God’s Own Minivan
“It’s a minivan,” said Allison dubiously. And so it was. Green, wide, slow; the sort of thing moms bought back in the 1990s.
“Well, sure,” said Brian, grinning ear to ear. “What did you expect? I got it for cheap somewhere in Colorado. Hop in, we’ll head down to Parkville.”
Allison opened the door, which had a hand-lettered sign reading “Brian’s Spiritual Delivery Service” and his phone number glued to it, and gingerly got in. She inhaled and had flashbacks to her elementary school best friend’s mom’s minivan. Had that been Heather? No, that wasn’t Heather.
“Okay, let’s go,” said Brian. “We’ve got some deliveries to make in the name of the Lord.” He laughed and turned the key; the van choked to life.
—
Allison hadn’t meant to call. She’d been sure that Brian had given her the number out of courtesy, nothing more. But the next night, alone in her cramped, cold apartment, she thought of him and dug the card out of her purse. She’d hesitated a dozen times before finally punching the numbers in and hitting ‘call.’ He answered right away.
“Hi, uh, Brian, this is Allison? From yesterday?” She was going to add I was Mark, remember? but he immediately greeted her with enthusiasm. “Did you still, um. You said, um…?” she temporized.
“Hey,” he said, figuring it out, “Let’s get together tomorrow! Does that work, do you have a job to go to?”
“Tomorrow’s my day off,” she said. She worked in tech support.
“Great! I’ll see you at 1o, I have some rounds to make in town. Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
—
And so she found herself speeding down Cedar St. in Brian’s green minivan, bound for some place in Parkville.
“So Allison,” Brian said. “What do you do now? You said you have a job?”
“I do tech support,” she said.
“That sounds really mind-numbing, I don’t think I could even do it for a day,” Brian said. He switched on the radio. Country music blared through tinny speakers. “You mind if I listen?” Allison shook her head no, even though she didn’t really like country music.
“What, um. What do you do?” she asked. “Where are we going?”
“Parkville, on Third Street. And it’s a delivery service, just like it says on the side!” He laughed, a big belly laugh that she never would have imagined could ever come out of quiet, studious, nervous Brian Kunitz.
“You seem. Um. Different,” she said.
“Do I? I don’t feel different. But I suppose it’s been a long time since I’ve been here.” They stopped at a light. Brian gave Allison an appraising look. She blushed furiously, feeling oddly naked before his gaze. “But you. You look… well, you look great. There, I said it, I’ve been thinking it since last night. You make a pretty woman.”
“Thanks?” she said, not sure if she should be offended.
“So what’s it like?” he asked. “It is different, being a woman now?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes! I feel completely different, in a lot of ways.”
“Like how?”
She considered telling him, but decided against it. “It’s, um, hard to explain, I think. But it does feel different.”
“You have that surgery?”
She rolled her eyes. People always asked. “No, not yet. Maybe someday.”
“Okay, I get it. People treating you okay?”
“Mostly.”
“Good. No reason to be mean to folks because they’re different.”
They lapsed into silence. They’d be in Parkville soon, to make Brian’s mysterious delivery. She looked in the back, and saw a small package, shaped kind of like a book. Was that what they were delivering?
“So… where have you been the last ten years?” Allison finally worked up the courage to ask.
He smiled. “That’s my business, I’m afraid.”
