The White Van

by Elana Cohen

The sun had just peaked over the horizon, filling my room as it streamed through my windows. As the clock hit seven, my alarm started its relentless beeping.

“Elana, time to get up,” my mother called from the kitchen. I groaned as I got up to go through my daily routine.

“Are you driving at all today?” I called to my mom as I finished packing up my lunch.

“Nope. Looks like you’re walking,” she replied, stepping into her bedroom.

After fully examining all the options, I had decided that the best way to get to my new school was via the small quiet streets, which were much preferable to the large busy ones. My chosen route wandered around a few side streets, peaking on a hill, and then descending back down toward my school. I glanced outside at the gray and foggy sky, grabbing a jacket as I checked the clock; I was early. I headed out the door anyways and into the cold air. The street was empty as I rounded the corner. I pulled my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands, attempting to retain as much heat as possible in my little cocoon.

I made my way up the street, letting my mind wander as I adjusted to the cold. The only vehicle on the road was a white Ford van a street or two up. As it approached, I noticed its unusually slow speed. As the van slowly crept towards me, I could see the driver leaning slightly out of his window watching me. My heart rate started to pick up. I am just being paranoid; he’s probably not even looking at me. I checked behind me as my mind began to race, seeing if there was anyone I had missed during my walking hibernation; the street was empty. Pictures of all the worst possible scenarios flashed before my eyes.

Growing up, I was always anxious. I would picture myself in horrible situations. Even though I was never actually in danger, my imagination often trumped reality. As I grew older, I was able to ignore my fears more, acknowledging them as only paranoia and moving on.

I strode forward, but as the large van came closer, I started to get more nervous. The car slowly passed me and I picked up my pace, hoping that the men in the van wouldn’t notice as I felt their eyes watching me. Realizing that they hadn’t said anything when they drove past, my heart began to slow down again. I looked back quickly only to see them making a U-turn at the corner and coming back towards me. I picked up my pace again, and as I did, I saw that on the other side of the van was a sliding door containing a third man standing in the open doorway, knees slightly bent, ready to jump out. The pounding in my chest resumed as I looked around me for some kind of refuge. I was only a few blocks from my house, but if I turned back, I would have walked right into the van; if I continued away from the van, we would be going the same direction. I knew there was no hope of out-running them. I stopped dead in my tracks. I was stuck. I stood on the sidewalk contemplating my options. Just as I was deciding that this might be it, a runner came around the corner. I quickly tried to match her fast-paced walk. She had earphones in and didn’t seem to notice me. Before I could ask her to walk with me farther, she was gone. I looked behind me. There was no sign of the white van but my pulse was still high. I ran up the hill leading to the busier streets ducking behind bushes and fences, constantly checking to see if I was being followed. As I neared my school, my sprint slowly transitioned into a fast walk. My heart rate was almost normal as I entered the front gate to school.

“Hey Elana, how’s it going?” My science teacher asked, smiling as I passed by her in the hallway.

“Actually, I’m a little shaken up…,” I replied, not sure how to begin my account of the morning’s events. As I told her what had happened her brow furrowed.

“You know, the police really need to hear about this,” she stated as she motioned me to come into the staff office. I sat down in the big, cushy, green chair next to the telephone as my teacher rummaged through the drawer, searching for the phonebook. “Here, Oakland Police Department.” She pointed to the number.

My hands trembled as I dialed. I tried to prepare what I would say to the operator on the other side of the line.

“Oakland Police Department, how can I help you?” A woman’s voice droned from the receiver.

“Hi, um… I think that I was followed to school today by a van… I think.” The words fell from my mouth undignified and naive, not at all what I had prepared in my head just moments before.

“Can you describe the incident?” the unsympathetic voice asked. I began to retell the story as best as I could over the phone, but as I stumbled over my words it became harder to get out a cohesive sentence.

“Can you describe the van?”

“It was white. Like what you would use for construction. Do you know what I mean? Where there are no windows in the back?”

