The Last Ride
I arrived at the address and honked the horn.
After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last
ride of my shift, I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car
in park and walked up 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 asked.
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 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 girl.
Sometimes
she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and she 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 are 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.
