kicking the back of my seat impatiently, to the beat of pop song on the radio. “Why do I need to work so hard for twenty years to pay for your school fees, your life, and every bloody meal you eat? When this is how you act? Like a brat who doesn’t even know who her elder is?” Not even five minutes later, the children are giggling about some funny billboard sign with a celebrity on it, making jokes about twerking or something or other. The mother just sighs and shakes her head, despite the small smile staining her cheeks. “You think you are so good, so smart – you think you know bloody everything,” he spat the word smart as if it wasn’t the word he had been teaching me to aim for for the past 20 years; as if it wasn’t something that had tortured and shaped my brain like words in his mouth. I couldn’t tell, then, if he was talking to me or himself. The high-pitched sneeze of the eight year old cuts through the air of the cab, and she rubs at her gaudy-red nose after through the sniffles. I laugh as I catch the pig face the twelve year old makes at me through rear-view mirror, and he smiles up at me, then, extremely proud of his achievement. ‘‘‘
I knew I had to be the one who apologised first after the fight, but the truth of his statements stabbed at me, and I couldn’t bring myself to wonder if I really was worth more than a speck of dust, after the hardships of his life. Instead, I dropped out of uni, got a taxi license, and moved out. Driving was calming, predictable. And it was the furthest thing I could think of from studying Medicine, so that’s what I did.
How Much Will The Ride Be?
11
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It was the crunch of tarmac under rubber that signalled the end of our journey. The last passenger of the day was, although not unexpected, something of an enigma. Hidden from the dim glow of the street lights, the woman’s face looks softer than it did before. The puffy redness of her cheeks had faded back to painted, unblemished skin, and her gimlet eye was nothing but a gentle glint. She looks at me, through the rear-view mirror, and asks politely, “How much will the ride be?” I pause, and wonder if she had always been like this. If she had always hidden underneath the layers of civility and emptiness, after having her heart cut out. It wasn’t her fault; it was never her fault;
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