Author Topic: Dear Lyft Driver  (Read 74 times)

Offline Kowboy

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Dear Lyft Driver
« on: November 06, 2018, 07:35:18 AM »
Dear Lyft Driver:

You picked up a sobbing man on Sunday morning at 5:15 a.m. He managed to mumble ďItís my nieceĒ or some such thing as he instinctively covered his face in the Tennessee darkness while tossing his luggage into your trunk. He did a fair job of stifling his tears and composing himself in your back seat although a flat out wail for a bit may have been a quicker and better release.

He had traveled from his home in Sarasota, Florida, to see his theater-geek niece Valerie play Titania in a local production of Shakespeareís A Midsummer Nightís Dream. His flight from Tampa to his layover in Chantilly, Virginia, was diverted to Richmond due to the weather closing Dulles International Airport. After the EMTís removed a panic attack victim from the plane, the airline announced that because the Richmond airport was so small, that 10 other planes also needed refueling, and that it took 40 minutes to refuel each plane, any other passengers that wanted to leave may do so. Considering his fear of being trapped on a plane and his claustrophobia, it was an easy decision to join 3 seatmates in a plan to ride share the two-hour drive to Dulles. 40 bucks apiece including tip.

While in the car, he got a text from the airline. He would miss his delayed flight to Nashville. He phoned Mariott reservations and got a room, but when he got to the hotel, they were booked up and he had foolishly told the reservation agent he didnít need an email confirmation. Another ride share and another Mariott and he had a room for the night. Another phone call and he had a flight to Nashville at 5:00 p.m. the next day, arriving at 6, the play starting at 7:30. His head hit his pillow at 1:30 a.m.

In the morning, the Mariott shuttled him the quarter mile to the local mall where he walked and watched the children play in the play area. That always makes him smile. His plans for a day in Nashville ruined, he found the forced time-killing to be surprisingly relaxing and needed. He got to the airport early.

His plane touched down at 7 p.m., not at 6 as promised. Heís going to miss the first half of the show. He decides to not tell his niece he didnít see the whole thing, but then overhears the guys behind him speaking about the time zone change they just flew over and that their cellphones hadnít calculated yet. It is 6. He will make the show on time. His relief is palpable. The woman at the will-call tickets stashed his luggage under her desk when he arrived at 7:38 p.m. His ass hit his seat and the curtain opened.

Tatiana owns the stage at her entrance. Stage presence has never been a weakness of Valerieís. Her voice is strong; her articulation flawless. She moves with a graceful confidence. He is about to explode with pride and can barely contain himself to his seat.

At a late dinner that evening, he sat next to her, her boyfriend Sam opposite. Sam was reluctantly recruited to play Snug and did a fine job for a beginner. Valerie is still wearing her exotic Tatiana makeup, but has lost Tatianaís very low-cut are-those-things-gonna-pop-out-of there costume. With the exception of Sam, they have a few too many drinks, he tells her he loves her, and chokes up in the restaurant. He loves her too Sam; you have to share and he was first.

He spent the night at their place in the spare bedroom. Guessing which one it is, he tapped on their bedroom door at 5 a.m. They both got up long enough to say goodbye. Valerie drove him and his luggage to the front of the apartment complex to wait for the Lyft driver. They had a serious private catching-up conversation with the heater blasting away the cool morning. Standing in a final embrace as the driver turned in, but itís more than he can take. All the struggle to get there, the great performance, and the brevity is just too much. He canít stop the wounds to his guts and they spill like his tears to the asphalt.