The
last cab ride
I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a
few minutes, I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my
shift I thought about just driving away, But instead I put the car in park and walked up 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 90'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 1940's 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 to be treated.' 'Oh, you're
such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address
and 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 in a soft
voice… '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 ofa 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 answered. 'You have to make a living,' she said. '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, and then walked into the dim morning light.
Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life... 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.
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