Sure, we occupy this van each morning, crawl into our acclaimed areas and call it our own. We say “this is our van,” “this is my row,” and “these are my belongings.” But what if, what if, this van chose us? What if this van went shopping one afternoon and said “these people will be my people, now come on, hop into my belly, pack your gear onto my back, switch on my heart, and lets roll.”
It proudly tells its parking lot friends of Kaylie, Andy, Ted, John, and Richie, how its shown them east to west, north to south, north east to south west, hell its taken them everywhere.
“How about you guys,” it inquires, “what kind of people did you choose? I was feeling adventurous, so I went searching in the market of musicians. I know some vans like to haul church trips, day camps, local excursions, but none of that felt quite right. One van I met back in LA stopped in town on tour then picked up and took off the next day with twenty-something year olds screaming out the windows, banging around inside with their instrumentals, and I knew right then that when I grew up I’d want to be a band van.”
“It’s worth the pain to be with these guys, I wear our fights, yet I wear them with pride. Yea they scratch my plastic, mark up my cloth lining, break my internal temperature control, but they love me, they trust me, otherwise why would they spend so much time with me every day? Why would they sprawl out without seatbelts unlike those younger, sporty, inexperienced cars? Why would they take me to the mechanic when I get sick as I take them to the human doctor when they do?”
“We have our ups and downs, sometimes I lose my cool and overheat, sometimes I’ll take those road bumps harder than I need to, but on my gentle days I rock them to sleep, inspire them to write, give light to their nights.”
“I go barreling face first through armies of insects standing in their way, I’ve been covered in more blood and gore than any of them will ever see, because I want to protect them, because they are my own. They hose me down and clean me out now that I’ve reached the age of assistance, and I know the day they bring me to vehicular hospice to be compounded, it will be because it was my time. But as I near my old age, 300,000+ miles, they take me down the road less traveled. They do that for me not them, they say ‘hey van, you’ve been working hard lately, lets break at this lookout point so you can relax for a minute.’ “
“Why I remember when I first picked them up, they were just 25 years old, my how they’re grown.”