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| The Taxi Ride |
When I drove up in my taxi cab at 2:30 a.m., the
building was dark except for a single light in a
ground floor window. Under these circumstances,
many taxi drivers would just honk once or twice,
wait a minute, and 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 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 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 t o 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, 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. '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
wheel chair.
'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, and 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.
building was dark except for a single light in a
ground floor window. Under these circumstances,
many taxi drivers would just honk once or twice,
wait a minute, and 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 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 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 t o 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, 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. '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
wheel chair.
'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, and 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.