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After a while, My Eyes Turned Back to the Driver, Perhaps to Ask Something, but I Stopped from Speaking Because the Driver was Gently Wiping a Tear from Her Eye – A Gesture Tender and Meaningful, Dimming all Prior Images and Thoughts of Her into this One Gesture

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In Jersey City, on that early morning, still wrapped in the darkness of winter, the Uber driver arrived right on time, but did not leave the driver’s seat or make any offer to help me with the luggage, but only opened the trunk from the front seat.

As a senior, I struggled to put my two suitcases in the trunk – a small car, a small trunk space – but I finally managed it, a little annoyed, making a mental note to always add “Senior will need help with luggage” to my Uber requests.

I opened the passenger rear seat door and eased myself into the relatively small space and felt, with appreciation, how warm the interior of the car was, and how luxurious the warmed seat felt after waiting outside in the cold winter air.

Soft, slightly jazzy/bluesy music filled the inside of the car – female singers, melodic and beautiful – and a subtle enticing scent filled the space within, perhaps an air freshener, or perfume – not used to override or hide any unwanted smell, no, but just one that seemed to complement the driver – who I could now see – a slight, pretty young woman with long very black hair.

She turned and greeted me with a quiet smile of welcome – genuine, honest and warm, yet reserved. My annoyance left me. For she reminded me of my daughters when they were younger, all now much older than this young woman. Then the smiling faces of my high school granddaughters came before me, younger than the driver, but not by much it seemed, maybe five years at the most. And with my granddaughters’ smiles – giddy, questioning, wise and, yes, at times, hard – still illuminating my eyes, I thought of this young woman with a now gentle grandfatherly concern, “Oh, this child, this little thing, out in the world by herself”.

She confirmed I was going to the Newark International Airport and to Terminal A – yes, a 6:30 AM flight – today a good day to fly because of the lull in the holidays, and now a good time to leave for the airport because of the light traffic in the early hours.

As was my habit with Uber drivers, on the way to the airport, I began to engage her in conversation. Was I her first ride, no. Was this part-time work or did she also do something else. No, this was her full-time work.  My questions were light and friendly, her responses the same.

I asked if she lived in New Jersey. She said yes and gave me the town, which I can never remember as I still do not have an adequate mental map of the area – a deficiency due to the fact that with as many times as I have visited New Jersey, I have never driven a car, thus never really having the necessity of developing a mental road map. I knew we were going to Newark on the freeway and eventually had to get off to go to the terminal. That was all I understood and really needed to know.

The last question I asked was if she had lived in New Jersey all her life and she said, no, that she was born in the Dominican Republic and came here when she was three. I told her that two of the last three Uber drivers I have had in New Jersey were men from the Dominican Republic, and they both indicated that there was a sizable Dominican community in the area which they said was nice to be part of. And she smiled and said yes, and then, that was the end of our conversation. Her English without a detectable accent.

On the rest of the way to the airport, I listened to the soft melodic music that was playing, and I looked out the window at the buildings and the light freeway traffic as the sun rose and began to color everything around me in red, pink, and brilliant gold.

It was a pleasant time, one with depth and peace, and I forgot the young woman driver and settled into the warmth of the seat, and the calm of the moment seeped into me. When one song ended, another started, another female singer, soft, melodic, and also beautiful.

I then began to consciously listen to the lyrics – sad, about a love that ended and disappeared, a love which ebbed away from an open heart and now empty arms – or so it seemed – as I never fully remember lyrics of songs or many specifics of deep conversations I have had, but what usually remains is only the images that music and the words of others have imprinted within me. These were beautiful songs.

After a while, my eyes turned back to the driver, perhaps to ask something, but I stopped from speaking because the driver was gently wiping a tear from her eye – a gesture tender and meaningful, dimming all prior images and thoughts of her into this one gesture, this one reality becoming the one defining and remaining image of this entire Uber ride.

In a moment we were at Terminal A, in another, I was on the concrete roadway pulling my luggage from the back of the car. Then, before I closed the trunk, I said thanks and goodbye, and she turned a bit, her face in profile, and in her soft voice, she also said goodbye. I closed the trunk, pulled my bags off the access road, then paused, waited, on the curb, to watch her carefully drive away.

I then turned and dragged my bags into the terminal to start my journey home. On my flight home, I wrote about this Uber ride, this one very tender and meaningful blessing.

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Moments of Seeing & Occasional Pieces – Writing In The Shade Of Trees

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