words to think on  

Gossip_Anyone 40F
974 posts
6/22/2006 4:49 am

Last Read:
6/30/2006 9:33 am

words to think on

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One night I got a call
to pick someone up.

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 young 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, OR WHAT YOU SAID, ~~~
BUT~~~THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

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.


alamo1235 58M
995 posts
6/30/2006 9:23 am

Awesome Post.

Soooooooo true.

Thanks for sharing it.


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