The Car Freewrite

Slightly edited version of the freewrite from this morning:

I am in my friend N’s mom’s van.  We are in 1st grade.  Our two families are waiting outside the school for the bell to ring so we can go play on the playground before class begins.  Our mothers stand outside the van and talk while N, his sister, my sister, and my brothers play in the van — a unique experience for my siblings and I because we never get to play in our station wagon.  The van’s sliding door is open for ventilation on the warm southern California morning.

This van is the dirtiest I’ve ever seen.  My mom runs a tight ship, and our Chevy station wagon (with backward-facing rear seat) is spotless.  The Bs’ van looks lived in.  Dog hair, crayons, cracker crumbs, old fast food debris, socks and shoes, sweatshirts, ball caps, loose change, and discarded receipts all line the seats and the floor of the van and stick in every crevace.  The van smells weird too, like stale junk food and subtle B.O., the kind little kids generate.

N is my friend because I chose him on his first day of school.  On his first day, my teacher seated him next to me.  He cried.  ”It’s ok,” I said.  “I like you.”  Maybe that’s not what he was worried about, but it wasn’t a lie, and it worked.  He stopped crying.  We then became best friends.

N’s family is a little messier than mine, kind of like their van, but it usually doesn’t matter.  Sometimes, when the smell or the mess or the crowd in the van get to us, we stand outside the van and plan our future.  What will we be for Halloween?  When can we play in N’s new treehouse?  Whose mom will walk us home from school today?  It’s a nice little break from the novel chaos that is the van.