When Frankie’s parents bought a silver Dodge Caravan in the late summer of 1985, the trajectory of his life spun into a glorious new universe.

That new van smell made everything seem more exciting and full of potential. It was the smell of hope. Dreams, even. The van sat much higher up than the old Volvo did, and looking down on people was a thrilling new vantage point for the child. Frankie felt strong slamming the side door shut. Good technique was rewarded with a satisfying sound, just as it should be. Economical and ethical. Inside the van, the dashboard was shiny and slick. The interior was soft. The tape deck and speakers did The Chipmunks justice. It was a magical time for a little boy like Frankie.

But as time passed, the new smell faded. The shine dimmed and the novelty wasn’t far behind. He soon realized the van had another side. A very dark one. An evil that went by the name of Carpooling. The minivan’s mystique dwindled as the back seats were transformed into a dungeon of schoolmates’ appendages. Frankie’s mom would jam eight kids in the back of the van like a pack of cheap hot dogs, juice and all.

Through the years, unthinkable carpool horror would take place in the back seat vicinity.

Samantha would vomit all over the floor after too much cotton candy and Corn Nuts. Rico diarrhea’d himself on the way home from the children’s museum. Juan Paul started a booger farm in the back seat cubby. And when the middle seat window broke and no longer opened, the sun magnified the stench of the accrued mishaps into a hot, misty cloud. Without fail, every day at 3 p.m., the silver van turned more diabolical than Freddie Krueger’s school bus.

One brutally hot day, the poor boy was trapped corner pocket next to a crying 2nd-grader, a doll getting its hair braided, and a 1st-grader trying to erase an entire page of scribbles. It was miserable, loud, and the ride home had just begun. But fortunately for Frankie Martinez, he was about to get his first taste of something he’d never forget as his mom pulled into the drive-thru window for treats. When the two Dr. Peppers, three root beers, four Cokes, and one Sprite were doled out across the van, something simple yet profound happened. Something that would inform Frankie’s perspective from that moment on:

He was first to thank his mom.

And with that simple, seemingly innocuous gesture, he was granted a personal paradise as the other sweaty kids echoed their gratitude in his fucking wake while  he took the van’s inaugural sip. A rush of superiority washed through him. He had been first. He had been the most gracious. He had won. Not Julie Maldonado. Not Monica Trujillo. Not the Ruiz boys double-buckled in the middle seat. Him. Frankie. He was the hero of the moment and everyone in the stuffed, hot van knew it. His mom heard him start the whole fucking thing and there was no point denying it.

Even sweeter, Frankie had front row seats to watch the other kids come to grips with it. His gratitude was pure, theirs was obligatory at best. Without him, there would be no thanks, because of him, there were many. Frankie’s soda wet much more than just his whistle, it drenched his soul in satisfaction. This was his first dose of pure, uncut ego, and he couldn’t slurp it down fast enough.

Finally, the collective thanks from the other ingrates came to an end. Everyone else was now ready for their first sip. The sip Frankie was already privy to. The sip he took while everyone else scrambled to keep up with him. Trust me, it’s delicious, Frankie thought as he watched the others slobber on their straws like the pitiful pigs they were.

The exhilaration was brief.

The splendor was soon replaced with the kids butchering the lyrics to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody.” Just like the new van smell, this new feeling vanished and Frankie was no longer special. It wouldn’t be long until he was surrounded by slurping, ice-chewing, and straws squeaking out of rhythm to Gloria Estefan. Frankie closed his eyes and leaned his head against the broken window. Still, he couldn’t help but smile. He’d flown with the eagles for at least three seconds, and no one could ever take that away from him. Hands down, this was the best moment Frankie Martinez would ever experience. He’d live to be 85.

CREDITS: VOICEOVER

Frankie's Mom by Jen Kubis

CREDITS: MUSIC

Milton: “Milton Musical Capsules » back to the 80's”

ModulationStation: “80’s riff”

The Chipmunks : “The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don't Be Late)”

Whitney Houston: “I Wanna Dance with Somebody”

Gloria Estefan: “Rhythm Is Gonna Get You”

k2tr: “80s geist”

Freddy Krueger Theme Song

Vivalavinil: “80s synth arpeggio"

Setuniman: “slight dramatic 0C”