The chirping of birds always brings a sense of serenity to me. It might have something to do with their high pitch noises, the act of attracting mates or to warn any others not to trespass in their territory. None the less, it really gives me closure. I’ve been an advent bird-watcher as of late, and I’m glad I picked up on the hobby. Seeing them perched up in tress and suddenly flying away seems all too mesmerizing. The thought of just leaving and setting yourself free from everything is an ideal dream I would love to have…but it’s just that, a dream. There’s too much that anchors me down for me to just up and leave, especially after what happened recently. Just imagining what would might happen to me if I did that really puts fear deep down in my heart. I can’t leave my relatives behind with all this bullshit; they’ll be targeted as collateral if I did so. I learned to never run away from your problems…as tempting as it may seem sometimes.

I’ve been sitting on this bench waiting for a cab to pull up for a good 45 minutes now. It’s a bright and sunny day with a busy street to say the least, but I was never that kind of guy to appreciate that. I spent a majority of my time watching people. Oh yeah, aside from bird-watching, I people-watch too. You’d be surprised what you’ll see in people if you take a moment to observe. Not just their actions, but through communication too. You can tell from a short encounter where their mindset is at. Most times it’s not in a very bright space, other times I catch myself becoming envious of their pure-hearted and righteous ways; although I can only blame myself for that. No one in the world can make you a happier person than you allow yourself to be. From my experience, I can tell in a short conversation when time is up and it’s my cue to leave before I start getting irritated with whomever I’m talking too. But it’s proven to be hard when writing in a cab, as most drivers want to kill time by yammering your ear off. I can understand why that is though. They sit all day in a junky car with nothing but the radio to drown out their own thoughts of existential crisis. No one in the world dreams of just becoming a taxi driver and cap off there. I get it, you want to know the kind of lives the people you’re giving rides for have, but most times we prefer you to just keep driving and mind your business unless we initiate the conversation.

After some time, I finally raised my hand towards a taxi I spotted that’s neck deep in the herd of cars of prime time traffic. This was honestly the worst time for me to be called on this case. I stood up sternly and waved the driver down to be sure he saw me. I won’t necessarily resolve to racism if the driver refuses to get me, but its lingering idea every black-American subconsciously has. Surprisingly enough the driver managed to squeeze its way through the clutter of other angry drivers without so much as causing one to honk. It was impressive honestly; this person must have years of experience in this. They pull up next to me and I jump into the back seat. I always analyze any new environment I’m lump into and this car was astoundingly neat. The seats were clean, the ceiling wasn’t peeling off like every other taxi car, and it reeked of spices mixed with a hint lemon. I adjusted more into the seat before speaking.

“Hey man, can you just head towards Millennium Park?”

The driver turns their head slightly towards me in an effort to make any form of eye contact. It was a young boy with deceptive young features. Not a trace of prominent hair except the peach fuzz he has on his upper lip. He was Indian, or brown, whichever is the most correct what to describe him. He also had big light brown eyes that were welcoming to anyone having a bad day. “Hello friend. Would you just like for me to drop you off anywhere near there?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you when to stop.” He seems like a pretty good guy. His age is a big mystery though. I could ask him just to deflect any future questions he might ask me. It’s a good method to engage someone if you, yourself, don’t allow the person to engage you with remedial questions. “Hey, can I ask for your age? You look rather young for a taxi driver. Most of them seem to be either old, grumpy, or out of shape…or all three.”

“Oh, I’m 19 sir.”

“19? Oh really? Well you’re the youngest driver I’ve ever had. I bet a lot of people ask you that question too, huh?”

“Ah yes, yes they do. I don’t mind it much.”

“What made you want to start driving taxis? Most kids your age would be in college working on a career by now.”

“Well my father wanted me to do this instead. He’s been driving taxi since he was also 19. Well his father, my grandfather, made him do so because he did it as well. It’s a thriving business out here. So many people, so many conversations you can have.”

“I don’t know about that. I’d rather not talk to the majority of the people wondering around this city. I’d also recommend you break this little tradition your family’s got. Throwing away a better career, money, and opportunities to drive strangers around all day? Nah, you can do better. You seem like a smart kid.” Everything got quiet in the car. The traffic held us up, and not just from reaching the inner city but with allowing the conversation to progress any further. Movement is always helpful in these types of socially awkward situations. I didn’t mean to berate the kid on doing this kind of job. When I see potential, I just inherently want the best outcome for whomever. I can fix this. “You got a name?”

“Ahmed, sir.”

“Ahmed huh? Well my name is Donovan.”

“Mr. Donovan…may I ask what you do?”

“Sure. I’m a detective.”

“Do you love your job?”

“…I don’t know.” Okay, he’s trying to make a point. I’m not sure what his angle is, but I know I shouldn’t humor him. “Yeah, I like my j-.”

“No, do you love your job?”

Having to jump from job to job growing up, I can safely say there wasn’t a single job that I loved. Although, there were some that I tolerated. “No…I can’t really say that I do. What are you getting at?”

“Well, if you have a job you don’t particularly love, why work there?”

“It pays rent.”

“But does it pay for your happiness?”

“I’m not sure you said that correctly, but no, not anymore.”

“Well that’s why I do this job Mr. Donovan. It actually makes me happy. Meeting new people and hearing their stories is so amazing. The little conversations I get to have with different people means a lot to me. Some people even say to me that it helps them. Sometimes talking about the problems you have can help ease your mind. Well…that’s what I’ve noticed.”

“I damn well wish I could talk about my situation kid…I damn well wish.” After some time, we eventually arrive within the city. I tell Ahmed to pull over next to the side walk and pay him. I stumble out the car and look over the hood of the car to locate the overpriced apartment building the supposed victim is at. I already know Sebastian is there trying to get things situated; he likes to be punctual with his cases, but not me. I lean back down the car to talk to Ahmed again. “Hey, don’t take what I said before to heart. I was just killing time by giving my two cents.”

“Oh, it’s alright Mr. Donovan. I gave you my two cents as well. I can tell both of us learned a lot from our conversation.”

“Yeah…yeah we did.” I can tell that I might’ve learned a little more than he did, it probably just didn’t hit me yet. I double tapped the hood of the car to see him off and he pulls away only to be stopped soon after by a woman and what I’m presuming to be her daughter. A single mother perhaps…no, I can’t focus on solving that mystery right now. I have something else to worry about and no, not the apparent break-in into this prestige’s painter’s apartment, but how I’ll be able to cut ties with Plague. It’s been a couple weeks now and I still can get that whole situation off my mind. Although if any of this shit happened to you, would it be so easy for you to ignore it?