Luke Warm Grape Soda

Lukewarm Grape Soda

By E. A. Pulliam

When I was in late elementary school we lived on Okinawa. It was a simpler time, and we were allowed to roam pretty freely on Kadena Air Base and in the adjacent towns. My father was frequently away from home for work and, if it was summertime, we’d pack up our old Studebaker wagon and head for Okuma. 

Okuma was a retreat area for officer’s families. It was pretty far north on the island.  The southern end of the island where we lived and where the bases were was developed. Not with high rises and malls (most of the island still had open sewer systems) but most roads were paved and two lanes or more wide. It was 1962 and further north we drove, the less modern the world became.  We would drive up the coast of the East China Sea on a road that started out as a paved, four-lane highway and dissolved first to two lanes, then narrower two lanes, then gravel two lanes and finally, the last couple of miles of the road to Okuma was one lane with rice paddies on either side. If a vehicle or ox cart came from the opposite direction, one or the other would have to back up to a side road to let the other one past. The view along the drive was always entertaining.  There were multi-colored coral reefs, tiers of rice paddies climbing the side of the island, small Japanese and Ryukyuan villages with ceramic Shi-shi dogs guarding the families from the tiled roofs, and the people with their wide conical rice straw hats that nodded their heads, smiled and sometimes waved as we drove past.  For us kids, it was an adventure. Even on a tropical summer day in an un-airconditioned car.

I was one of six children packed in the car, and we loved going to the retreat. Once there, we were let loose to do pretty much whatever we wanted. There were lots of options. The retreat was on a small peninsula sticking out into the East China Sea. There were beaches on either side. For older kids, there was water skiing and snorkeling. For us younger ones there were bikes, miniature golf and a big indoor play area with board games and puzzles. And of course, playing in the ocean. I wasn’t a great swimmer and rarely wandered more than waist deep into the ocean. Once, on a dare, I went a little deeper and lost my footing when a wave hit me. I came back up sputtering with my swimsuit, ears and eyes full of sand. My sister thought it was funny but then started screaming and pointing at me. I looked down and there was a small eel attached to my tummy just above my swimsuit bottom. A life guard had seen my battle with the wave and was already in the water coming toward me yelling, “don’t touch it!” But it was too late. I grabbed the eel and tugged it off. It left a bloody hole, and eventually a scar that didn’t fade away until I was almost 20.

At night, there was a small amphitheater that played movies. They didn’t have many, they were all 1950’s family comedies and westerns and after three or four visits, we had them almost memorized.

It was also the place where we were introduced to octopus and lobster. Both were plentiful and cheap, and were caught daily on the reef at the resort. The octopus tentacles were served raw in slices with the suckers still on them. We delighted in sticking the slices on our fingers, dipping them one-by-one in soy sauce and eating the dangling disks from our fingertips. Lobster night was one of the highlights of the trip. We would get cleaned up (meaning hair washed and tied back, clean shorts with a sleeveless cotton shirt and Keds on our feet instead of flipper floppers) and go to the Officer’s Club for a lobster dinner. The four girls all got a whole lobster each! The little boys, both less than 6 years old, got a half lobster each. The lobsters had bodies about 10 inches long, they were served steamed with melted butter, and corn on the cob and boiled potatoes.  We were taught how to pick the meat and had to pick the little boys’ lobster, cut the corn off the cob and squish the potatoes before we could eat our own food. I’ve had lobster since, but it’s never quite as good as I remember it being at Okuma.

But the big treat was that we could have all the soda pop we wanted.  We almost never had soda pop at home!  The retreat had a deal with a local Japanese bottler for Shasta soda that they would buy all of the canned “shorts.” Some of the cans were almost full, some were almost empty. There were only two flavors: grape and orange. They were never really cold. We would get them by the case and carry them back to our cabin. They would be cool when we first got them, but they would quickly warm up to room temperature, and hotter in the sun. I loved that grape soda. I thought it was better than Coke-a-Cola. If I was awake, there was a grape soda in my hand. And my younger sister and I would have burping contests, as long as Mother was out of sight.

Of course, many years have passed since I stood there in the sand, sunburned to a lobster red and sipping lukewarm Shasta grape soda. I grew up and my tastes matured. Soda pop continued to be a rare treat in our household growing up, and as an adult I have never been a big consumer of soda. Well, there was a short period when I was practically addicted to Coke Zero, but I got over that.

Now the sodas I drink tend to be the flavored seltzer water which is so much in vogue. And I will admit I drink three or four a day. The flavors vary with what is on sale at the store. Another member of my household works at a grocery store and he keeps two or three flavors in the cupboard most of the time. Today, I reached in a pulled one at random out of the box nearest the front. I popped it open and poured it in my glass. 

! Fizzzzz! Ummm!

Before I even put the glass to my lips, the mere whiff of grape scented fizzy air metamorphosized me back to an eleven-year-old, sunburned little girl standing on the Okuma beach.