The Taxi Ride

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 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 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.


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

if you send this to ten people. But,

you might help make the world a little kinder

and more compassionate by sending.

it on and reminding us that often it is the random acts of

kindness that most benefit all of us.


Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here, we might as well dance.