The Cab Ride
THE CAB RIDE
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab
for a living. When I arrived at 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 80's 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 rear-view 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.
~Unknown~
Posted by donnyjrmail
at 5:40 PM PDT
