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The Cab Ride (worth reading)
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AIDSRi-@aol.com
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Oct 04, 2004 13:15 PDT
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May your day be truely blessed.
Robert
www.spokebusterforaids.org
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This year, I rode 1000 miles in 13 days to make AIDS history.
Photos from the AIDS LifeCycle and the Paradise AIDS Ride are now posted.
It's not too late to join the fight. Visit my website to learn how.
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<HTML><FONT FACE=arial,helvetica><HTML><FONT COLOR="#000000" FACE="Geneva" FAMILY="SANSSERIF" SIZE="2">May your day be truely blessed.<BR>
<BR>
<BR>
<BR>
Robert<BR>
</FONT><FONT COLOR="#0000FF" FACE="Geneva" FAMILY="SANSSERIF" SIZE="2"><A HREF="http://www,spokebusterforaids.org">www.spokebusterforaids.org</A></FONT><FONT COLOR="#000000" FACE="Geneva" FAMILY="SANSSERIF" SIZE="2"><BR>
-----------------------<BR>
This year, I rode 1000 miles in 13 days to make AIDS history.<BR>
Photos from the AIDS LifeCycle and the Paradise AIDS Ride are now posted.<BR>
It's not too late to join the fight. Visit my website to learn how.<BR>
</FONT><FONT COLOR="#000000" FACE="Geneva" FAMILY="SANSSERIF" SIZE="2"></FONT></HTML>
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From: "Guy Reynolds" <ssn-@comcast.net>
To: <Undisclosed-Recipient:;>
Subject: Fw: The Cab Ride
Date: Sat, 2 Oct 2004 09:08:52 -0700
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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, then drive away.
But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on
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taxis
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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
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if
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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
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the
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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
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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, 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
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life.
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I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove
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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.
Thank you, my friend....
Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we
might as
well dance. Every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself
that it is
special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift
from God
....................................................................
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