I TEACH MEMOIR, a job that includes teaching others how to write a personal essay. I’ve written them for NPR’s All Things Considered, among other places. Here is one of those. Read it, and then ask me questions about how to write a personal essay of your own for publication.
I WAS SINGLE, living in Manhattan, and that morning it was a particularly unglamorous life. With a snapped ankle, a cast and crutches, I thought that no holiday cheer was worth cantilevering the flights from my brownstone apartment. And then the phone rang.
My hostess was insistent. Her son would come into Manhattan and fetch me. I couldn’t let him. And I couldn’t say no. Through the decade it took to lose my mother to Alzheimer’s, these were only people who each year invited us to holiday dinners. And now, it would be my first holiday alone.
No, I’d get there, I promised. I’d take a cab.
The only thing in my fridge I thought worth bringing was a six-pack of imported beer. Into a bag, over my shoulder it went and, balanced on my crutches, facing uptown traffic I felt like little more than a grimace in a skirt. Especially as cab after cab sped away without me after finding out I was going to Queens—not a short trip. If I’d had a lonelier hour in New York I don’t remember it.
Finally, slumped into a back seat, I wept over the Triboro bridge. At Shea Stadium we got snarled in the molasses of holiday traffic.
After a while I looked at the photo on the cabby license and realized the driver was probably about my age. We were going nowhere and the silence was awkward. I offered him a beer and we sat in the traffic by Flushing Bay for more than an hour, having our holiday drink, talking. An actor, without family, far away from home, he had volunteered to work the holiday so other cabbies could be off. When we finally got to Queens, my friends swarmed out the door, fearing, I guess for what had happened to me.
“You have to come in,” said my host to the cab driver.
When he got out of the cab I caught sight of the unfortunately placed hole in the backside of his old sweat pants and hobbled close behind him as camouflage.
Inside were the sounds and smells of the day: Football, ice in glasses, the cacophony of a family gathering its wits for the big production number. My hostess noticed the hole in his pants and offered the cab driver the most comfortable chair in the house and then a seat at the table and later, one on the couch to watch the Giants. What I noticed were all the old friends from my community who kept streaming in to say something to the nice cab driver who had brought me home for the holidays. And who had stayed for dinner.
That night on the ride back I sat in the front seat and Manhattan never looked so much like a candleabra-ed banquet laid out from the Bronx to the Battery. The meter was off. In fact, the fare for the trip out was canceled. He helped me out of the cab and up my stairs. Didn’t give him my phone number; he didn’t ask.
Two weeks later, I was still laid up. Around dinnertime my buzzer rang. It was one of New York’s finest cab drivers delivering a hot meal for me. Nothing more, but more to the point, nothing less.
This piece aired on NPR’s All Things Considered. I offer it here as an example of something I have published or aired in hope it will inspire you to submit your work.
Faith Paulsen says
A beautiful very New York Thanksgiving memory. Thank you for sharing it. Wishing you and your family a beautiful Thanksgiving!
marion says
Thank you, Faith. Hoping your holiday was blessed with laughter and family.
Judith says
Marion,
Thanks for posting this beautifully written piece. Why is it that great kindness always gets me verklempt? Wishing you a Thanksgiving enjoyed with family, friends and good food. There really is so much to be thankful for.
Warmly,
Judith
marion says
There is so much to be thankful for. You are absolutely right. And hoping your holidays give you much peace and joy.
Jennifer says
I love that story from your book, Marion. Thank you for re-posting it. What a lovely Thanksgiving memory.
marion says
Thank you, Jennifer. I could not resist posting it again. It always makes me smile in remembrance of that time. Hoping your holidays are joyous.
Dale says
Perfect ending.
marion says
Thank you, Dale. I’m deeply honored that you think so. Thanks for stopping by, particularly during the busy time of the Thanksgiving holiday.
Carole says
That was a beautiful story. I am so happy I paused to read it and take it in. I just purchased your book. It sits on my stack of my most precious memoirs.
I look forward to reading more stories.
Lyrysa Smith says
Great story. It dove right in and used up all my senses. Thank you for sharing it.
Katherine Stevenson says
Every time I read this beautiful story, I find myself smiling while at the same time tears stream down my face. You have such strength of reaching the reader at a soul level. Thank you.
Liz Raptis Picco says
Marion, you zeroed in on what’s truly important by transporting us to that day with your marvelous voice! Mil gracias, Liz
Sue Katzen says
I so enjoyed your story Marion. Just yesterday I commented to a cab driver, “You must meet a lot of interesting people.” He said “we don’t meet, we encounter.” I shared that many a day a cab driver has lifted my spirits with good conversation, his includeded. One of the reasons no doubt NYC has been home for 30+ years.