Spots - a short story by Florence Liberfarb...

Sophie couldn’t understand why she was feeling so restless and irritable lately. She went to see her doctor.

“You’re fine,” he told her, after all the tests confirmed his original opinion. “For your age, you’re in excellent health. Maybe it’s emotional. Are you having enough exercise and recreation?”

She looked at him balefully. Thanking him, she left with her test results and a prescription for a tranquilizer stuffed in her pocketbook. Which she had no intention of filling.

“So I’m okay,” she thought to herself. “What’s to worry about? Recreation, exercise! Alone, now, I’m doing my best. Don’t I do the shows at the Recreation Center, the games, the luncheons, the gym and so forth?”

Lately, though, she was having strange dreams of long gone relatives. For instance, her favorite, Aunt Emma, came to her in a dream one night.

“Sophie, I miss you. Remember the nice times we used to have together? You were always such good company. And the jokes we would come up with. Do you remember? I miss you, sweetheart.”

Sophie woke in a sweat. Was this some kind of a sign? Is this what is happening? Was she dying?

There were other dreams, always in the past. Not that her life had been that exciting. And everything was speeded up. Like time was rushing past her. Or was it running out? She decided she would have to stop eating so much spicy foods, which happened to be one of the bright spots in her life right now.

Speaking of spots, one night she dreamed that red spots broke out all over her body. She wept and moaned.

“Mama, Mama!” she cried out. “What’s happening to me?”

Suddenly, in the dream, her mother appeared, wearing one of those flowered aprons she loved so much.

“Sophie, my love, listen to me. I can’t stay long.”

“Oh, Mama, help me,” Sophie begged.

“I will, I will, but you must do as a I tell you.”

Sophie stopped her sobbing and listened to her mother. Better late, than never.

“Everyday you must do a good deed. And for every good deed you will lose a few spots.”

Suddenly, Sophie woke up and turned on the bed lamp. She pushed away the bed cover and pulled off her nightie. Not a spot. It was just a dream. She tried to laugh about it, but it wasn’t that easy.

In fact, the next night she had the same dream, the same voice of her mother.

“You’re not paying attention,” her mother said. “Now listen good.”

Again, Sophie, upon waking, tried to brush it off. And the following night, another repeat.

“Good deeds!” she thought, “Haven’t I done enough of them already, with the children and their problems, my husband, may his memory be blessed, and his problems and the friends and neighbors with theirs? Didn’t I do enough for my Temple, my clubs, my volunteering and my job? But why go on? And what were my sins that I should break out in spots? Figuratively, of course, but still a real pain in the butt.”

“I feel I’m entitled now,” she went on, “to some rest, some peace. Why do I have to be a do-gooder in my old age? Is that why I struggled all these years to be a survivor… for this? Don’t I deserve now, to sit by the pool, talk with my friends, and eat a piece of cheesecake now and then? In other words, be good to myself. I earned it.”

But the dreams went on. And so did the spots. Only now they began to itch. One morning Sophie woke up and said to herself, “I’ll try it. A good deed every day. What does it cost?”

But how to start? It so happened such opportunities soon appeared and their numbers increased. Before long she found that at the end of each day she was beginning to feel a sense of lightness. She smiled more, without even trying.

Nights, too, were changing. She slept more soundly, with dreams harder to recall. The spots, at last, were gone.

And her dear mother, as usual, was always there for Sophie, whenever she needed her.

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.

Spots by Florence Liberfarb

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Poems, Stories, and Plays by

Florence Liberfarb