[RF] A Taxi Ride, Alone

As the bright lights of the city passed by the window, I traced my finger around the outline of the door handle, and the surrounding soft felt of the interior. I often had to call a taxi on the way home from work, and this evening was no exception. This taxi was nice and quiet, no loud buzz of the engine or annoying driver determined to exchange awkward small talk. Apart from the routine pleasantries at the start of the ride, we’d both been silent. Jumping through the window, beams of every colour pierced and flashed the glass, and along with the natural hum of a drunk and rowdy crowd that looked to be overflowing from distasteful bars and clubs. I always saw myself above these places. I sneered, and adjusted my glance. The looming orange street lights carved harsh shadows within the taxi, overlapping with the vibrant gleam of street signs, windows, and adverts, forming a kaleidoscope in the backseat.

These busy streets full of light trundled on, and I continued to watch the jolly groups of lowlifes upon them. All of them seemed elated - laughing, chatting, drinking, shouting, getting along. They burst onto the pavement, populating it in close circles of conversation. They weren’t actually too far from my window. If I grabbed the handle and rolled it down, I thought, I could certainly reach out and touch them. I was very close. I sat on this for a moment. I nearly rolled down my window. I decided not to, and just as I did, I felt something. A drop of something that can only be described as sadness fell right upon me, hitting me directly in the chest, seeping through my skin and forming a sad wet puddle at the bottom of my heart. This devastated me. I was not used to this, at all. I had decided long ago I was above this. I clutched my chest and bore the weight of the puddle within.

The rest of the taxi home was certainly unpleasant. I could admit to that. All I managed to see out of the window was sharp and stinging reminders of the puddle, and though I clutched hard, it was difficult to ignore, despite my trying. I wrapped one hand around the door handle and sat there. Much of whatever I saw out of the window was an obscure mess, a hazy outline and flashes of every colour, but mostly grey. I was certain I’d felt far lighter at the start of the ride. 

Before long, as the taxi home was much faster than the train, I started to recognise and pinpoint the streets and houses, and each turn the driver took. A warmth rushed through me, and my vision seemed to clear up. I leant over and asked if he could stop whenever he could, and he grunted in response. I fell back in my seat and the leather squeaked. The car spluttered, and I heard the bang of the curb as the taxi rested diagonally on it. I picked up my bag, weakly tapped the taxi driver on the shoulder and murmured a thank-you. I gently closed the car door behind me, nodded to the cloudy driver's seat window to say thank-you again, and made the short walk back home.