We danced in the living room like sweaty psychos, like dervishes, like saints. It was a Saturday, a flaneur day, a bright light night day and we were going downtown. Our voices were loud from being young and the music made them more so. "Did you call a cab?" we all shouted. "Yes," one of us said.
We piled into the taxi and sat on top each other. We were all laughing like we didn't know or care where we were headed, but we weren't lost, no we weren't lost. "Red River and 7th" said the backseat and that too was funny. "Cesar Chavez and Sixty-Nine!" said the backseat and no, that wasn't funny, but we all laughed.
The taxi hadn't moved yet. "Really, Red River and 7th would be perfect," I said. And then there was silence. The cab driver stared forward, eyes dead ahead. "Yes, I think I could do that," she said. The taxi still hadn't budged and we didn't know whether to laugh or be calm too, and so we said thank you. She said, "You're welcome," and then explained, "It's a little test I do to see people's reactions, to predict my tip. A sense of humor is important. Humor is a way people are able to ease the fear of death we all share." She let up on the brake and we were off.
We made eyes at each other but kept our mouths shut. "Yes, I've been driving a cab for fourteen years, and humor is what saves me, saves all of us. Jokes, practical jokes, antics and pranks are created in order to be funny. I once saw a stand-up comedian, but I don't remember the punchlines."
Our driver spoke, uninterrupted, for the remainder of the trip. "Taxi driving, when you think about it, is the noblest profession. Because we show up where we are needed. Because we accept strangers, allow them our company, and let them trust us with their lives. Each taxi ride is a brief, vehicular community. Our souls strapped together with seatbelts. But I am weary of strangers. And I live with four fish. I once knew a joke about a fish but I forgot it. Humor is very important."
The cab driver's voice was deep and honeyed, like a radio talk show host. She had picked up that way of phrasing, too, and you could hear her searching for her words, as if she was addressing an important audience. "Traffic lights are another one of the sacred mysteries --- controlling the crossing of paths. But when the universe favors you, and you hit that stride of green after green, it feels like flying."
The cab had been stopped since "universe" but she hadn't stopped talking. So we handed her a twenty and tumbled onto the sidewalk. Not able to walk away, I leaned back in through the open window and asked, "Were you able to predict the tip?" The cab driver stared forward, eyes dead ahead. "Tipping can be a measure of civilized society," she said. "It is a gesture of gratitude for a service rendered and the average person will often," we heard her voice continue, alone, in her cab as she drove away.
At that moment, I stepped off the curb, a step closer to where the cab had been, and my foot was swallowed by a muddy puddle. And we all laughed, yes we laughed, and we felt even younger for it.
