Twenty years ago, I drove
a cab for a living.
When I arrived at 2:30
am., 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.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER
EXACTLY WHAT 'YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, BUT
THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER
HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
Life may not be the party
we hoped for, but while we are here we might
as well dance. Every morning
when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special.
Every
day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift from God.
The cab ride: Author
unknown
Wow! Enough
said! Walk the talk!
Have a story to share? Send it to me: Rich Hoback