Yellow Courier Van

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My dad's yellow courier van has been a part of my life ever since I was born. Every day before light floods the sky, I would hear its engine rumble as my dad headed to work. After school, I would sit in the passenger seat while he finished his courier run. The smell of cheap coffee scented the van and its radio would buzz with the day's news. I used to peer out of its wide side window as the sky blued and the buildings zoomed by, taking in all the sounds from outside. The trip always evoked a sense of yearning, a desire to see more of the world I could only glance through my window. It therefore drew on a paradoxical significance in my mind. It represented an opening to the outside world and the promise of new experiences but also a glass barrier between them and myself, even more unbridgeable since the handle that opened the window was usually jammed.

Others were always ecstatic at the sight of the bulky, yellow van. Everyone, eager to either give or receive the day's mail, would meet my dad with a smile. Only I would neglect to smile as the van rolled up towards the school gate. My thirteen-year-old self wished for a less conspicuous car. Like most people on the cusp of adolescence, all I wanted to do was blend in....

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