In a Van, Down by the River

Everyone has a first car. I did not. I had a van. Actually, it was my parents’ van. It was not a cool van. It was a 1992 maroon Dodge Plymouth mini-van. The interior was festooned with weird stains and there were numerous cigarette burns resulting from its brief stint as my brother-in-law’s vehicle at Miami University. The radio didn’t work, the heat was faulty, and it stalled out in the middle of intersections, possibly due to driver error. But she was mine and she held seven passengers. Her name was Pam. Pam the Van. When I was gifted Pam, my dad stood over me, sternly dangling the keys over my open hand. “This vehicle is for travel to school and school related activities. It is not, I repeat, it is not a party van and you are not to use it to haul your friends around. Now, repeat after me. I, Ellen Leah Kohart, do solemnly swear that I will not allow more than one passenger in this van at any time.”

I repeated the oath verbatim and grabbed the keys. Then I drove off and was immediately pulled over for rolling a stop. The keys and I enjoyed a week’s vacation from each other. And the oath was subsequently amended to “I, Ellen, will come to a complete stop at all intersections signs . . . Blah blah blah.”

To truly make Pam mine, I added SpongeBob decals to the back windows and adorned the rearview mirror with a set of dangling stuffed frog heads. The frog heads were my favorite, but now they would just remind me of green testicles.

Giving a 16-year-old the keys to a family vehicle is asking for trouble. I was a literal bus service for my friends. YES, I REMEMBER THE OATH. Despite my solemn vow, I packed my friends into every available crevice, nonetheless. I was the getaway driver for countless acts of debauchery.

My dad recalls the day my transportation provider status was blown.

“Before giving Ellen the keys to the van, I gave her the standard lecture on responsibility and also told her that I did not want the van used as a taxi or to provide bus service for all her friends. She assured me that it would never happen. Not 24-hours later, after picking Ellen’s younger sister from basketball practice in Paulding, we stopped at a red light located at the courthouse square. As we sat there waiting for the light to change, the van, jammed full of teenage girls, went sailing through the intersection. Although Ellen was at the wheel, her head was turned completely around, yakking at one of her backseat passengers. Her best friend Shannon spotted us sitting there and waved wildly through the window.

When she got home I met her before she could get out of the van where we had a rather animated discussion regarding the evening’s activities.”

Shannon converted Pam’s trunk into her own little mobile closet. I remember my mom coming in the house, with a pair of undies hanging off a stick. “Ellen, whose underwear are these?”

“They’re Shannon’s.”

“Why are Shannon’s underwear bunched up in the back of the van?”

“Because she keeps extra outfits in there for emergencies.” DUH, Mom.

I asked my friends what they remembered of the van, and here are their responses:

Amber: “I remember when we accidently went air-borne after you went over railroad tracks too fast. And I also remember you guys locking me in the built-in car seats because I was the only one who could fit in them.”

Shannon: “I remember that the middle of the steering wheel looked like a cat’s butt hole.”

As many times as we toilet papered the homes of classmates and teachers whom we felt had earned a comeuppance, the memory of one particular night comes to mind.

I grew up on a farm in the country. Deep in some woods near our house stood ol’ Kingery Cemetery. The cemetery was the oldest in the area and to get there we had to follow a treacherous old wagon path that wound up and down a hill. My dad usually took us there on bike rides, or he parked his truck on the road, and we hiked through the woods. Once, when my cousin, Zachary, and I were paired up for a leaf project in 7^th grade, we decided that the best trees could be found in Kingery Cemetery. In my memory of the event, it was dark and ominous weather as we rode our bikes along the path into the woods. We reached the cemetery, beautifully overlooking the Auglaize River. As I started grabbing interesting leaves, Zachary called me over to the edge of the woods. A small burn pit was smoldering and a cast iron pot sat next to it. Then we heard a rustle in the trees. Friends, that is when I broke the land speed record. Dropping the handful of leaves, I sprinted to my bike much like the Roadrunner in the Wile E. Coyote cartoons.

As the years passed, as I recited the story to my friends, the events of that day swirled and twisted into a creepy tale in which I believe I added a ghostly girl in white who slowly appeared at the tree line as we stared at the smoldering burn pile. I don’t actually remember the true story. I spent too much time turning it into a worthwhile ghostly tale, now it’s hard to separate fact from fiction. I’m even starting to creep myself out now. Congrats.

