Step Up by Monica McKayhan

pacing he could relieve the pain. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with his good hand, flipped it open, pressed a few buttons and then slammed it shut. Agitated, he took a seat on the bench again.
    Paul strolled through the automatic doors, headed our way. “Cabbie should be here in a moment.”
    Fifteen minutes later, the yellow cab pulled into the circular drive in front of the hospital. Chris climbed into the front passenger’s seat as the rest of us piled into the back. The driver was Jamaican, with a red, green and black knitted cap covering his dreadlocks. Reggae music played on his radio and he bounced his head to it.
    â€œYou can turn that crap off,” Chris said before we were even a block away. “How about some music that we can all listen to and enjoy? Like pop, rock or rhythm and blues?”
    Was he serious? I wish I could see his face just to see if he was cracking a smile. It was hard to believe that someone could be that tacky. The driver simply ignored him but that didn’t stop his inappropriate comments. “I’m sure you don’t understand one word I’m saying.” He laughed. “Communication barrier, of course. Would it be too much to ask for you people to stay in your place…in your country? You’re just as bad as the Hispanics…coming over here illegally…stealing our jobs…bringing that…that…what is it? That swine flu virus crap…”
    I couldn’t believe my ears. And I wasn’t surprised when the cab came to a screeching halt.
    â€œGet out!” the cabbie said.
    I peered out the window as the rain pattered against it. I wasn’t about to get out of a cab in the middle of a rainstorm.
    â€œAre you serious, dude?” Chris asked.
    â€œAs a heart attack,” the cabbie said.
    â€œWhat was it…the music comment?” Chris asked, laughing. “Or was it the swine flu virus comment? I’m sorry, man….”
    â€œAll of you…get out of my cab!”
    â€œWhat did we do, man?” I had to know, because I hadn’t said one mumbling word.
    The cabdriver refused to respond. He didn’t say another word as the four of us piled out of the car one at a time.
    â€œHow much do we owe you, sir?” Paul asked, trying to smooth things over.
    â€œNothing,” he responded. “I just want you out of my cab.”
    As soon as Paul shut the door, the cabdriver peeled away from the curb, leaving us standing there, rain pouring on our heads.
    â€œThanks a lot, Chris,” Daria said; her hair was instantly soaked and she slipped my blazer from her arms and covered her head with it. Tried to stay dry, but it was raining too hard.
    â€œWhat’s with you, man?” I asked.
    â€œYeah, man. This is certainly not acceptable,” Paul said.
    Daria, Paul and I started moving toward the nearest train station, and after discovering that the rain wasn’t about to ease up, we started jogging at a light pace. It was two blocks to the nearest train station and we left Chris behind. He wasn’t able to move as fast, and all of us had silently agreed that we’d had enough of him. He knew his way back to campus. I glanced over my shoulder at him. He was limping slowly down the block, frowning from the pain with every step. Part of me wanted to go back, help him along. I contemplated it for moment, but lost the thought just as quickly.Kept moving at an even pace until we made it to the train station.
    Daria was soaked and I felt sorry for her. Even with wet hair she was still beautiful.
    Seated next to her on the “T,” I brushed wet hair from her face. “You okay?”
    â€œWhat a night,” she said. “Chris is such a loser.”
    â€œHe’s got some issues. They run deeper than any of us knows,” I explained.
    â€œYeah, you’re right, Marcus. He does have issues,” Paul added. “And I’m done with him at this juncture. I