The Taxi Man By Christine-Marie Dixon

August 18, 2014 Comments Off on The Taxi Man By Christine-Marie Dixon

She’d been waiting all day for the Taxi Man to come. The Taxi Man drove around town and the local people knew better than to ask him for a ride. No one was entirely sure what the Taxi Man did. Some people said he was an undercover cop. Some people said he sold dreams. Children were frightened into eating their vegetables and going to bed on time because if they didn’t, the Taxi Man would get them (or so their mothers said).

When the Taxi Man finally showed up down the street, she was nervous. What would she say? Should she go up to him and introduce herself? No. Better to keep it professional.

“Good afternoon,” she said.

The Taxi Man put down his window. “Aren’t you going to shake my hand?” he asked.

Her hands were full and she told him so. “Besides,” she said, “I’m in a hurry.”

“Can I offer you a ride?” His smile seemed genuine, but she had been warned about his charm.

“It’s kind of you to ask, but I think I’d rather walk.”

The Taxi Man had run into this kind of hesitation before.

“Look,” he said. “Just come in. We’ll talk. If you want to get out, you can get out.”

Nervously, she got into the car.

“You ever done anything like this before?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Just keep driving.”

After a while, they arrived at their destination. The Taxi Man looked at her boxes. “You think you’ve got enough stuff there?” he asked.

She just got out of the car and walked into the shabby cabin. “I’ll be inside in five minutes,” he told her.

She changed her clothes and lit a few candles. When the knock on the door came, her voice only shook a little as she said, “Come in.”

The Taxi Man took off his shirt, quickly tossing into the corner then picking her up in the same motion. He carried her to the bed, and after forty-five minutes of rickety rocking, he suddenly pulled away. She didn’t say anything, so he got out of bed and put on his discarded shirt.

“Thank you,” she said. She pulled up her dress, shuffled through her purse, and handed him a check.

“You need a ride back?” The Taxi Man was more than precise — he was also polite.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

The Taxi Man walked out, and she quickly gathered her things and left.

© 2014 Christiner-Marie Dixon

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