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 asked softly.
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 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.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Coincidence that this cab driver was the one who came for the old lady?
I'd like to think not.
This was a small miracle, adding a touch of grace to both lives.
Last night, for the first time in months, I went to a Philo Cafe meeting.
[Sidebar: I had attempted to go, on a rainy night, back in February. As I had told Hai, "Drats. I cannot find The Foundery. There is def a joke that could be made, but it's true. Drats."]
The topic, posed by a new entrant to the group, a new entrant who also happened to be in training for Episcopalian priesthood, was "A Post-Christian Society". This week's meeting, on a rainy night as luck would have it, was also at The Foundery, a place I now well-knew how to find (thanks, bfe!). The Foundery happens to be a coffee shop opened by someone at my church.
Coincidences abound!
Or, does it just seem that they do because I am attuned to look for them?
Perhaps.
The conversation took various turns. Comparisons of populations of people in Walmart and in churches on a Sunday morning led to similarity of beliefs and features of those at a particular church (which brought to my mind the rule about solubility: "like dissolves like"). That line of reasoning led to demographics and marketing studies, as conducted for national churches, as well as the growth of splinter churches to serve specific niche populations.
Finally, we philosophers turned to the teachings of Christ for guidance. Were we, as a society at large, trying to treat each other kinder, to minister to each other's needs, to do what we could where we could? Was the world a better place because of the example set by Christ and taught by his disciples?
I hope so.
I believe it is.
I try.
The cab driver certainly followed that path.
He had a choice in the matter and he chose the decision which benefitted a total stranger.
In the end, his choice also benefitted him.
I do hope that when I am an old lady, I will find someone like that.
Meanwhile, I try to step out of my head and into other's shoes.
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