Vicky the Volkswagen

I was hanging out at T-Dog and Papa D's house one day when my parents called and told me to come outside. Manthy, Colby, and I walked out the door just in time to see the "Green Monster" pull into the driveway. 

It was hideous, the ugliest car I had ever seen, DISGUST at first sight. 

"WHY IS IT GREEN!?!?"

After getting over the initial shock that vehicles like this actually exist, my parents introduced me to my mom's new car, a 1998 Volkswagen Cabrio Convertible. 

They informed me that the previous owner had named "her" Vicky.

"Kristin, this is Vicky."

"Vicky, Kristin." 

I gave her some skin, asked the good Lord above to protect my reputation and keep me from being seen in that car, and went back inside Manthy's to eat taquitos.

A few months later, I turned sixteen. It didn't take a genius to figure out Mom had just been keeping Icky Vicky's (the adopted name I gave her) seat warm until I got my license.

FAST FORWARD

I passed Icky Vicky while I was driving the other day. We sold her the summer after I graduated high school. I needed something more reliable to get me to and from Kilgore every day. 

As I watched her zoom down Hawkins Parkway, I remembered all the laughter, the love. Tears flooded my eyes while memories flooded my mind. 

My relationship with Icky Vicky changed a lot between our first hello and last goodbye.

"I fell in love [with Icky Vicky] the way you fall asleep. Slowly, and then all at once."

Nothing about her was normal, but it was the little quirks that made her special. 

If you weren't paying attention, you'd be blinded by the black foam crumbs that blew out of her air vents when you took a turn too sharp. It was rare to receive a warning to help fight the foam, but when I could, I'd shield my passenger's eyes from the dangerous conditions. If "TAKE THE WHEEL!" came echoing from the vehicle, it wasn't because I was singing Carrie Underwood's 2005 Single of the Year. It was because there was a foreign substance scratching my cornea and you needed to call for help.

Unlike most vehicles, Vicky had two buttons on the steering wheel (within thumb's reach) that you'd click to honk her horn. As you can probably imagine, horn honking etiquette was not in my vocabulary. I'd honk right along to Brand New Key or Please Mr. Postman every time they played on the cassette tape. Yes, she had cassette player. Be jealous. 

Oh, she had the cutest honk. 

My friends and I loved "riding topless" in Vicky...and by "riding topless" I simply mean riding with her convertible top down. Vicky got a hole in her "shirt" once and like any Redneck Roughneck would, I patched it up with duct tape. This seemed like a good idea until I started driving. Now I had two problems. The tape flapped so much it sounded like I was being shot at every time I drove over 40mph...and the hole still wasn't fixed! I must say, Vicky wore both the flapping duct tape and "Aggie Mom" decal proudly. She was such a strong, independent woman. 

Vicky also had a MASSIVE trunk. I had EVERYTHING in there - an alien mask, a Snuggie, packages of toilet paper, car paint, basketballs, bubbles, paintballs, water balloons...just to name a few! We were always prepared to prank. Sure, to outsiders it appeared as if Vicky had a lot of junk in the trunk. But to insiders? One man's trash is another man's treasure. 

During the winter time, the door handle on the driver's side would stick so you'd have to either crawl out or have someone come open it for you. 

You know that whole "two is better than one" saying? Well, it's a lie. Two broken car handles is NOT better than one broken car handle. Trust me, I know. I once got locked inside Vicky because NEITHER door handle worked. 

No, the top wasn't down so please refrain from blonde joke references. 

I'm sure you're wondering how a gal like me could possibly get locked INSIDE a car. 

Me too. 

Stay tuned for the newest episode of Unsolved Mysteries: Side-Ponytail Girl Gets Trapped in Convertible w/ No Food or Water for 20min 

Towards the end of our relationship, when Vicky was at her sassiest, she began stalling in the middle of major roads. I'd often complain, "WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU!?" She'd stall again as if to say, "I think the real question is...what did you NOT do to me!?" 

Touché.

As it turns out, it was easier to sell Vicky than try to fix all her problems. She was in too bad of shape. 

I cried the day we sold her.

From dogs almost jumping inside her while driving down Shiloh Road, to buckling human tape sculptures in her front seat and parading "topless" around town, she made every trip worth the ride. 

My friends' parents still ask about her. 

"Kristin Koonce? Does that girl still have Icky Vicky?" 

No, she did what she came to do. 

She's bringing joy to somebody else's life now. 

This photo was taken my sophomore year, just a few weeks after I got my license. We had a basketball slumber party at Morgan's house. Rules were made to be broken, right? Right, because not only did I have more than one person in the vehicle, but I had SIX people in a car that only fit FOUR. New drivers also have a 12:00AM curfew, but as you can see from our war paint and party hats, we had a yard to decorate.

Vicky, John-David and I on our way to White Oak's prom...she was the third-wheel! 

I may have changed her birth name, but Icky Vicky changed my life.

I'd give anything to "ride topless" in her one last time.

We might not have had it all together, but together we had it all.