By Evelyn Olivares
A bumpy ride to elementary school and later a trip to a university,
trunk overflowing with new-born dreams and strawberry pink garbage bags.
Weaving our voices with the radio after unintentionally memorizing lyrics to songs
that play a few dozen times.
Eating yakisoba and teriyaki and tearing styrofoam to make 5 plates, loyal customers
until the restaurant’s final days.
Laying on the backseat and conversing with the stars. They never talked back, but the
minivan hummed after my rants.
I’ve meshed my cheek onto the icy window and marveled at the clouds and the
It stormed through hail, was our blade in the wind, and welcomed the rain.
It has driven up a mountain’s spiraling roads, by trees enveloped in snow, and
through the California heat.
Reuniting after two decades, my parents finally got to share their favorite locations
with my grandfather and grandmothers. It was one of the only times the minivan flew:
all of our dreams had become a reality.
Our hopes for the future guide the minivan. They race with us as we drive to a new
place they want us to see. When the minivan tires and slows down, they place their
hands on the back of the vehicle and push us forward.
The minivan will age, the ceiling’s fabric will droop and pool: it will become
irreparable. But for now, we laugh with it, thanking the minivan for giving us safe
passage with song.