There were noxa0clocks on the walls, no knick-knacks or utensilsxa0on the counters. In the corner wa a cardboardxa0box filled with photos andxa0glassware.
‘Would you carry my bagxa0out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcasexa0to the cab, then returned to assist thexa0woman.
She took my arm and we walkedxa0slowly toward the curb…
She keptxa0thanking me for my kindness. “It’s nothing”, Ixa0told her, “I just try to treat my passengersxa0the way I would want my motherxa0treated’.
“Oh, you’re such a goodxa0boy”, she said. When we got in the cab, she gavexa0me an address and then asked, “Could you drivexa0through downtown?”
“It’s not thexa0shortest way,” I answeredxa0quickly.
‘Oh, I don’t mind,” shexa0said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a
hospice”.
I looked in the rear-viewxa0mirror. Her eyes were glistening. “I don’t havexa0any family left,’ she continued in softxa0voice. “The doctor says I don’t have veryxa0long.” I quietly reached over and shut off thexa0meter.
“What route would you like mexa0to take?” I asked.
For the next twoxa0hours, we drove through the city. She showed mexa0the building where she had once worked as an
elevatorxa0operator.
We drove through thexa0neighborhood where she and her husband had livedxa0when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up inxa0front of a furniture warehouse that had oncexa0been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as axa0girl.
Sometimes she’d ask me to slowxa0in front of a particular building or corner andxa0would sit staring into the darkness, sayingxa0nothing.
As the first hint of sun wasxa0creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’mxa0tired. Let’s go now”.
We drove inxa0silence to the addres she had given me. It wasxa0a low building, like a small convalescent home,xa0with a driveway that passed under axa0portico.
Two orderlies came out toxa0the cab as soon as we pulled up. They werexa0solicitous and intent, watching her every move.xa0They must have been expecting her.
Ixa0opened the trunk and took the small suitcase toxa0the door. The woman was already seated in axa0wheelchair.
“How much do I owe you?”xa0she asked, reaching into herxa0purse.
“Nothing,” Ixa0said.
“You have to make a living,” shexa0answered.
“There are otherxa0passengers,” I responded.
Almostxa0without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. Shexa0held onto me tightly.
“You gave anxa0old woman a little moment of joy,” shexa0said. “Thank you.”
I squeezed herxa0hand, and they walked into the dim morningxa0light… behind me, a door shut. It was the soundxa0of the closing of a life..
I didn’txa0pick up any more passengers that shift. I drovexa0aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of thatxa0day, I could hardly talk… what if that woman hadxa0gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatientxa0to end his shift?
Whatxa0if I had refused to take the run, or had honkedxa0once, then driven away?
On a quickxa0review, I don’t think that I have done anythingxa0more important in my life.
We’rexa0conditioned to think that our lives revolvexa0around great moments.
But greatxa0moments often catch us unaware-beautifullyxa0wrapped in what others may consider a small
one.
People may not remember exactly what you did or what you said, but they will always remembers hopw you made them feel.
You won’t get any big surprisexa0in 10 days if you send this to ten people. But,xa0you might help make the world a little kinderxa0and more compassionate by sendingxa0it on andxa0reminding us that often it is the random acts ofxa0kindness that most benefit all ofxa0us.Hot this week
