THE CAB RIDE
By Author Unknown

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,
and 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. 
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.