It was raining just so.
Like a melody I knew well, but couldn’t place. The kind I wanted to hear over and over again for the rest of my life.
I was crossing a bridge in a cab at 1am. I was alone with a cab driver.
There was water all around. A river beneath and the rain above.
The windows of the cab were speckled with gorgeous rain drops that shined with the city lights. It was like a painting that would never stay the same, no matter how much you wanted it to.
It was blurry, but it was beautiful.
I had just left a group of friends and Mr. H was out of town. I never do this anymore…stay out late on a school night.
But, this was a night I would never forget. One that changed me, from one side of the river to the other.
My thoughts were rampant. I had to say goodbye to an old piece of me that night, a wild piece that no longer existed.
And this transformation all happened in a cab with a guy I didn’t know.
Even now I couldn’t tell you what his name was. But he had a Russian accent. That I can remember.
We got to talking about the usual which turned into the unusual. These things happen in the middle of the night.
Somehow we got onto art, writing in particular. I told him about my struggle with writing novels full-time…I don’t know why. When you’re talking to a stranger, one that you’re paying for a short period of time, there is safety in that.
Also, I knew that he would understand. He was a professional listener after all.
You see, every cab ride I’ve taken late at night has been like jazz music to me. Slow, other-worldly—honest and sexy.
Toward the end of our ride, we talked about robots. Yeah, robots.
Again, these things happen in the middle of the night.
The cab driver told me that soon cabs would be taken over by robots. And while that would have made me snicker ten years ago, it doesn’t now.
I said: “It’s a damn shame.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, because I’ve always loved cab conversations.”
He said: “Thank you.”
I swiped my card and tipped him well. Then I shut the door and he drove away. The cab vanished behind a thick veil of misty Portland rain until it was just me standing alone on my curb, trying to balance in my boots.
I stumbled inside to write this gibberish in my journal. I almost forgot about it until I came across it. The writing was sloppy, almost not mine.
But the story was pretty special.
Like a melody I knew well, but couldn’t place. The kind I wanted to hear over and over again for the rest of my life.
This was the song I had stuck in my head that night… “All Things to All Men” by The Cinematic Orchestra featuring Roots Manuva. I played it while I wrote this blog post.
Strangely enough I found the perfect video on YouTube that has Russian subtitles—the language of my cab driver.
Pretty amazing world we live in. We’re not all that different, are we?
Britt Skrabanek 
What a lovely piece of writing Britt, a magical slice of time. Reminded me a lot of your night time Prague portrayal, something that probably couldn’t happen a second time except in your head. Great post.
Thanks so much, Roy! Oh, man. I love that Prague night time scene. Don’t you just love the way we can create our own world’s sometimes?
Reblogged this on Back On The Rock and commented:
Intriguing piece of prose here by a fellow blogger and author Britt from Portland, Oregon.
This is wonderful, Britt. Such a beautiful piece. I will be waiting for the movie. 🙂 Thanks to our friend, Roy, I was lucky enough to read this. Thanks Roy!
Aw, thank you! So awesome that you stopped by, Jill. Roy’s a real gem.
Evocative account of that night ride for you but also sums up a type of taxi ride that we have probably all taken, at least once.
Totally, Gallivanta. Mr. H and I have had several memorable nighttime taxi rides together over the years. This was my first one alone, and I was in awe.
I’m envious. Why are your cabbies so much cooler than mine? More than half the cabbies I’ve been with tried to hit on me and made me very uncomfortable.
That said, this piece was written absolutely beautifully. Your words were magical!
Haha, Zen! I must admit, I haven’t taken a cab late at night by myself…ever. I’ve been married for so long that I always have Mr. H around. I was a little nervous and totally expecting to be hit on, but I had an awesome cabbie who struck up deep conversation.
Thanks, love! I had an emotional writing hour.
I’m dating myself here, but the poetry of your words and the images they evoked brought to mind Harry Chapin’s “Taxi” from the 1970s. There must be something about the combination of the night, the intimacy of the enclosed space, and the frame of mind that triggers the desire to express the event creatively….
You can date yourself here any time, honey! I never heard that song before, but I really love it. That’s perfect…thank you for letting me in on the taxi song.
I need to do things like this, because I think it would help me with character development. But, I’m too shy and terrible at small talk. I love how you can just be so open and warm, Britt. It’s a beautiful thing.
Kate doll, I used to be the absolute worst at small talk. My talkative, social husband has brought me out of my shell over the years. I find it really interesting to talk to strangers now. I don’t do it with everybody, but I find myself joking and telling stories to more people than ever before.
Thank you, sweetness. That’s a lovely thing to say. xo
Beautiful Britt, I was right there in that cab with you. My wife used to be a taxi driver and that’s how we met, so they’ll always have a special place in my heart 🙂
Thanks, love! That’s such a cool story. Riding in a cab is a whole other thing for you then!
[…] of you may recall a post I wrote in the spring last year called 1am in a Cab on a School Night. Strangely, it was one of the most popular posts I’ve ever written on this […]