“What was the license plate number?”

“I… I don’t know….”

“You didn’t look at the plate number at all?” the voice asked hostilely from the other end of the line.

“Uh… no. Sorry. I didn’t really think about it… I was just worried about getting away.” I felt attacked when I should have felt comforted. I WAS ALMOST KIDNAPPED, my mind screamed

“Hm.” The voice did not approve. “All I can do is put in a claim. With such… few details there really isn’t much we can do.”

“Okay,” I responded not knowing what else to say.

I put down the receiver. Next, my teacher recommended that I call my mother. I continued to have a similar uninformative conversation with my mother, unable to answer any of her many worried questions.

After instructions from the staff, I continued to recount the story to the rest of my classmates.

* * *

“Elana, come here.” I looked up at one of the front office staff, Suzann, and a parent standing in the hall as I walked to my next class. “There are some men outside and I want you to see if they are the same ones.” My heart started racing. Had they really been following me the whole time? Now they know where I go to school and they could come anytime to take me away to who knows where.

“It’s fine. I’ll be with you the whole time, we don’t have to go close.” Suzann assured me, reading my face.

My heart pounded in my chest insistently. I secured myself safely in between Suzann and the accompanying parent. As we walked out the gate and onto the sidewalk, I felt small and fragile, like a child hiding behind her mother’s skirt. I surveyed the scene. My heart stopped. Straight to my right was the van.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I said turning back towards school, ready to be back behind the safe, metal, locking gate. I felt a hand on my shoulder and as I turned back around Suzann stood there looking into my eyes.

“It’s okay, you’re safe. Let’s just get a little bit of a closer look.” Reluctantly I continued down the street. With every step I took my heartbeat grew louder and louder in my head. Please don’t make me go closer. Please don’t make me go closer. My feet felt like lead, it took all my will to make them go forward. The distance between me and the van grew smaller and the men’s faces started to come into view. There was no mistaking it, it was definitely them.

“Yeah, that’s them. Let’s go back now.” My voice shook as the rushed words fell out of my mouth. Please, I begged silently.

“You’re fine,” Suzann reassured me again. As I watched the men travel from the van to the neighboring houses, one of them looked up and met my eye. Great, not only are they here but now they know that I know that they are here.

“Are they working on that house?” the accompanying parent asked. The men were obviously carrying something back and forth. As I stared at their hands, the familiar shape of a phone book came into view. The yellow and black covers seemed obvious now.

“They’re phone books,” I said, feeling my face flush with embarrassment, “that makes sense.” The two puzzled adults looked down at me, their brows creasing with confusion.

“That’s why that were driving so slowly, they were dropping off phonebooks. And that’s why the man was standing in the sliding door, he was the one actually dropping them off….” I still wanted to run into the safety of my school but now from embarrassment rather than fear.

I retreated back into the staff office. As I walked into the building people clustered around me to find out what had happened. The process of telling everyone about the second encounter took the same relentless form as the first as I retold the story countless times.

I felt a strange déjà vu as I sat down again in the green chair and looked at the phonebook still open to the same page as before.

“Hi. Um… I called before about a white van earlier today. Well it turns out they were just delivering phonebooks and that’s why they were moving so slowly….”

“Can I have the claim number?” It was the same dry woman from before on the other end of the line.

“A claim number?” I asked perplexed, “I never got one of those.”

“You can’t cancel a claim without a claim number,” she replied irritably.

“But I never got one… I called around 8:30 am, but no one ever gave me a claim number.” I searched around me looking if maybe a number had been written down that I had forgotten about.

“I’m sorry ma’am but you can’t cancel a claim without a claim number. If you find the claim number later, you can call again.”

Click.

I sat on the green chair in silence as I contemplated the events of the day. I was still embarrassed and a little afraid, but I realized as I put down the phone and headed out the door that I was safe and that tomorrow, I would walk on the busy streets.

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