Luke

A short story about one of the heroes we meet along the way

Luke the cab driver was the messiah. He was my savior. He drove the taxi the night my mom had to call someone to rescue us from my stepfather’s latest rampage. Dear old stepdad would soon run out of steam and sleep the rest of it off, but in the meantime, Luke was there to drive us away.

I’d never met Luke before. He just happened to be driving that night.

Luke was an old man, thin, with gray hair and a deeply lined face. Or at least he seemed old to me. I was all of eight years old.

His cab smelled like a pipe. Well, he did, and the cab smelled like him. Not a musty smell, but rich and earthy. Real pipe smoke, not like cigarette smoke at all, not the way my stepfather reeked of cigarettes. Cigarettes are a run-down factory, an abandoned trailer park, a burned-out school. Pipes are the earth.

The upholstery in the car had lived a life. Some holes here and there. Coverings. Luke himself had one of those beaded seats for his comfort. He must have spent a lot of time in it. We lived in a small town, and Luke had probably run into everybody at one point or another. A good chunk of the residents must have gotten rides.

I know there was conversation. I remember Luke being very concerned that my mom was so upset. She was never one for control. I don’t think she was able to tell him where to take us. So we drove around town for a while.

There wasn’t a lot of town to drive around in. We probably made the same circles a few times while my mom cried and tried to answer questions without breaking down. There were offers to take us to the police station or even the hospital, but my mom would break down again and frantically beg not to be taken there. The fear of my stepdad’s response to her reporting him to the police was greater than the fear of, you know, regular beatings. What he called her medicine.

I would get some medicine, too. Oh yes. I got my share. But he always seemed to go for her first. And worst. I don’t want to talk about what he did to me. Not right now.

Luke offered to let me sit up front, and I very vividly remember him making a grand show out of how against the rules it was, but he offered, and I climbed over from the back seat.

Evening was coming in. There was still some light, and I remember the clouds… they seemed thick, and so random that the randomness of them was almost a threat. They were hard to read, like trying to figure out my stepdad’s mood when he got home from work. Maybe it would rain. Maybe it would storm. Maybe they would just sit there and make you anxious, and then finally blow away.

It’s funny the parts of memories I can pick out from the rubble of the stuff that’s been smashed and buried. I remember Luke telling me his name then, and I remember him talking about the sky.

“It’s too bad there’s so many clouds,” Luke said. “Always like to see stars when I’m out.”

And he explained about constellations. He said some stars were all bunched together and looked like things, including one, he explained, that was a “big old spoon.” He thought that was funny, that God would put a big spoon in the sky. “Woo, what was he thinkin’ about?” He seemed pleased when I laughed at that. I was old enough to know he was talking down to me, but he did it with such well-used warmth and leathery grace I didn’t care. It felt better than the alternative. The medicine my mom and I had to take.

I was fascinated and tried to make sure I’d remember to look up the next time the clouds weren’t in the way, threatening me to keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.

He told me how each twinkling star was a good soul who’d died and gone to heaven. He told me to try to remember where all the stars were, and if I saw a new one, that meant someone good had just made the grade, like an A+ on a school paper.

I asked him how old he was. He laughed and told me, but for the life of me I don’t remember. He told me that one day I’d have cracks in my face just like him, only he hoped I’d be doing something other than driving a taxi.

But at the time, driving around with good old Luke seemed like it would be the best job in the world. “Do they let cab drivers have partners?” I asked.

“No, ’fraid not. Cab drivin’s a solo gig. But it gets me out my apartment and sometimes I meet nice people like you.”

After a while my mom seemed to be able to make more sense, to speak in a semblance of sentences, and she told Luke to take us back home.

It seemed like Luke knew more than he let on. He balked. “Ain’t no way I’m takin’ you back there. That man’ll kill you dead. The boy too.” He looked at me, aghast, tried to say, “Just a manner of speakin’, son. I don’t really mean it that way.”

But I think he did.

When we pulled in the driveway, I asked if I could stay with Luke and drive around with him some more. I was an awfully weird kid. And honestly, driving around with Luke sounded a lot better than going back inside, not knowing what to expect from the rain clouds.

