The cab ride

[Guest guest]

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life,

a life for someone who wanted no boss.

 

What I did not realize was that it was also a ministry. Because I

drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional.

Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me

about their lives.

 

I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me

laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up

late one August night.

 

I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet

part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some people who

had been partying, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover,

or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the

industrial part of town. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building

was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.

 

Under such circumstances, many drivers 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 80s 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, " Can 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 rearview 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.

 

~Written By Kent Nerburn

 

Ram Chugani

Kobe, Japan

rgcjp