Bob Beckman found this story -- thanks Bob! I'm posting it on his behalf.... - Dien





Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.* It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss.* What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry.

Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving onfessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives.* I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep.

But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night. I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town.

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 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 80s 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 and 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 a hospice".

I looked in the rearview 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 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.