barrykind
Advanced Member
Member # 35
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posted
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 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, "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 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.
>
> PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY
> WHAT YOU DID, ORWHAT YOU SAID, ..
~BUT ~
THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW
YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
Pass this on to all your friends.
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.
Thank you, my friend
God knows the author
author to us annoynomus
--------------------
The HEART of the issue is truly the issue of the HEART!
John 3:3;Mark 8:34-38;James 1:27
Posts: 3529 | From: Orange, Texas | Registered: Jun 2002
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