiliar sounds of night creatures also hurried her along.

Beatrice couldn’t remember when she had been alone like this, so late in the evening. Yet, it was the same moon, the familiar stars.

How differently she had experienced the night when she was young. A long-ago memory surfaced, as she distracted herself from her apprehensions. A warm summer evening and his name was Leo Cohen. He had just returned home from the Service. After a long walk they sat down on the steps of a school building, not totally deserted and with fear just as absent.

They talked and laughed and kissed, enjoying the closeness of being together and alone. Suddenly she had kicked off her shoes.

“What are you doing?” Leo asked.

“I want to feel the grass on my bare feet,” she said.

It did feel wonderful, cool and wet with dew. She began to dance, improvising as freely as any wood nymph. When she finished she sat beside him, but before she could reach for her shoes, he took out his handkerchief and began wiping the wt grass from her feet.

A sweet innocent time. But Leo with his family moved away shortly and they did not stay in touch. How could she remember it as freshly as if it were yesterday? Maybe because there are still moments when that dance lives.

So many happy, after dark times she recalled. Suddenly she heard footsteps approaching. She wanted to turn around, but didn’t dare. Silly to be nervous. There were still cars passing, and across the street a couple in serious conversation were walking.

Someone called out to her.

“What’s your hurry?”

It was a man’s voice. She realized now that she should have taken a cab after all.

When he caught up with her Beatrice saw an older person, like herself, a little out of breath. The two of them stood there, alone in the moonlight.

“Great evening for a stroll; isn’t it?”

Beatrice, her mouth dry, merely nodded. He noticed.

“I hope I didn’t frighten you,” he said. “Jack, the Ripper, I’m not. Also, not the Midnight Strangler. Just someone out for a walk, who wouldn’t mind a little company. Do I look like a mugger to you?”

He really didn’t

“I guess I was little surprised. It’s so late and I missed the last bus,” she explained.

“I see. Well, I’ll walk you home, if you like. You shouldn’t be afraid, you know. The night is very beautiful.”

They began to walk together.

“It’s my favorite time to be out,” he continued. “Especially when there’s a moon. All very magical; don’t you think? The way the trees are silhouetted against the sky. You know, when the day ends something else takes over. Something that taps into our ancient, very ancient past. We become aware of a lifetime beyond memory. A primitive time.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way, but it makes sense,” she said.

She enjoyed the sound of his voice.

“Am I walking too fast?” he asked.

“No, I can keep up with you,” she said, ignoring the pinching shoe.

Suddenly he stopped.

“Listen… Can you hear nature singing? It’s a strange, yet familiar rhythm.”

They began walking again.

“By the way, my name is Leo. What is yours?”

“Beatrice,” she told him.

He must be weaving some kind of magic spell, because she asked herself, “Could it be? Could it be that boy Leo?”

“Leo Cohen?” she asked.

“No, Kaufman.”

When they reached her place, she thanked him.

“Maybe we can do this another evening,” he said, waiting.

“Maybe,” she answered.

Next time she would wear her sneakers.

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.

Seize the Night by Florence Liberfarb

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Poems, Stories, and Plays by

Florence Liberfarb