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“The Fare”
He could tell
right away
her night
hadn’t been a
good one
struggling to keep
her composure
as she gave
him
an address in
the Hollywood Hills,
her face showing
signs
of a new
scar
left on her
heart
fresh tears
that haven’t yet
carved a path
of least resistance
down her cheeks,
he wanted to
offer her
some kind words
but he always
tripped over his
good intentions
a heart full
of compassion
but a mouth
that didn’t know
how to spit
it out
so instead
he tried to
think of her
as just another
fare
a fifteen minute
cab ride
and she would
be
out of his
life forever,
her face hidden
now
in the back
of a shadow
as she sat
in the cab
the bright Hollywood
lights
drawing it out
of seclusion
one frame
at a time
each colored flash
of neon light
revealing a woman
slowly drowning
in her own
emotions,
she begins to
whimper
her hands folded
in her lap
sitting up straight
no longer trying
to hide her
feelings
mucus running from
her nose
while stoically posed
on the taxi’s
backseat
accepting her fate
as if staring
down
a firing squad,
he watches her
in the rearview
mirror
each intersection
he passes through
briefly illuminates
her face
from a new
angle
a thousand
different faces
of pain
each one
tearing at his
insides
before slipping back
into the dark,
her upper lip
quivering
uncontrollably
she makes no
attempt
to wipe away
her tears
or snot
both running over
her mouth
in streams
her eyes
never once
meeting his
in the rearview
mirror
staring at some
imaginary fixed point
straight ahead,
he pulls off
the larger surface
streets
driving now
through the darker
residential roads
her crying becomes
more vocal
her body
starting to shake
as they get
closer to her
home,
he leans to
the right
to check traffic
his eyes catching
her folded hands
on her lap
each tightly squeezing
the other one
her way of
bracing herself
against the
on coming waves
of torment
sweeping through
her,
he turns left
onto her street
her composure
rapidly deteriorating
he pulls up
in front of
her house
but before he
can tell her
the amount of
the fare
she holds out
a wad of
tangled up bills
unable to steady
her out stretched
hand
the bills fall
on to the
front seat
when he tries
to grab them,
as soon as
she gets out
of the cab
she breaks wide
open
crying hysterically
as she walks
to her front
door
he just sits
there
watching her try
and work the
lock
slamming her fist
against the cold
polished wood
of the door
when she can’t
get it open
he waits till
she is finally
able to slide
her key into
the lock
then closing the
door behind her,
he pauses a
minute more
as his shame
washes over him
then starts to
drive off
a scattering of
worn out bills
still on the
seat
besides him,
he only makes
it a block
before pulling over
turning off his
lights
opening up the
driver’s side door
he leans out
into the night
and starts throwing
up his evening
meal
all over a
manhole cover
on a dark
Hollywood Hills
street
before wiping his
mouth
with his sleeve
and heading for
his next fare
on the 8300
hundred block
of Santa Monica
Boulevard…
Tom Allen…12-08-2018…
He could tell
right away
her night
hadn’t been a
good one
struggling to keep
her composure
as she gave
him
an address in
the Hollywood Hills,
her face showing
signs
of a new
scar
left on her
heart
fresh tears
that haven’t yet
carved a path
of least resistance
down her cheeks,
he wanted to
offer her
some kind words
but he always
tripped over his
good intentions
a heart full
of compassion
but a mouth
that didn’t know
how to spit
it out
so instead
he tried to
think of her
as just another
fare
a fifteen minute
cab ride
and she would
be
out of his
life forever,
her face hidden
now
in the back
of a shadow
as she sat
in the cab
the bright Hollywood
lights
drawing it out
of seclusion
one frame
at a time
each colored flash
of neon light
revealing a woman
slowly drowning
in her own
emotions,
she begins to
whimper
her hands folded
in her lap
sitting up straight
no longer trying
to hide her
feelings
mucus running from
her nose
while stoically posed
on the taxi’s
backseat
accepting her fate
as if staring
down
a firing squad,
he watches her
in the rearview
mirror
each intersection
he passes through
briefly illuminates
her face
from a new
angle
a thousand
different faces
of pain
each one
tearing at his
insides
before slipping back
into the dark,
her upper lip
quivering
uncontrollably
she makes no
attempt
to wipe away
her tears
or snot
both running over
her mouth
in streams
her eyes
never once
meeting his
in the rearview
mirror
staring at some
imaginary fixed point
straight ahead,
he pulls off
the larger surface
streets
driving now
through the darker
residential roads
her crying becomes
more vocal
her body
starting to shake
as they get
closer to her
home,
he leans to
the right
to check traffic
his eyes catching
her folded hands
on her lap
each tightly squeezing
the other one
her way of
bracing herself
against the
on coming waves
of torment
sweeping through
her,
he turns left
onto her street
her composure
rapidly deteriorating
he pulls up
in front of
her house
but before he
can tell her
the amount of
the fare
she holds out
a wad of
tangled up bills
unable to steady
her out stretched
hand
the bills fall
on to the
front seat
when he tries
to grab them,
as soon as
she gets out
of the cab
she breaks wide
open
crying hysterically
as she walks
to her front
door
he just sits
there
watching her try
and work the
lock
slamming her fist
against the cold
polished wood
of the door
when she can’t
get it open
he waits till
she is finally
able to slide
her key into
the lock
then closing the
door behind her,
he pauses a
minute more
as his shame
washes over him
then starts to
drive off
a scattering of
worn out bills
still on the
seat
besides him,
he only makes
it a block
before pulling over
turning off his
lights
opening up the
driver’s side door
he leans out
into the night
and starts throwing
up his evening
meal
all over a
manhole cover
on a dark
Hollywood Hills
street
before wiping his
mouth
with his sleeve
and heading for
his next fare
on the 8300
hundred block
of Santa Monica
Boulevard…
Tom Allen…12-08-2018…