Luke gave a big, hearty laugh, and I remember him telling my mom not to worry about the fare, that getting to meet a great little kid like me was all the payment he needed. And he got very serious when he talked to my mom, and I overheard him insisting she call him again if she needed to get out of the house, that he wouldn’t charge her, that he knew how to get to the police station or the hospital fast.

We both got out and Luke pulled away, then stopped, backed up, climbed out. He grabbed my mom’s arm.

“Ma’am, don’t go back in there. I can’t let you. For the boy’s sake, lemme take you somewhere else.”

My mom said in a shaky voice, “It’ll be worse if I don’t. You don’t understand.” Her eyes were swollen, her face puffy and beaten. She had the look that she knew what she’d get, what she’d already gotten, and there was no changing it.

“I understand more than you know!” Luke said. “I know that man! I know what this is leadin’ up to.”

I had no idea he knew my stepdad. And then I realized he knew my mom. But it was a small town. God knows the stories Luke knew about other people.

She broke down. Lost her legs, sat down on the ground. Terrified that dear old stepdad was awake and about to storm out of that house.

Luke tried to grab her, to take her back to his car, but she fought him off. “He’ll kill me for sure if I try to run!” she said, biting off an urgent whisper.

“Let me take the boy then,” Luke said. “Just for now. Take him somewhere that’s not this house.”

She looked at me. Things didn’t feel so good to me anymore. All I wanted in the world right then was for me and my mom to become Luke’s taxi-driving partners, tooling around all day and night, never having to go home. Never having to face the storm clouds.

She stood up and hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe. Her eyes shut, fierce in love, and she whispered, “It’ll be okay. I’ll pick you up tomorrow and we’ll get away. I mean it this time.”

Then she pushed me over to Luke. He grabbed my hand. Almost carried me and put me in the passenger seat. He pulled out of the yard. I looked back and could barely see as my mom was at the front door, which suddenly burst open, knocking her back, and he was there, clouds fully bursting, the storm at full tilt, and he shoved her off the porch. He jumped on her then, slamming her head into the ground, then dragged her back up the porch and inside.

I didn’t see anything after that.

Luke said, “Is there somewhere I can take you?”

I told him my uncle was the only other family I knew about, but he lived an hour away. He asked me for the address, which I’d memorized like a good little boy. Luke stopped at a pay phone and called the cops. Then he drove me to my uncle’s, his radio crackling with the dispatcher yelling, “Where are you?” until he angrily shut it off.

Good old Luke hugged me hard when he dropped me off. He said, “Son, listen. It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay. Help is comin’ for your mom.”

Even then, I understood that he said that because he didn’t know what else to say.

The next day, there were police. They asked me questions about that night. I told them. I also told them Luke tried to save my mom. They said they’d already talked to him, he was a good man. Then they explained, there with my uncle and aunt, that my mom was gone. I wouldn’t see her again.

I guess help didn’t get there in time.

But dear old stepdad had been arrested. He’d never hurt me or my mom again.

I learned about court. The judge was nice to me. The lawyer was nice, too. I answered their questions as best I could, but they didn’t let me stay for the rest of it. I only heard that he got convicted, and he wasn’t going to walk this time. He was a poor man, so no easy parole for him, not for many, many years.

Later, my uncle was finally able to get the rest of my things from the house. They raised me after that. They weren’t saints, and could be a little cold at times, but it was a quiet home. They never hurt me, never hit me like he did. Can’t recall them ever yelling at me, either. I did get occasional hugs and “I love you” a few times, and thoughtful presents at birthdays and Christmas. It was enough to turn me into a good person. I hope.

I never saw Luke again, but every once in a while, if I was looking out the window or playing in the yard, I saw a yellow car go by. I never caught it in time to see if it was him. I like to think it was, even though he worked an hour away.

He’s dead by now. Sometimes I look up at the night sky. The same old stars are always there, but if there are new ones, Luke is up there. I’m sure he beat himself up that the cops didn’t get to the house in time, but that wasn’t his fault.

People like to believe in God, and it would be nice if there was one, but I can’t think of anyone more deserving of an A+ than Luke.

Hell, Luke deserves more than a new star. He should get a whole damn constellation.