On the highway running south of Roswell, New Mexico
July, l930

I crossed the road, flitting behind a dark gray Model A Ford that sped down the highway. The driver paid no attention to me but that was all right. The only thing that mattered was my brother Elwood's gas station on the other side, and the little pop and candy stand where I would start to work today. My first day. I fluffed my blonde, nearly white hair and smoothed the skirt of my new blue and white sleeveless dress I received for my thirteenth birthday. I starched and ironed it that morning. Elwood always noticed. He liked girls to look pretty.
      The station was busy. Three cars lined up beside the pumps. Elwood waved and pointed to the stand near the road in front of the station. It had a shingled roof and plank walls half way up the sides.
      I lifted the rail that served as a gate and hurried into the stand. I hopped around from side to side, checking out everything. Golly. Just think of it! This was MY place, every day, all summer long.
      Chopped ice covered bottled Coke and Nehi Creme Soda in the metal pop container which stood on four legs. The lid closed off one part of the container where warm pop was cooling. Under the shade of the shingled roof, the counter held cartons of candy and gum. All my favorites. On an orange crate under the counter I found a Roi Tan cigar box with nickels, dimes and pennies in it. On top of the coins lay a notebook to record the sales. Hot diggety! I was ready.
      "Hi, Skeeter," Elwood called as he walked toward me. "You look too dressed up to work." I knew he would notice. "Find everything?" My short, muscular, twenty-three year old brother wore coveralls with the name "Phillips" stitched in red across the front. He came in the enclosure, reached for a Baby Ruth, and unwrapped it. "Have one." He tossed me a bar. As we munched, he went through the procedure.
      I said, "Thanks, Elwood, for the job." I was the only one in the family not working. It had been four months since Dad died. Both older brothers started businesses with left-over insurance money after Dad's long illness. Everyone else was helping. Miraculously, Elwood came up with this pop stand idea for me.
      "Uh-oh," he said, and lifted the gate. "Here comes a car. Gotta go. Eat all the candy you want, Skeeter."
      I smiled. That was the way he was. As I opened a Nehi Creme Soda, I promised myself I would be careful about eating up the profits. I crunched on the last bite of candy, letting the flavors of sweet chocolate, peanuts and caramel melt slowly in my mouth. Then I leaned over the counter and wished that someone would buy.
      And, in spite of hard times, they did buy. As the New Mexico sun rose, more and more cars stopped. When someone bought a Butterfinger, I opened one. The cold pop washed my candy down as well as the customer's.
      Every time Elwood came over, he repeated his offer. "Feel free to eat all you want, Skeeter."
      The cigar box filled with coins, and the wastepaper basket filled with candy wrappers — Orange slices, Licorice sticks, Bit O' Honey.
      At noon, I couldn't face my peanut butter sandwich.
      By three o'clock bitter fluid backed up in my throat. I held my mouth as I tried to swallow, but the stuff slid up again and again. I couldn't stop it. I pulled up the gate and dashed toward the restroom at the side of the building, turning my head long enough to see Elwood's back toward me. I banged the restroom door open, barely making it to the stool. I braced myself against the tank with my left hand and yanked my skirt out of the way with my right. In a bitter rush, I lost it all — every bite of candy, every drop of Nehi soda pop.
      Gradually, my stomach settled and I straightened. I looked around. Oh, No! I've got to clean up. It looks awful. Someone will tell Elwood and he'll fire me.
      I did the best I could with the last of the toilet paper then washed my face and wiped spots on my dress. My beautiful new blue dress hung limp around my knees.
      I waved the door back and forth to air the restroom. It didn't help. I left the door open.
      Elwood looked up from beside a Chevy he was filling with gas. I forced a wave and hurried to my stand.
      A half hour later, he walked toward me, his face solemn, forehead wrinkled. I panicked. He knows! What's he going to say? Is he going to tell me I can't work any more? My head roared so I could hardly take in what he was saying.
      "You've worked long enough for today, Sis. You look green around the gills. Come a little later tomorrow morning so you can stay later."
      "You mean I...?" He didn't fire me! My heart melted at the wonder of my oldest brother. I could have hugged him.
      "Here," he said, and picked up two Baby Ruths. "Take these home for dessert for you and Mama." He laid them on the counter and walked away.
      I chopped more ice for the pop, counted the money, and crammed the candy wrappers in a sack to take home.
      When I crossed the road, I turned around. The two Baby Ruths still sat on the counter. My stomach griped. Bile climbed up my throat. Oh please, PLEASE, don't let me be sick again! I clamped my hand over my mouth and ran toward home.
      I couldn't tolerate any candy the next day. Or the next. Before the summer was over, I could eat it again, but I was able to stop easily. A sudden bitter taste would come into my mouth, and I remembered my Baby Ruth bellyache.
      Elwood and I didn't talk about that day until I was grown and had teenagers of my own. Then we had a good laugh. He never did admit that he put me up to it.