Tutti-Fruity

Henrietta, Texas, Summer 1922: My mother, Margaret Hurn, known as Maggie, was six years old, and very excited that Saturday. Because, for the first time, riding down the dirt road in the wagon with her mother and father, Maggie had come to town.

She had a nickel in her hand. She held it carefully all during the journey. Eight miles seems so little now, for any car can cruise the paved road in just a few minutes. But on that day, on the dirt road in the wagon behind the horse, it took several hours, with the sun high above and dust rising to float in the air behind them, and she was holding that nickel all the way.

She had a plan.

Tutti-Fruity ice cream. That was the plan. A nickel would buy a big double-dip ice-cream cone at the Henrietta drugstore. The soda fountain there had a marble top, and fancy stools that spun around with red plush seats. Behind the counter, lined up before the huge mirror, was a shelf of colored bottles. Every kind of delight, in town, right there at the soda fountain.

Maggie wanted Tutti-Fruity.

She was shy about going in, but her father said, “Go on,” and gave her a nudge, so she went right in. Instantly dismayed because everything was so fancy, she waited, holding her nickel, and before long, the big man behind the counter noticed her and leaned over the counter.

“What would you like, little girl?” he said. Perhaps a bit deaf, he spoke loudly, and it startled Maggie. She cast her eyes down.

“Tutti-Fruity,” she said softly.

“What’s that?” he said. “What would you like?” Maggie felt embarrassed, awkward.

“Tutti-Fruity,” she said softly.

“I can’t hear you!” the man said loudly, “What do you want?”

“Tutti-Fruity,” she whispered.

“What?!!” he demanded. “Speak up!”

But now it was too late. Confused, ashamed, she ran crying from the store.

All the way home, on the long journey up the dirt road as the late shadows grew longer across the road, sitting in the wagon, she held the nickel in her hand.