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THE CAB RIDE

 

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.

 

When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., 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.

 

You won't get any big surprise in 10 days if you send it to ten

people.

 

But, you might help make the world a little kinder and more

compassionate by sending it on.

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

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I know a few people who should get this.

 

Michele Robles

 

> You won't get any big surprise in 10 days if you send it to ten

> people.

>

> But, you might help make the world a little kinder and more

> compassionate by sending it on.

>

> 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.

>

>

>

>

>

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