I drove a cab for a living.

When I arrived, the building was dark
except for a single light in a ground
floor window.

Under such 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. So, 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 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. "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 while the woman was
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.