The Cab Ride - very touching !

[Ebrahim Rashid]

May bring a few tears to your eyes........

Subject: The Cab Ride

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT 'YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, ~BUT~THEY
WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

Take a minute to read this, good story

THE CAB RIDE

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. 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, and 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 80'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 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, 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.

"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, sayin g 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 soo n 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.

Nothing will happen if you just delete this but you
might help make the world a little kinder and more
compassionate by sending it on.

Thank you, my friend...

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

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