Virtues in Motion

Noticing the time being unusually late, fear rushes through me at the thought of not cashing my check in time. I must get to the bank. Time shows no mercy beneath the face of the watch that my Irish Grandfather gave me.

As the cab pulls close, to a slow stop, I see a new driver sitting behind the wheel. Opening the door, a cold gust punches its way past me greeting the two men in the back. A man, in his early twenties, is in a fancy green suit with a dollar sign bowtie, as if he is already waiting for me. Another man, who appears to be ageless, is in piercing white, staring out the rear passenger side window. I cannot tell if he is in deep thought or indifferent to the surroundings.

“Wow that’s cold!” A faceless voice yells, “Hurry up...Get in!”

 I hop in the seat and fight the door against the aggressive wind. “Are you new?” I ask the driver almost rhetorically.

“Why yes, I am... what gave it away?” She chuckles.

I am unsure of an answer, so I change the subject. “Where’s the typical driver?” I request.

She informs me, “Oh, he got called to another cab…I’m taking over this route.”

“Huh,” I say.

We start moving in a different direction than my normal route home. There are buildings and locations I had never known about; it is like I am on a tour of a part of the town I didn’t know existed.

The man next to me interruptedly shoves his hand out towards me, as if suspense is holding him back, and says, “Hi. I’m Bill…Bill Green to be exact.” His fake and wide smile outshines his bright green suit.

On a clipboard, the driver starts scribbling words I cannot see. The movement of the pen seems to last longer than would be for writing down a pickup confirmation and a couple of checkmarks.

My focus turns to the odd man, his hand is still in the air awaiting my acknowledgment. Continuing to talk, while I shake his hand, he says, “I’m coming from Gilead and Baum; I work at the stock market …”

Ignoring our conversation, the driver intervenes; “Destination?”

“It is supposed to be home but…” I inform.

Interrupting me, Bill says, “So you look like a man who likes money.” I assume he figures this based on the expensive wristwatch that my father gave me and the jacket I bought with my last paycheck.

Rubbing my jacket, overkilled with famous faces like singers and rockstars, I tell him, “You could say I have goals.” Although I make more than needed to survive, I still desire more from my mountain job. When attempting to explain to people how to ski (either they do not listen because they are too excited or in a rush) they lose their footing or end up in the hospital which makes my job harder. Their immature performances threaten my job. My existence on those ski slopes depends on their success. Frankly, I only exist because they exist.

“Your job is directing people in which direction to go?” The driver bluntly asks.

“What gave it away?” I reply, holding out my ID from my lanyard. Her abrupt silence suggests my chuckle is a mockery to her. My intention is for her to laugh, not be angry. Who knows how long I would ride with them, or again in the future…? “What is your name?” I ask, curiously redirecting the conversation.

“Funny story to that...My name is Evo; supposed to be Eva though. On the birth certificate the lowercase A, that my mother wrote out, was mistaken for an O.”

Sensing as though there was much more to her story I respond, “My name is Alexander…nice to meet you Evo.”

Approaching a stoplight, and jotting more on her clipboard, she gets interrupted by a call. Answering the phone she announces, “Evo here...but sir...okay.”

“Where are you going Alexander,” she asks me without meeting my eyes in the mirror.

Attempting to answer her, “I would like to stop...”

“Maybe I could help you with your goals,” Bill abruptly continues, ignoring the driver.

“Hey Bill, I have to make a stop before the bank...” Evo says as she peers from under the brim of her baseball cap into the review mirror. Not noticing it before, I see her nametag and it is blank.

Not taking it too seriously, I turn to Bill and start “I would love to hear more about...” until the man in the back abruptly joins the conversation.

“Don’t forget to drop me at the hill of the University before the bank Evo!” Turning his focus to me, while adjusting his glasses he replies to something I said a while back, “What kind of goals should mankind have right now?”

Continuing a conversation that presumably started before my existence in the cab, Bill says, “Well first off, money is what matters in this world; without it, we can't have anything. With extra we can have more than we need; with excess, we can have almost everything.” Hearing him say that my self-image grew at the thought of getting everything I wanted.

