Whenever You Remember
Have you ever tried to hail a cab in New York City?
Yeah, me either.
I figured it couldn't be that hard so I waited on the sidewalk until I saw one coming my way. I raised my hand like I had seen in countless movies and attempt number one flew right by me.
Attempt number two nearly ran over my feet.
Attempt number three was filled with jeering teens who flipped me off as they sped past.
As I stood and pouted about my lack of taxi hailing skills, I noticed a boy watching me. "Great," I muttered, digging around in my purse for my small pink can of pepper spray. "I can't catch a cab and now I have a stalker." This was something I was used to, strange boys in a strange city. This I could handle.
"Hey!" the kid started walking towards me once he noticed I saw him. His blue eyes were alive with a devilish glow. Or maybe that was just my imagination. "Do you need help?"
"Leave me alone," I raised the can to his eye level and gave him a threating stare. "I will use this. I have before."
"Ahh!" he took a few steps back and threw his hands to cover his eyes. "Don't spray me, I don't want to hurt you."
I cautiously lowered the mace, keeping it in my hand just in case. "You want to help me?"
"Yeah," his face was wary as he peeked out at me from behind his spread hands. "I've been living in New York for ages, I know how to hail a cab."
His thick Irish accent told me he was lying. If he had been living in NYC for as long as he claimed there would be a hint of 'New Yawk' twang in his lilting Irish brogue. Right now all his voice recalled where the sprawling fields of the Emerald Isle, green patches dotted with sheep and wool wearing locals. There was no harsh image of steel in his voice, no crowded sidewalks or hurried fashionable people brought to mind when you heard him speak. But if he was willing to help me, I didn't care about where he lived or why he was lying.
"The key," the boy wagged his finger at me, "is confidence. You can't just stand there and do a little half-hearted attempt." He held his hand up droopily in what I assumed was an impression of me. "You have to step out there like you own the street. Like the cab drivers work for you. Like New York only functions because you want it to function." He had on what I assumed was his confident face. "Now watch me."
"Yes sir," I saluted him sarcastically before slipping the pepper spray back in my bag. He was harmless.
His blue eyes flicked to mine and I gave him a brief nod, a signal to go ahead and do whatever it was he was going to do. He stepped off the curb practically drowning in his own confidence and raised his hand above his head with the stiffness and authority of someone who knew what they were doing.
Which is why I couldn't help but double over in laughter when a cab sped right past him, leaving him in a cloud of exhaust.
"That one was full," he turned to me, his bright blue eyes daring me to contradict him.
"Of course it was," I nodded. "You'll get the next one."
"Yes I will," his Irish accent was laced with determination. "I forgot to mention one key part though."
"Please enlighten me."
"You have to make yourself seen. What I mean is you need to get out a bit into the street, maybe wave your arms around slightly. That way they will see you even if they don't want to."
I got comfortable on the sidewalk, crossing my arms over my chest and not bothering to hide my smirk as I watched the blonde kid try and fail over and over again. With each wave of his arm he stepped further into the street, making it impossible for the cabs not to notice him.
