A Collection of Short Stories
by
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I had put my sock, pants, and underwear in the suitcase. I was thinking that this is my last trip to Oklahoma, of course, I have thought that for the past five years. I am seventy-nine years old now, and with Chris gone, short for Christine, seems it gets harder to make these trips year after year. It’s almost August, and I bet it is still as hot as a fire cracker back home. I still call Oklahoma home, even though I haven’t lived there for fifty years, but it’s those childhood memories that I can seem to remember the most. I don’t know if it’s because it seems to be stress free, for the most part, or because it was when a boy was truly free.
I’m all packed, I think. The plane leaves at 4:00 pm, it’s 1:00 pm, now, I’m thirty minutes from the airport, surely I have time to check in and wait. The taxi should be here any minute.
Thank goodness I kept the old home place. I need to sell it, I guess, like the kids keep telling me to do, but I just can’t. They can sell it when I die. It does seem like a lot of work every time I get there.
The taxi has arrived, I guess I will head home again. I hope my kids remember that I want to be buried in Green Hill Cemetery. That’s where Mom and Dad, uncles and, of course, Jimmy are buried.
Well, it seems the airport security is even tighter than last year. I take my shoes off, belt off, and even give up my daily medicine container. For a minute I thought I as in trouble for having my medicine, but they finally let me go through, just to sit for an hour and a half.
Yep, Jimmy, I wander what he would look like now. I wonder where he would live, probably stay right there in Lindsay.
Finally, they are boarding the plane. I hope I don’t sit by a talker, of course, talkers make me sleepy. A nice nap on the plane wouldn’t hurt. I hope if I do fall asleep that I don’t snore. I know my snoring, and if I did it would seem like turbulence inside the plane.
Thank goodness, seat 34B, is a window seat. Last year I sat in the middle seat, someone always getting up or sitting down.
I sit down and a young man, younger than my youngest boy’s age, sits beside me. He seems about 26 years old. He says his name is Tony and he is heading to Oklahoma for a job with an oil company. As usual, I say my name is Curtis and I’m heading to Oklahoma to visit friends.
The plane goes through hits usual routine in case we crash in water or need to find the emergency exits, but for some reason it just seems to blend in with the over head fan. Tony then asks me what I do for a living, of course I tell him I have been retired for almost as long as he is old. It is quiet for awhile and then we are airborne.
I sit staring out the window, at the clouds, when Tony asks me if I fly a lot. I tell him this may be my last flight, hopefully.
“Hopefully?” Tony exclaims. “Are you dying or you gonna stay in Oklahoma? I hear that all there is in Oklahoma are oil wells and football players.”
“Well, there are both in Oklahoma, but there are also baseball players, motorcycle riders, and lawn mowers there. As a matter of fact, that is why I’m going back, to ride a motorcycle.”
Tony looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Now, old man,” Tony says, “I don’t know how old you really are, but you look a little old to be riding on a motorcycle. Those motorcycles can be hard to handle, and you’re not a spring chicken.
I look at the young man and say, “I’ve been riding The Silver since I was ten years old.”
“What’s The Silver?” he asks.
“Nothing, it’s along story,” I said, “and I don’t want to bother the guy beside you.”
The man beside Tony spoke up, “No, go ahead, I’m curious too. My name is Bill Thomas, I’m an editor for the Oklahoman.”
“Definitely not then, you’ll think I’m an old crazy man.”
“I have heard al kinds of stories, let me be the judge.”
“Nope, it’s kind of a stupid personal thing I do every year, it’s nothing, really.” I said.
“I promise I won’t print a single word.” Bill said.
“I knew you didn’t ride a motorcycle anyway.” Tony teased.
“This isn’t about just a motorcycle, it’s about The Silver, a special motorcycle.”
“I don’t recall a motorcycle called The Silver.” Bill remarked.
“Well, if I’m going to tell it, I’m going to tell it from the beginning.”
“Great!” both Bill and Tony exclaim.
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About the Book
“The Monster Pig” is a story of a young boy’s imagination and his uncle’s exaggeration. It will lead you down a path of his imagination, right to the pen of the monster pig.
“A Ride on the Silver” tells the tale of an old man’s experiences as a young boy, starting a summer lawn-mowing business. He recalls the work, the sweat, the tears—and a true and lasting friendship.
“The Radio” is the story of a young girl ripped from her friends in a small town, only to find a series of heartwarming events unfolding in her new home.
“The Leather Sandals” shares a familary story. Everybody knows how the story of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ evolved. This is another side of the account, purely fictional but Christian in intent, of how a blind sandal maker becomes a great shepherd.
“The Babyl Stone” takes you on a journey through time, as you follow the stone from the beginning of civilization to possibly the end of time.
About the Author
J. Curtis Smith has been writing short stories for the last twenty years. He loves to tell stories. Most of his works have a theme, based on morality, friendship, exaggeration, imagination, and life lessons with a good moral base. He enjoys writing about the past and the present with simple, everyday themes—nothing to big and nothing to small, just normal people stories.
Smith has been in the oil and gas business all his life. He enjoys collecting things that have to do with history and spending time with his two children, Austin and Allie.
Smith lives in Lindsay, Oklahoma, a small community in the heartland. He has lived there all his life and has traveled to many places in the world.
He is a people person that doesn’t know a stranger, and he thinks all people have a story to tell. The most interesting stories are those about everyday life, whether it is the present, the past, or the future.