Matilda Sue

It’s my firm belief that everybody needs, or at least needs access to, an old truck.

Allow me to introduce you to Matilda Sue.

1995, red, Ford F-150, rusted everything, only one gas tank works, sometimes full of critters, 5 speed on-the-floor, duct tape on the sides, best running truck on the road. From the first time I saw her, I was in love.

When I first knew Joseph, he was helping me with a legal matter, and one day we had occasion to skip to the courthouse. I rode with the office crew downtown, and when we returned to the Law Lounge we piled out and headed in. But as we approached the building, I saw this fabulous old truck parked in front of the porch.

“Wow! Look at this great old truck,” I exclaimed, “It’s fabulous!” (Or, something to that affect. Time weakens the specifics)

“It’s mine,” The Lawyer replied.

Ya’ll, I stopped dead in my tracks. Turned around so fast I left a mark on the pavement.

“Hand me the keys,” I matter-of-factly said.

“It’s a ‘stick’,” The most-silly Lawyer replied.

“I didn’t ask you what the transmission was, I said ‘hand me the keys’,” I indignantly replied to his ludicrous remark. He looked at me the same way he did when we first met – like, “oh, ok little lady.”

He handed over the keys.

I nodded to the passenger side and told him to “get in.” He did, no questions asked, and in my finest courtroom attire, high heels and pencil skirt, I cranked that truck, backed it up, and took off like a rocket. “Hold on for the ride, ” I said.

He said nothing more.

He was a believer.

We had a nice ride, nice chat, and eventually ended up back at the Law Lounge. We got out, I handed him the keys, and in the office we went. Great therapy after a stressful day. That truck was so fun.

Time passed and we began seeing each other on the serious, and one day I asked him if the truck had a name. “No, it doesn’t, but it should. You can name it – if you can come up with a good one,” he said. I asked if it was a boy truck or a girl truck, and this time he looked at me indignantly and replied, “girl truck. I only ride women.” (sorry, Mama, he’s a little rough around the edges)

So I set forth to come up with a suitable name. Josephine, Jolene, Suzie, none of it was clicking. Needed, of course, to be ridiculously southern, with a first and middle name that could stand alone or be used together. And out of the blue, just like that, it hit me. Matilda Sue. He liked it. I liked it. Everybody liked it. Somebody get her a Social Security card.

Matilda Sue definitely had some quirks – odometer didn’t work, front tank didn’t work, the front bumper was crooked, radio was marginal. But she was perfect. Much like a new mom and dad think their butt-ugly newborn is a beautiful angel sent from Heaven, Matilda Sue was adored in all her redneck beauty. Perhaps the most red-neck-ed thing about her is the duct tape on the side fenders over the back wheels. That rust is sharp and needs some cover-up, ya’ll. And you know what they say about duct tape and WD-40…..

Oh, and nobody was real sure if the gas gauge worked, so it behooved the driver to fill ‘er up often. My first solo trip out with her, I asked The Lawyer which tank I was supposed to put gas in – I was so afraid I’d mess it up. His response? Not one I can print here because my Mama reads this and all, but let’s just say that I won’t ever forget the gas goes in the rear tank. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

When I moved into the Brooks Barracks, The Lawyer (half)jokingly told me that my rent payment each month was to take the trash cans to the curb each week. Now, all you suburbanites out there are probably thinking, “what’s the big deal? The cans have wheels, just wheel it to the end of your driveway. duh.” If only it were that non-nerve-wracking. You see, The Lawyer’s house is a tenth-of-a-mile from the street, and you have to cross a dark bridge that separates the swamp from the pond, and there are critters. And snakes. And things we’ll not discuss. Oh, it’s all great and well in the summer when I get home from work and there’s still two hours of daylight left. But in the winter? Ain’t happenin’. No way I’m crossing that scary bridge in the dark dragging two trash cans. No. Way.

Matilda Sue to the rescue.

The Lawyer devised a solution. He attached two sets of hooks to the tailgate, so that when it’s open, the hooks hang off and attach to the trash can handles and they wheel down to the street behind the truck. The Lawyer is a genius. I am, once again, completely impressed. Problem solved.

Except for when the truck is full of lizards.

When Matilda is parked at The Barracks, she sits under a tree and next to a thick shrub row. It’s a little creepy, but functional. But ya’ll, there are crawly things that get in. I’m barely ok with the little green tree frogs – they pretty much keep to themselves and are along for the ride. They usually get to stay. But the lizards?

That’s a hard “nope.”

Ask me how I know.

There was a whole southern fried kin-folk reunion in that trailer. They had to be evicted. But the trash had to go first, and I ain’t doin’ it. The Lawyer laughed and got in and cranked up. “Comin’?” he said through his smirk. “Yeah, I’m comin’, but I think I’ll just enjoy the cool breeze from the top of the truck box, thanks so much.” Time to take Matilda back to the safety of the Law Lounge parking lot and have Mario, our detailer extraordinaire, execute the eviction plans. Or just set the truck on fire. One or the other.

Oh wait. I forgot to tell you about the other eviction that I executed myself. I did good.

The Lawyer and I were in the cab of the truck one evening toting the cans over to the dark side, when a roach crawled across the dashboard.

Now yall. I am a good southern woman, hearty and sturdy, ready to take on anything that comes my way. (See my post entitled “Party Animals”). Except a godforsaken cockroach. I’m done. I stopped breathing and complete larangyl paralysis set in. The Lawyer was hollering. I was not amused. Time to set it on fire.

But I just couldn’t. Matilda Sue is far too great for that. She has too grand a destiny to be a lawn torch. I must evict the squatter. But I must first plot my course. You see, The Lawyer didn’t think there was a problem. And therein lies the problem. Lucky for me he leaves town on the regular. So I must wait. And plan. And scheme. So I did.

The next time The Lawyer was out of town, I got a bug bomb. You know, the kind you put on the floor in the middle of whatever room has an “issue” and set it off and run. I got a carboard box lid and the bomb, parked Matilda in the middle of the yard “just in case,” set the lid on the seat, set the bomb on the lid, popped the top, slammed the door, ran. Best of luck to us all.

I left Matilda in the yard overnight, again “just in case.” Plus, I wasn’t about to get in there with all the whatever’s that just exuded from that can. That stuff’s gonna have to dry before I get my be-hind behind the wheel. Much to my delight and dang surprise the next morning the windows were not even cloudy, and there was no residue anywhere. Suspicious.

I’m willing to drive Matilda again, now that the double eviction has transpired, and she’s been parked in the non-tree-covered parking lot at the Law Lounge. But I always, ALWAYS, am on high alert. Can you imagine me driving down the road and some something jumping out of nowhere and landing in this hair?!?!