The Yellow Cab

A yellow cab pulled up to my neighbor’s westward facing house. From my window, I saw the driver step hesitantly out of his vehicle, yet walk surely on to the steps of the front porch, then to the door, and I swear I heard the bells of heaven: 'Ding-Dong, Ding-Dong' reverberating repeatedly through my curious brain, wondering ‘Why does this small man insist on disturbing my old friends?’ My tall neighbor heeded heaven’s call as she answered the door. Immediately she was met with the light, yet so very heavy burden of a personally delivered letter. The driver’s arm was halfway stretched, the envelope was white as a fuselage. In it came, and into the grip of my neighbor who was clearly unprepared for such an arrival. Her slightly shorter husband showed up and stood at her left side. Another letter was drawn from the driver’s pocket, just as white. Like its predecessor, it came in slowly, only this time shakier; the driver’s hand looked like it was ready to snap clean off from its joint. His wife opened the envelope with a look of pure disbelief, anger, and humiliation. I think she knew what this was. She read the text and collapsed to the ground in heavy tears. Her husband descended just as heavily, trying to contain himself. But such composure has gone, as they both conceded to weep in the mire of dust that lay on their porch where their boy had greeted his parents after stepping off that yellow school bus, and who years later would embrace them before entering a yellow taxi. The driver walked away with grief branded upon his tanned face.