Teardrop Fiction

[Vindi_andy]

Tex loving you stories thought Id contribute one myself.

The insipiration and parts of this story come from a friend of my dads but the writing is entirely mine. My apologies for the length but when I started I couldn’t stop till I reached the conclusion also apologies for changing tense halfway through it started out as a past tense but then I got into the moment and started writing in the present

The Beast, some diesel and the hedge

Well there I am, an English youth, staring at all the gleaming metal in the Motorbike shop deciding which I would buy If only I had the cash. There are all sorts of exotica there however they are beyond my means. With a sigh I turned from the beautiful shiny new machines and proceeded to the dark, oil and sweat smelling back shop where they keep the less loved second hand bikes. Not holding out much hope I wandered through the slightly battered and scratched machinery, looking at my balance statement hoping that magically it will somehow multiply into the sort of sum where I can go back to the well lit showroom and say to the supercilious salesman “I’ll take that one, and I’m paying in cash.â€

[queeniejeanne]

We grew up poor….not so poor as some….poorer than others for sure. I knew this because I had only handmade dresses or hand-me-downs from older cousins. The other girls in school had store bought stuff. Boy, how I wished for that store bought smell of new clothes and was really thrilled when I got my cousins cloths from up in Tulsa. They were rich town folk who always had the latest styles. Two girls a few years older than me. My only close girl cousins. They didn’t come to the farm ever, but, we went to their house often. They got more than two pair of shoes a year. I got two pair, one for winter and one for springtime. I didn’t care whether I got them clothes and shoes 3 years later or not, they were new to me and at 9 years old it is important to feel confident.

Confidence, that’s what leads to this story, true I swear. Surely, while you all have had many similar excitements in your lives, not a confidence builder for a nine year old girl child among three brothers.

Our family believed in Sunday dinners, not just any old dinner but the “kill three chickensâ€

[Ratkity]

Wonderful stories!!!

We have some talented folks here.

Hugs,
Ratkity

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

This thread is turning into exactly what I’d hoped for…a place where the storytellers gather, each outdoing the last.

Keep up the good work…

...and you...yes YOU...sitting there thinking..."I should tell them about the time when..."

Go ahead...what's stopping you?

[steve smoot]

queeniejeanne, that was a delightful story. I could almost see you running up that hill...

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

Once upon a time, a nice lady asked me why I never write anything serious. Like I told her, it’s not that I can’t, it’s just that I don’t like to. You see, when I get serious, something like THIS always comes out of the keyboard...


FOR BOBBY

When the news came that Homer Wayne Nelson had killed himself, I can't honestly say I was surprised. While it wasn't something I kept at the forefront of my mind, I guess deep down, I had expected it for years. And the way he chose to end his pain really didn't surprise me either, because of all the guys I hung out with as a kid, Homer Wayne had, by far, the most creative imagination.

In the small town where we live, even a minor automobile accident is big news, so one can well imagine the ensuing excitement when the town crazy committed suicide, and…burned his house to the ground in the process. The buzz lasted for well over a week, and surprisingly, everyone kept the facts straight.

Having tossed his mattress into the corner of the bedroom, Homer had connected an extension cord to the springs on his bed, and wired it to the power switch on the TV. He had cut out a short section of that extension cord, replaced it with smaller wire, and placed a strip of really good duct tape over the circuit breaker for the bedroom.

The county investigator guy explained it this way to the newspaper guy and the funeral home guy: Homer had laid down on the springs, and used the remote control to turn on the TV. The tape had prevented the breaker from tripping. The small section of wire wouldn't carry that much juice for very long, and probably burned in two a couple of minutes after he died. What the victim didn't count on was the arc on the floor where the wires were spliced…and the resulting fire.

Hey…I used to know Homer Wayne really well, and he rarely left anything to chance. Not only did he count on that arc, he planned it and depended on it. What better redemption?…cleansing by fire.

The house was completely engulfed by the time the volunteer firefighters arrived, and there was little they could do other than keep the propane tank cool until the flames died down. Half the town watched the roof structure collapse, but almost everyone had gone home for supper by the time the last wall fell in on itself.

All four of us were there for the funeral. Kenny, Guy, Marty, and me. Four sixths of the old gang sitting side by side in a single pine pew. Sometime between the invocation and benediction, I wondered which one of us would be the last to go. After the last “amenâ€

[High Desert]

I can understand why you don't like to Tex; but they're damn good all the same.

[Ratkity]

I can understand why you don't like to Tex; but they're damn good all the same.