“I may have to disagree with mixing existence and money Bill,” Phil debates. “Money cannot exist without Mankind; that makes its existence irrelevant. Also, it would take a population to carry the meaning of money…if only one person knew it existed, and recognized it as having value, there would be no other person to share its meaning with or believe its value. Money’s value would not exist unless that one person could convince more than themself. The excitement you show towards money is based on the desire to improve your identity of self. The materialistic things, and the process of getting them, are only a short-term pacifier for ill self-image. It’s like placing a marble in an empty puzzle piece space, and saying it fixes the emptiness of the puzzle when realistically, it is just a substitution…an unsettling and unfulfilled one…”

I sat forward stunned by what the guy said. I get a good look at his face to see if he is truly serious. As the cab comes to a stop sign, it causes my face to push against the barrier behind Evo. I notice books and the clipboard on her passenger seat out of the corner of my eye. Barely identifying Darwin as the book in the passenger seat, the bundle of floppy papers, that are curled from excessive writing, covers a majority of the book.

Readjusting myself, I catch her periodically glancing at us. “What do you think about those ideas Evo,” I say, inviting her input. Glancing in the mirror again I see her urge to answer me.

“Change changes; just as nature is natural. We are born as everything else is in this world and change just as naturally...Money changes us, life changes us, every experience changes us large and small...change is inevitable,” she inspirationally states.

“Take a left on Washington St, Right onto Modern Ave, and take a right onto Mammon St and the bank is the second building on the right. Its name is The Bank of Providence,” Bill says.

 I have never been to this bank before.

Taking my check out, I look at it and shove it back in my pocket.

I notice Evo raising her eyebrow at Bill, but I do not question it. The cab stops suddenly. Realizing we stopped in front of the man who was referred to as a “quick stop” after Evo’s phone call, words of an unrecognized language, on the sleeves of a black hoodie, parade down his arms. PORTADOR DE MUERTE, surrounded with uncountable skulls, shouted at me in red lettering. He was carrying a newspaper and a dark, detailed walking stick.

She reaches across and opens the passenger door to let him sit. His atmosphere feels mystic as the captain chair seems to throne him. “Azrael?” She confirms.

Phil impulsively asks me, “What exactly is the meaning of your job?” I was unsure if his question was in relation to the new passenger.

“I work as a ski instructor…I guess people like to take chances and explore dangerous opportunities,” I repeat. It sounds almost rehearsed. Instinctually trying to avoid attention drawn to me, I speak quickly and quietly.

“…And success takes money,” informed Bill, loudly, “…and I help people make that; this world would not be beautiful without it.” The timing of his delayed response and emotion imitates an Epiphone.

Phil, offensively refers to pathos; “Nature is more a creator of beauty than money!”

“I'm referring to examples like beautiful people walking out of salons, and spending money on themselves...I’m talking about money IMPROVING beauty…I will always believe in money!” Bill argues.

I realize Evo must have moved her book and clipboard over for Azrael to sit. It is now on top of the middle console’s arm rest, and I had a clear view of it. Surprisingly, sentences that we said earlier in the cab drowned her clipboard papers. My knowledge of it made goosebumps sprout on my back.

Phil states, “You will be the one to continue reasoning behind destruction of self-image and life itself!” His words appear on the clipboard as he speaks.

I watch as she puts the life and voice of the clipboard in Azrael’s hands. The folded page falls open as he slaps the

newspaper on the dash. The obituaries page slaps me with shock. Investigating further with my eyes, a date for a couple of days ahead appears on the top of the page. How could he have a paper of the future?

Looking to him for directions, she says, “Where to?”

In a distant muffle I can hear him say, “The Bank of course.”

I am focusing with my eyes and not my ears. I see pictures of the two men Bill and Phil, in the newspaper. There are photos of the two of them together at the university in town. As the newspaper naturally falls to another page, an article about an avalanche is revealed. As the cab stops hard, the newspaper falls to his lap. With sweaty hands, I pull out my check. I wonder if cashing my check will somehow lead me to this fate.

Without words, Azrael taps on the window with the stick and stares at Evo. Seeing the smirk, he gives her, I clench the check in my pocket and close my eyes hoping my ride will never end.