After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90'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 's 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. 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. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?
I'm on my way to a hospice. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. The cab driver felt his life was enriched after the 2-hour ride ended. Cab drivers are extremely busy people throughout the day picking up clients, and this one too was completely exhausted by the time it was his last ride.
He pulled up to the house and honked, but nobody came out, and it was after a while when he went up to the door and rang the doorbell. An old lady answered and said she was coming to the door, then he heard sounds of shuffling feet and something being dragged to the door. The door was finally opened and the house looked as though no one had lived there in years, and as if it belonged to another era.
It was barely furnished and all the furniture was covered in sheets. I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated. After she got in, the cab driver got antsy to get to where she wanted to, the woman asked if he would be willing to drive downtown.
He realized it was her last drive and he saw her fighting back the tears in the rearview mirror. Read below. I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. 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. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. 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.
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.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. 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 drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.
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