I concur!

Hugs,
Ratkity

[queeniejeanne]

"Wow!", She said while large crocodile tears rolled down wrinkled cheeks, cheeks now smeared with mascara and blush.

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

"Wow!", She said while large crocodile tears rolled down wrinkled cheeks, cheeks now smeared with mascara and blush.

Sorry...

[Vindi_andy]

Very moving Tex

Not to make light of it but to lighten the mood hopefully.

This story comes from the life of my father and is as true as 2 generations of whisky lovers, proper scotch whisky of the single malt variety, memories can be and its always makes me smile when I think about it hopefully it will you guys

One cold and foggy night

He was a young man at what we used to call a polytechnical college, studying a chemistry HNC, whilst living on an air base with his mom whilst his dad was based overseas. He used to travel to college on a little 50 CC motorcycle with a top speed of approximately 35 MPH.

He was working as well so was studying part time, one long day a week at college. After one particularly wniter day of study he mounted his bike for the journey home. It was about 9PM so it was dark, and it was nasty weather. Sub Zero temperatures ( that 0 degrees C for our amercian cousin) and thick freezing fog the bike light barely penetrated the fog so he rode very carefully occasionally having to rub his visor vigourosly to remove the build up.

A short way into his legs had got very cold, shortly afterwards they had gone numb from the cold, likewise his hands. After an uneventful but longer than normal journey home, everyone else was far too smart to be out on such a horrid, he arrived home pulled to a stop in front of his house and promptly fell over.

His legs had gotten so cold during the journey they had siezed up so when he stopped he was unable to put his foot down and he just toppled over. His mum came out of the house to see what the noise was and she couldnt pick him and the bike up. She had not long made herself a pot of tea so quick thinking RAF wife that she was dashed inside grabbed the pot dashed back out and poured the contents of the pot over his knees to free up the joints enough for my dad to extricate himself from the bike stand it back up on its stand this time and then walk into the house looking like as he put it " john wayne whos lost his horse".




[/b]

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

FUTURES

Having a huge craving for eggs over medium this morning, and having basically been turned down cold by a nice young lady when I invited her to fix them for me, I stopped by the Mexico Diner and Oyster Bar and told Mabel to tell Bubba Earl to go easy on the lard when he refried the beans.

Well, just as I broke the yellow on my last egg, who should walk through the door but Ray Raymond Porter. He saw me immediately, snorted, ambled over to my table, helped himself to an empty chair, and began seriously eyeing the big cathead biscuit on the side of my plate. Contemplating damage control, I offered him the extra slice of bacon instead.

Describing Porter-Ray (don't ask me why everyone calls him that) isn't easy. Let's just say no one has ever seen him wear anything other than a pair of overalls, he can eat like a grizzly in the springtime, and he's blessed with the gift of gab. Word is, when he was two years old, he could crap in his diaper and then convince his mother HE didn't do it.

When I nudged the biscuit towards him with the back of my knuckle, it vanished like a stone dropped into the deepest part of Honeydew Lake. When his eyes drifted to my now-oozing egg, I figured I best get him talking. Most folks have a hard time eating when they’re talking.

"Whatcha been up to, Porter-Ray?"

"Funny you should ask, Tex, `cause I just come from the courthouse and got me one of those doin'-business-as licenses. As of ten minutes ago, I'm officially a bone-fried commodities futures trader."

My mind flashed across the various markets...cotton, sugar, coffee...

"Oil and gas?" I asked the question, then ate the egg in one bite...purely an act of self-defense.

He glanced around, then leaned over the table, lowering his voice like a back-alley conspirator. "Something brand new, Tex...something no one else has thought of yet…something that has the potential to be really big, Tex…coon dogs..." He kept a perfectly straight face, and his disappointment over my almost empty plate was all too evident. I chewed, trying not to look directly into his eyes.

"You see, Tex...what with all this economical downturn, combined with the energized crunch, the price of corn is inching it's way up...ethanol fuel, and all. Alcohol, boy..."

I used a chunk of potato to wipe the plate, wishing for that long-lost biscuit. "And what has THAT got to do with coon dogs, Porter-Ray?"

"Don't you see...it's like homeland security for the little man. As the value of a corn field increases, the potential loss by damage from coons goes up expotencentsially. I'm tellin' you boy, in a year, the price of a coon dog pup is gonna be out the top. There's a ground floor opportunity here, Tex...'cause once everyone climbs on the banded wagon, it'll be like shootin' chickens in a fishbowl."

