By Matt Porter
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.
At the bottom of this great story was a request to
forward this. I deleted that request because if you have read to this point,
you won't have to be asked to pass it along you just will...
Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are
here we might as well dance
__________
Matt Porter, Captain/Owner
at JACKPOT FISHING CHARTERS. Just a child of God trying to get through this
life with some grace, integrity and dignity....trying.
