 THE CAB RIDE
When I
arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a
ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just
honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away.
But I had seen too many impoverished
people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a
situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be
someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
So I walked to
the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could
hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the
door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print
dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s
movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if
no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters.
In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry
my bag out to the car?" she said.
I took the
suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we
walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's
nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my
mother treated". "Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.
When we got in
the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through
downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't
mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".
I looked in the
rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she
continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached
over and shut off the meter.
"What route
would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two
hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once
worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and
her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a
furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as
a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building
or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the
first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's
go now."
We drove in
silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small
convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two
orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and
intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened
the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated
in a wheelchair.
"How much do I
owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said.
"You have to
make a living," she answered. "There are other
passengers," I responded.
Almost without
thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
"You gave an old
woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her
hand, then walked into the dim morning light.
Behind me, a
door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers
that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I
could hardly talk.
What if that
woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick
review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We're
conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great
moments often catch us unaware--beautifully wrapped in what others may consider
a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT
REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID,
~ BUT ~
THEY WILL ALWAYS
REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
Graphics by Media, story submitted by Gloria Lambert,
Tanya's Toys - email
tanyastoys@gmail.com
http://www.thedogplace.org/PROSE/cab-ride.asp
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