In his rearview mirror, the cab driver saw a puny child, a boy, crawl into the vast back seat. Ted, the cabbie, waited while the boy settled himself, clipping his seatbelt securely over his birdcage ribs. Looking out the windshield again, Ted fiddled with the a/c, frusterated by the tickling bead of sweat on his brow. Checking the rearview mirror again he was startled to find the boy gazing at him patiently.
"To the Parliament Buildings, please."The boy's voice was smooth and strong compared to his frail body.
"Don't you have parents or something we should wait for?"
"My dad died when I was a year old and my mother died two days ago. " His eyes met Ted's, lacking tears but deep ghosts of purple hovered under them. Whether they were from grief or malnutrition, it was hard to tell.
Ted pulled his bullshark of a car into the line of moving metal monsters. Cutting up streets and around parked cars, he realized he forgot to ask the kid if he had any money.
"Hey kid,"
"Timmy."
"Timmy, how old are you?"
"Ten."
"You don't look it. Don't you ever eat?" He said this quite gruffly, slightly regretting sounding so harsh. The boy barely noticed.
"When my father died, we lost everything. My mom did what she could but she was uneducated and had a hard time finding jobs. Legal ones. And no one will hire me yet. Mom got sick, bad, and then we had no way of feeding ourselves. She's dead now."
He had repeated that last comment, like he was securing it as a fact.
His eyes followed the entrancing yellow line again. Ted's mouth flopped into a frown. Not being able to feed yourself, let alone your son, the guilt would drive you mad. He actually prayed the illness took her before she could lose her mind. Ted was often quite tactless. Used to growing up in a harsh world ; he was a blunt man. Today, around this boy, he held his tongue to all of the thoughtless questions he had. Possibly being around this frail boy or knowing of his situation subdued his harsh curiosity. Yet he couldn't hold bad some.
"Shouldn't you be at a funeral or something?" Atleast his voice had lost its gruffness.
"Couldn't afford one."
The boy sad in the back seat, hands clasped together, staring at the surrounding buildings. His eyes were black holes, sucking up the passing images yet processing nothing.
"Don't you miss her?" Ted blurted out.
" Of course!" Timmy's face finally showed something, a touch of surprise.
"Then why are you going to the Parliament Buildings? This isn't exactly the time for you to be sightseeing." Ted was also sure that Timmy was supposed to be in some sort of orphanage.
"I'm going to do what my mother should have done. Protest. My father worked hard for the government and because of some technicality, we couldn't get his life insurance. Not only that, but when she got sick, they did nothing for us." His solemnity when he spoke, the words drove them home like glass shards in the flesh.
Ted wasn't sure the boy's notions were completely accurate but he seemed to have an unreasonably bad life. He also believed that the boy and his place in life would raise a lot of stink in the media.
Ted eased the sleek road warrior up to the curb flanking the mammoth, antique buildings. Turning around in the driver seat, he faced the boy.
"Hey kid, Timmy, who's taking care of you now?"
"Some orphanage, near where you picked me up."
"Timmy's arms matched his knobby legs like birch branches. His hair flipped over one eye, the hacked ends brushing one angular cheekbone. This image burned into Ted's rough heart and he almost wished he could adopt him. Unrealistic he knew, he just barely made it himself in this rough city.
"This ride's on me, I just want you to give them a hell of a scare with your protest."
Timmy nodded, his eyes hardened to glassy black beads. He reached out to open the car door.
"I wish I could do more. Do you want my sandwich? It's not much." He felt a bit frantic, trying to find something fo make up for not being able to save the boy.
" No thank you," he replied so politely, "I'm not hungry. Not anymore."
He climbed out of the cab, closed the door and waved to Ted from the sidewalk. Ted waved back and watched the boy turn his back to him and march away on his spider-thin legs.
Ted sat there for a moment before turning his mobile beast back onto the road. He'd be making a call to a buddy he had at a local news station five minutes later.

My Old Lady

I can't say old people are for me.
Nope, the majority of the time, they down right scare me.
That proves to some extent that my sister and I differ from one another.
She loves old people without a scrap of fear. It's something I can't fathom. Not only that but she'll wipe their bums without hesitation. I might not fear that but I probably couldn't stomach it.

There is one geriatric old lady that I adore. She drools like a mad woman, has one pidgeon foot, is lumpier than an old couch and seems to believe the old adage, " a firm bed is a good bed."
At 84, I think she's doing quite well. She'll do anything for a tasty treat and she still loves her walks. Her ears even bounce when she's feeling particularly energetic.

My old lady might not be the typical geriatric but the only fear I have for her is making sure she keeps all four feet securly on the ground.

In Loving Memory of Fidelle ~ Died August 10th, 2009