THE CAB RIDE
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab
for a living. 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 a taxi 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.
PEOPLE MAY NOT
REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID,
OR WHAT YOU SAID, ~BUT ~ THEY
WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU
MADE THEM FEEL.
AUTHOR . . . UNKNOWN |