Burt the Cab Driver
Autumn turns to winter without notice, thought Burt as he pulled out of the yard and into the rainy evening. It had turned cold as night fell and he turned up the heater in the cab. He whistled along with the radio, waiting for instructions from dispatch. Maybe tonight he would be hailed by one of the pretty college girls standing in the rain.
Burt had been with the cab company 25 years, after an accident at the shipyard had ended any hopes he had for retiring as a shipwright. He knew Seattle like the back of his hand, though, and prided himself in being able to deliver his fares quickly without running up the meter.
Dispatch interrupted his thoughts.
"Ready for your first run of the night?" Pam's voice crackled.
"Ten-four," Burt said into the mic.
"45th and Roosevelt- Trina- to university campus."
"Gotcha." Burt pulled out into traffic.
The girl was talking on her cell phone and barely acknowledged him as she got into the cab.
"University campus?" said Burt. She waved a hand at him and continued to talk on the phone. Burt was quiet until she hung up.
"Pretty typical weather were havin', wouldn'tcha say?" Burt tried to be friendly with all of his fares.
"Yeah, rainy." It was clear that the girl didn't want to talk. Burt drove in silence to the campus, collected his fare and deposited the girl out into the rain.
He didn't like it when they wouldn't make conversation with him. Downright rude, he thought. Not like it used to be when he knew a lot of his fares. Regulars going to the markets in Ballard on his day shifts or coming home from late night mass when he had switched to evenings. Once upon a time they would chat about whose son had finally gotten into the university or the daughter with a new baby. Now all they do is talk on those stupid cell phones and wave their hands in my face, thought Burt as he pulled back into traffic.
The night went on as it usually did. Business men headed home after a few at the lounges they frequented after work or students who didn't want to drive drunk. The business men talked some, small talk or chit chat as Burt's wife used to call it. Rosemary had been gone many years now. Long before he became a cab driver, even before the accident at the shipyard.
It was near the end of his shift when he saw her. She was standing in a doorway, flagging him. He pulled up alongside, careful so as not to splash her with the rain that was puddled up in the gutter. She was older than she had looked in the rain. Fifty-five or so, Burt guessed.
"Thank you, the QFC," she shook her head a little and sat back.
"The one at the top of the hill near here?" said Burt. He reached for the mic.
"That's right." She had taken a handkerchief from her bag and was wiping the rain from her face, trying not to smear her makeup. Burt caught her eye in the rearview mirror.
"Lousy weather were havin'," Burt said quickly. He was embarrassed that she had seen him looking at her.
"Typical enough for the area," she said, "have you lived in Seattle long?"
"Most of my life," Burt replied. Seems like a nice lady, he thought. He switched lanes. Rain fell in heavy blotches on the windshield.
"I've been here most of my life, too," she said, "the city has changed so much. Used to be every area had its own little market. Neighbors went to the same church. Everyone seemed to know everyone else..."