As I told my friends yet again the Leaf Project Tale, it was suggested by one of them that we go investigate. At night. In the van. I agreed, although every alarm bell was jangling in my brain. As I have stated in the past, I prefer spooky and creepy at a safe distance. Preferably in a separate state. But, I had to keep face, and I was the only one with a van who could fit everyone. So a gaggle of girls, clad in black, stuffed themselves into that maroon van and set out on the half mile drive to the cemetery. It had begun to rain, and in all my nervousness, I’d forgotten that I had never been to the cemetery in anything bigger than a bicycle. Rain spattered the windshield as we passed the sign that read “Kingery Cemetery –Do Not Enter When Wet.” None of us saw it. We were all too busy laughing nervously or telling Natalie to shut up when she started making ghost noises.

The winding path was much narrower and steeper than I remembered, as I drove through the woods and to the top of the hill. I hit the gas as I swung Pam over the last bump. Rain was falling harder and harder and the cemetery loomed ominously as the van swung around the last turn, the headlights raking the black trees and pale gravestones. I put the van in park, and we all tied our hoodies around our faces to protect ourselves from the rain. As Natalie swung her door open, I remained buckled and seated firmly. “So, what’s our actual goal here? What do you guys want to accomplish with this?”

“Oh my GOD, Ellen. Get out of the van. Don’t be a baby.” Natalie said as she hopped out, straight into a muddy puddle.

“I don’t see Amber making any move for the door!” I retorted.

Amber finally unbuckled. “I was just making sure you were going. I’m going. I never said I wasn’t going!” With that, she followed Natalie into the dark.

Shannon and I sat quietly in the darkened van. “We have to go now. Come on.”

I hovered close to the van as everyone made their way around the cemetery, flashlights bobbing. “Ellen! This grave says Ellen K.! THAT’S YOU!” Natalie bellowed.

“I can see it from here, thanks! And I’m pretty sure that says Eileen.”

“Nope! It says Ellen!” Amber called after her. God damn it, Amber.

I trudged over to see for myself when Shannon yelped. She had found the remnants of the camp at the tree line. “She wasn’t lying!!! There’s a pan here! And an old coat!”

As if the weather was in agreement, there was a deafening crash of thunder and strike of lightening lit up the woods around us. We all screamed as the surrounding trees formed into an ever approaching army of ghost-like figures, just waiting to add us into their ranks. “OH MY GAAAAHHHHDDDD. WE’RE GONNA DIE!!!!” I screamed, as I ran through the muck back to the van.

Natalie sunk her foot into the mud as she tried to run after us. “Guys! Help! It’s like quicksand!” Shannon fell behind to help as Amber as I swan dove into the van. I stomped on it as mud-covered Shannon and Natalie tumbled into the back. I wrenched it into reverse, but nothing happened. The van wouldn’t move. “Oh my God. We’re stuck! We’re stuck and we’re going to die here!” I cried, hitting the gas harder and harder.

“Stop doing that! You’re making it worse!” Shannon screamed.

Natalie, already covered in mud, got out and examined the situation. She took her time getting back into the van. “Well??? What’s wrong with it?” I harshly inquired.

“We’re stuck. Duh.”

“THANK YOU, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS!” I shrieked, “You guys are going to have to push it out.”

“What do you mean, you guys??”

“Well I am obviously the driver. So, I should be the one to stay within the van. And this wasn’t my idea in the first place. I am but an innocent victim in all of this!”

I’ll leave out the part where Amber launched herself at me like a spider monkey. But as it would happen, I found myself outside in the rain again, shoving a 1992 Plymouth minivan out of a foot-deep mud hole, as Shannon hit the gas, splattering us all with grave dirt.

After many mud-covered attempts, while the deluge continued, we finally got the van out of the hole. Shannon didn’t slow down as the last members of the party sprinted to catch up and flung themselves into the open door. The van’s previously proven ability to go air-borne came in handy as we careened out of the woods, because as I looked back at the cemetery, I saw a girl, dressed in white, was standing at the tree line, waving goodbye. Or did I??? I honestly don’t remember.

The van would found herself in many more situations at the hands of a bunch of goofy teenage girls. When my sister moved to Chicago, she didn’t need a vehicle, so I got to drive her Pontiac Sunfire. It was the end of the line for Pam the Van. As excited as I was to have a new car to drive to school, I found myself missing the van. I missed being able to pile in a million girls after school. I missed being the go-to getaway car for adventures involving three mega packs of toilet paper and family sized boxes of potato flakes.

Years later, when I was looking for a mom car, Jared pulled up some minivans as options. I smiled sweetly, patted him on the back, and said, “Aw, hell no.”