Driver

Azriel was saying goodbye to a passenger on the corner of a noisy intersection when he noticed her. The girl was standing with her shoulder against a lamppost, lazily picking at the asphalt with the toe of her sneaker. She looked about sixteen or seventeen, but seemed older — not in years, but in that heavy, premature weariness that comes to children who put on adult life too early. Her whole look — from her black sneakers to her cropped hair — was done in the same somber palette. A leather jacket with studs, ripped jeans, thin chains glinting on her neck, and several earrings that dimly reflected the streetlight. She didn’t even look at the car when Azriel stopped — just opened the door and slid into the back seat like a shadow. “Club ‘Shadow’,” she muttered in a dull voice, not looking at the driver. Azriel grunted softly. He pulled away, and the car rolled through the evening city where neon signs were already lighting up and evening crowds were gathering. “Headed to a dance club?” he asked, glancing at the girl in the mirror. She lifted her head, and Azriel saw her eyes — cloudy, with dilated pupils, looking through him rather than at him. He understood everything at once. Somewhere in his stomach, an unpleasant pang hit. “Huh? What?” she asked again, as if the words reached her with a delay, through a thick layer of cotton. “Headed to a dance club?” he repeated patiently. “Yeah,” the girl nodded, and a slow, slightly sluggish smile appeared on her lips. “There’s gonna be an awesome party.” “For long?” “I’ll go home in the morning,” she replied defiantly, as if expecting him to start lecturing her. “Do you like it there?” Azriel asked, turning onto a wider street. The girl brightened — as much as she could brighten in her state. Notes of almost genuine enthusiasm entered her voice. “Of course! Booze, dancing, guys…” she rolled her eyes dreamily. “Everything you need for a good night.” “Your parents don’t mind?” Azriel asked, though he could guess the answer. The girl snorted — short and contemptuous. “They don’t care.” She paused for a second, then added with a bitter smirk: “I’ve already worn them out. So now I do whatever I want.” “That’s not right,” Azriel said gently. “It is right!” she snapped back, and in that short word there was as much stubbornness as only those who have long been used to defending themselves and their views can have. “Aren’t you ashamed?” he asked, not raising his voice. The girl stared at him in the rearview mirror. Something like surprise flickered in her cloudy eyes. “What do I have to be ashamed of?” she asked, a defiant note in her voice. “I don’t like school, I don’t want to go to college, I don’t want to work. I’ll just get money from my parents.” “And when they die?” Azriel asked quietly, almost in a whisper. “I don’t care what happens then,” the girl cut him off. “I live in the now!” She said it with such confidence, as if proclaiming some great truth revealed to her alone. There was no trace of doubt in her voice, no fear, not even a thought that someday that day would come. “You need to think about the future,” Azriel said. And suddenly the girl laughed — sharply, unnaturally loud for her state. Her laugh was like the sound of breaking glass. “And what about you?” she blurted out, pointing a finger at the driver. “You’re a taxi driver! You don’t have a higher education, you probably did badly in school, and you’re teaching me!” Azriel wasn’t offended. He rarely got offended by passengers. But there appeared in his voice that calm, firm confidence that makes even the boldest go quiet. “This is a side job,” he said. “I want to provide for my parents. I want them to have a happy old age, the best years of their lives.” The girl snorted, but not as confidently. “Ha, and why think about parents?” she tossed out, but for the first time, something uncertain flickered in her voice, as if she didn’t quite believe what she was saying herself. “They’ll die and that’s it! So what?” “Do you really not care about them at all?!” Azriel asked, and for the first time, something like pain broke through in his voice. The girl turned away to the window. For a few seconds, silence hung in the cab — just the engine noise and the distant sounds of the city. “They don’t deserve love,” she said finally, and her voice grew quieter, as if she were talking to herself. “They’re nobody to me.” “You can’t live like that,” Azriel said quietly. “Can’t!” she suddenly shouted with a strange, almost hysterical cheerfulness. “That’s how!” Azriel didn’t answer. He pressed the brake gently, stopping by the curb. Outside, music pulsed — heavy bass that made the glass vibrate. The neon “Shadow” sign flickered purple and green; at the entrance, a crowd of people just like her — young, lost, hiding their emptiness behind black clothes and loud words. “We’re here,” Azriel said. “Goodbye.” The girl was already opening the door when he added: “Here’s my advice to you: rethink your views.” She froze for a second, then got out of the car. She wanted to say something — but changed her mind. She just slammed the door and, swaying slightly, headed toward the club. The chains on her neck jingled one last time, the black jacket disappeared into the crowd of other black jackets.