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Elise Wilk
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maybe they’ll help us out.
But I don’t think anything
can help our son now.
That guy, Bobby, looked
out the window during the
whole trip. Really, he did.
At one point, his cell phone
rang. I checked to see if it
was one of those expensive
phones. It was. So that’s
how things are, this guy who
almost killed my son had a
state of the art cell phone.
His conversation wasn’t
very interesting though.
Maybe my son would have
a phone like that too if he
were healthy. Even if he had
one of those cheap ones, it
wouldn’t matter, he would
definitely have friends to
call with it. He would have
traveled around in a taxi, just
like this guy does.
I was this thinking like this,
about one thing, and then
another, and before I knew
it, we arrived at the address
where I had to drop this guy
off. Bobby. I stopped the car.
He paid the fair. Then, he
got out, and walked away.
I didn’t say a word to him. I
watched him go. His pants
were splashed with water.
He must have stepped into
one of those street puddles.
My fondest memory of my
son was when he was six
years old and one of his
baby teeth was loose. I tied
one end of a string to his
tooth, and the other end to
a doorknob. Then I slammed
the door shut. The tooth
popped out and my son gave
it to me and said I should
hang it in my taxi for good
luck. Since then, I’ve changed
cars about seven times, but I
always take the tooth along.
It’s brought me good luck.