I arrived at the address and honked the horn.
after waiting a few minutes 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 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 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 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 a very long time to live.' 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.
