Wible's Orange Soda

Shirley lived out the lane. Her trailer was parked in a pine grove. Despite the fact that it was 1972, she was a single young woman who didn’t need a man in her life.

She was a country girl as fresh as hay in July. Her youth blossomed in a body as firm as cucumbers. My dad treated her kindly, perhaps he was too kind to her.

Dad got a twinkle in his eyes when pretty girls wandered into nearby pastures. He used my cute little face with a thick, full-head of hair and a cow-lick to lead them into casual conversation.

“Oh, he’s so cute!” Shirley said to my dad one day while we were at the Country Garden Market buying bread. Dad rubbed my head, like a trophy he won in a horse race.

“I’m Bill,” my father said to Shirley with a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, and this is my second, Charlie.”

Even at four I knew when something smelled fishy.

I went into bars with my dad, I knew what Shirley was after–

Pop.

Many ladies in town liked my daddy because he bought them pop.

Dad only bought me and my brother one pop when we sat in those cool air conditioned watering holes in Huntingdon in summer.

Girls like Shirley got as many as they wanted.

Shirley told my dad and I that she just moved out from her mom and dad’s house and bought a trailer up on Stone Creek Ridge.
“My mom sold you that land. I’m Bill Taylor and I’m married.” Dad giggled while pointing behind my back at me.

“Hey Dad, I’m telling mom you are talking to women again,” I said cute and casually.

Shirley bought me a six pack of Wible’s orange soda pop that day.