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Twenty years ago, I used to drive a cab for a living.
I drove the night shift. Passengers climbed in, sat
behind me in the dark, and shared stories about their
lives. Then, they opened the door and left, and I never
met them again. During this time, I encountered people
whose lives amazed me, inspired me, and made me laugh
and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked
up late one August night. I was responding to a call
from a small block of walk-up flats in a quiet part of
town. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m. the area was
deserted and the building was dark except for a single
light in a ground floor window. I honked twice and
waited. But no one appeared. Under such circumstances,
many drivers usually drive away. But I had seen too many
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 needed my assistance. I reasoned to myself. So I
walked to the door. Just as I approached, the door
opened. "Just a minute," I heard an elderly voice call
out. I could hear something being dragged across the
floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A woman in
her 80's stood before me. She was very thin and
frail-looking, and was supporting herself by holding on
to the door. By her side was a small 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 knick-knacks or utensils on the
counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with
photos and glassware. "Would you please carry my bag out
to the car ?" she said. I took the suitcase to the
cab, and then returned to assist the woman. She took my
arm and we walked slowly towards 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 son," she
said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address,
and then asked, "Can you drive through downtown ?"
"It's not the shortest route," I answered quickly.
"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on
my way to the St John's Hospice". The St John's Hospice
was where dying people went to stay to be cared for till
they passed away ! I looked in the rearview mirror. The
old lady's 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. "Sure, Ma'am. Just tell me where you want to
go. By the way, my name is John," I said. For the next
two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the
building where she had once worked as a secretary. 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
restaurant, where she had gone to celebrate her father's
birthday as a girl. Sometimes, she would ask me to stop
in front of a particular building 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
porch. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we
pulled up. I opened the trunk and took the 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. I did not pick
up any more passengers on that shift. I drove aimlessly,
lost in thought. What if that woman had got 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 ? Thinking back on my life, I don't
think that I have ever done anything more important than
drive this old lady about the town. |
