Worth

Chapter 1 (Pt 1)

True gifts are rarer than they seem. (Or is it that they seem rarer than they are?) Either way, if you can learn to appreciate them when they come you can live to be quite happy, unless, of course, you're miserable by nature.

Take, for example, the response of a taxi cab to a lady's curb side distress signal in the middle of a first, freakishly early snowstorm. It's a four-wheeled lifeboat; vacancies are hard to come by. A person could argue that the greatest gift in Violet March's life was due to that freakishly early snowstorm, or being born in the northern hemisphere, or the grin and bear it attitude of her ancestors, or Heavenly Fate or the Big Bang, but that taxi cab definitely had something to do with it.

Violet lurched forward from the curb and pulled the cab door handle with hurrying pale fingers. A brown tweed hat fell at her feet and stayed there. The body which had formerly owned the hat, specifically the head, bobbed just over the cab floor at calf level. Violet was so preoccupied with the idea of warmth that she almost forgot to scream. She came through with a short, steam-whistle eek.

"Oh my goodness! Sir, are you all right?"

"Well, are you getting in or not?" the cabbie called, seemingly unaware of any backseat drama unfolding. The old man on the floor began to stir.

"Where? The top bunk?" Violet responded with a lengthy blink.

"Huh?"

"For your information, there's already someone in here." The someone in question was an old man with a white crushed moustache. He attempted to raise himself holding onto the cab seat. Violet bent awkwardly to help him. "Are you okay? Are you – you're not drunk are you?"

"Yes and no," he said with a little difficulty.

"Come on, come on, Lady. It's freezing," the cabbie growled.

"Is it?" said Violet. "I had no idea."

The mysterious passenger, now on his knees, clucked the roof of his mouth. "It is a bit drafty in here." An eyeball on the door was a not so subtle hint for Violet to shut it.

"I don't care if you are drunk," she said as a wintry blast snuck up the back of her coat and delivered an icy goose. She shoved the old codger inelegantly. "Move over."

After some hair getting caught in coat buttons and galoshes squeaking on floor mats, the two fares now took their proper upright positions as far apart as possible.

"You!" The cab driver's eyes flashed dangerously in the rear view mirror.

As dignified as possible, the old man said simply, "I fell asleep. Is that the end of the world? 'Cause if it is I'd rather not spend it here."

"Take the subway if you want to sleep! I don't make money driving people around for free."

"How could you?"

"Out!"

"How could you not know he was in here?" Violet asked, finally relaxing.

"He says take him to the place. He gives me the money. I take him to the place. He looks like he's gone." During this brief explanation, the cabbie also managed to speak to his dispatcher over the crackling radio, punch out a few texts on his mobile, put a fast food sandwich wrap out of its misery and shrug aggressively several times.

"All right, forget it," Violet said trying to soothe. "I'm your fare now. Let's just go." She looked at the old man. "Where were you headed?"

"One-twenty Rothemore Avenue."

"That's the place," the cabbie confirmed, pulling the car out slowly.

"No you're not," Violet said.