I shook my head, trying to clear the dustiness off what he had said. Being sociable, I told Mabel to bring us two pieces of apple pie, but Porter-Ray clarified the order by telling her to just cut a pie in half, bring us both pieces, and bring us a full pot of coffee on the side. A half-hour later, I was two hundred dollars poorer, and the proud owner of three blue-tick hound puppy futures, whatever the heck THAT means.

On the way outside, I ran into Jimmy Jack Jackson, and asked if he was interested in some coon dogs to help protect his corn crop next summer. He told me reckon not...said the government was paying everyone in the county NOT to plant corn for three years. Seems the Agriculture Department wants all the farmers to plant sugar cane...to make ethanol fuel. I turned back inside, but Porter Ray was nowhere to be found.

I wonder why Mexican food always gives me heartburn...

Tex

[Ratkity]

Luv it!

Hugs,
Ratkity

[Ratkity]

MEDICINAL ADVICE

Being a poor graduate student in the 1980s and living in Stribling's Trailer Park, I rode my bicycle to and from classes on a daily basis. Most times, you'd see me pedaling away down the street, backpack filled with books, at least one diet soda, papers, miscellaneous change and various bicycle tools.

One fine Spring day, I found myself in need of the campus physician. I had apparently ridden too many miles in the hot and humid South Carolina weather and ended up with some nether region irritation. I didn't take my backpack with me to the Infirmary and found I had to carry the obvious prescription bag in my hand as I rode back home. It wasn't too inconvenient, just annoying.

I stopped by the gray metal postal boxes that resided in front of the manager's office. The manager of the trailer park was none other than the "younger" Stribling, Miss Judy. As it happened, Miss Judy was outside by said mailboxes chatting with another graduate student when she noticed my prescription bag. Miss Judy was 5 ft 6 inches, somewhere between the age of 35-55, bleach blonde, stocky and not afraid of a hard day's work. She worked livestock and owned several horses, and single-handedly kept that huge trailer park running. She was also used to speaking at quite a volume because of her elderly nearly-deaf mother and father and never, ever passed up the opportunity to talk someone's ear off. Her marathon stories were legendary. Rumor had it that she even talked while she was sleeping.

Upon seeing my prescription bag, Miss Judy promptly asked what was the matter with me that I needed fancy medicines. The graduate student she had been talking to found the opportunity to make a quick exit. Now I'm not used to telling people of such personal information, but I was also taught to respect my elders and be polite when directly asked a question. With a red face and a low voice, I told Miss Judy of my medical condition that needed the medicine prescribed for a yeast infection as she demanded to see the prescription bag. Of course, a couple of permanent trailer park residents took that opportunity to meander up to the mailboxes to collect their mail and were now interested in what Miss Judy was going to say about my condition.

Miss Judy promptly handed back my bag and loudly proclaimed spending any money on such medicine was wasteful and unnecessary and this was what I "needed" to do:

"First, you get some corn. It might as well be good sweet corn. Ya gotta get fresh corn on the cob, not the stuff in the can. Ya need the whole thing. Just shuck the corn and cook it up good cuz you can eat the corn after you take it off the cob. Now don't forget about the creamed corn recipe I gave you. Add just a tad bit of sugar to that recipe"

As Miss Judy reminded me about the recipe, I tried not to envision what she wanted me to do with the corn cob and was trying not pass out from so much blood flow to my face as the other two residents came closer to hear about Miss Judy's yeast infection remedy. Miss Judy continued on about a variation of the recipe that one of the other residents had tried and found quite good. Meanwhile, I was having trouble holding up my bicycle because I thought for sure I was just going to fall over and die from embarrassment.

About 20 minutes into the sweet corn recipes, I tried to gently remind Miss Judy of her original train of thought about the medicine. Confused for a moment and probably a bit irritated that I interrupted her thoughts about her corn bread renditions, she flippantly said "Oh, you just take the silks from shucking the corn and make a tea out of it. Drink it for a few days and you'll be good as new".

I think my restored blood flow to the rest of my body made me a little giddy when I realized she didn't want me to do something with boiled corn cobs and just make a tea out of the silks. Miss Judy must have misinterpreted my relief as gratitude for such a wonderful medicinal advice that she patted me on the back and told me to go take care of myself and in the same breath started to talk to the permanent residents about the merits of good corn bread. I rode back to my tiny little trailer holding in a bad case of the giggles until out of earshot. I never did make that tea, but never really looked at corn silks the same either.

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

Someone is getting’ pretty darn good at storytellin’.

More please…