A Moment of Joy

Twenty years ago， I drove a cab for a living. I met many people whose lives amazed me， made me laugh and weep.

But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.

That night an old woman rang me up and asked me to pick her up in her apartment.

Soon I drove there.

“Could you carry my bag out to the car？” said a small woman in her 80s. I took the suitcase to the cab， then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm， and we walked slowly toward the cab.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. When we got in the cab， she gave me an address，“Can you drive through downtown？” “Its not the shortest way，” I answered quickly. “Oh， I dont mind，” she said. “Im in no hurry. Im on my way to a hospice[救濟(jì)院]. The doctor says I dont have very long.”

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

For the next two hours， we drove through a tall building where she had once worked as an elevator operator and the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived. She had me stop in front of a ballroom[舞廳] where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes shed 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 shining on the horizon， she suddenly said，“Im tired. Lets go now.”

After some time we came to a low building， like a small nursing home.

“How much do I pay 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 grasped her hand， then walked into the dim morning light.

I didnt pick up any more passengers that day. I drove aimlessly， lost in thought.