THE CAB RIDE

THE CAB RIDE

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 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, 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 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, 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.

PEOPLE MAY NOT
REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, ~BUT~THEY
WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM
FEEL.

You won't get any
big surprise in 10 days if you send this to ten
people. But, you might help make the world a
little kinder and more compassionate by
sending it on.

Thank you, my
friend...

Life may not be the
party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well
dance.