Sometimes the long wait is worth it

was driving a cab in a suburb of Boston and times were a little slow. No one was making much money and the lines at the cabstand were long. But this particular cabstand was my favorite, because I grew up right down the street. I was sitting there for almost an eternity, getting more and more angry at my lack of income. After all, we only made money when the meter was running. When I finally got to the front of the line I was hoping for a good, long fare. After about fifteen minutes I got a call to pick up at the local supermarket. I was so angry, knowing that this fare would only be a couple of dollars. I was cursing everyone and everything from the cabstand to the supermarket! When I got to the market I saw her, a little old lady with four or five bags. She asked me to put them in the trunk, which annoyed me even more. Something about her voice was familiar but I was too mad to think about it. When she got in, I noticed that she closed the door not with her arm that was closest to the door but with her other arm, reaching across her body. Then I said in a rather gruff voice, "Where to?" I think she could tell I was upset. When she gave me her address a flood of memories came rushing back. This house was only four or five houses down from my old house, and I knew exactly which house it was and who she was. Twenty-five years earlier, when I was in grade school, my friends and I would always stop at her house on the way home from school for cookies. We could always count on Mrs. Lynch. She always had something nice to say and good to eat. Her husband was one of those guys who was always home but you never saw him. She was in her fifties back then so she had to be in her late 70's or early 80's now. Still spry, and still in that perpetually happy mood. With my tail between my legs I asked her if she remembered me. Well, not only did she remember me, she asked about my brother and sisters, by name, and how my mother was doing, and where did everyone live now, and what was I studying in college, and how many children did everyone have, and a hundred other questions. She told me that her husband passed away five years earlier, and that she lost an arm to cancer. She and her husband never had children and she had a sister in a nursing home. She lived alone. Well, when I finally had her groceries in her house, unpacked, and put away she thanked me and paid me for the fare. I put the best two bucks I ever made in my pocket, said goodbye, and went back to the cabstand to the end of a very long line. Good memories are hard to come by in this day and age,. As I get older they become more important. Maybe some driver here in Tampa Bay will get lucky too.