The Last Cab Ride
Since this was going to be the last fare of his shift, he thought about just driving away, but instead, he put the car in park, walked up to the door, and knocked.
‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. He could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90s stood before him. She was wearing an old bluish sweatshirt as well as an old grey warming jacket. She looked like somebody out of a 1940s B 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. He took the suitcase to the cab and then returned to assist the woman. She took his arm and they walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking him for his kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, he 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.’
They got in the cab, she gave him an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’ ‘It’s not the shortest way,’ he answered quickly. ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.’
He 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.’
He quietly reached over and shut off the meter. ‘What route would you like me to take?’ he asked.
For the next two hours, they drove through the city. She showed him the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
They drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.
She had him 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 him 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.’
They drove in silence to the address she had given him. 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 they pulled up.
They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
He 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,’ he answered. ‘You have to make a living,’ she said. ‘There are other passengers,’ he responded.
Almost without thinking, he bent and hugged her. She held onto him tightly. ‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ He squeezed her hand and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind him, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
For the rest of that day, he could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if he had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, He didn’t think that he had ever done anything more important in his 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 very small moment.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.