Olan L. Smith's Short Stories

Becoming Aware

The Bailey brothers lived junky. Trash and beer cans were piled knee-deep in their home. However, it didn't matter to me because they were my friends; after all, friends didn't care how their friends lived. I maybe didn't understand it, but that was how they were, and that was that. My mother was always telling me not to go into their house, but I did anyway because I was wearing a cotton top. I had no fear. I was sovereign of all I surveyed. I could climb any tree in my kingdom; I would only have to knock on a door, and the door would be opened. My subjects welcomed me into their home as an honored guest.

To the south of our house was a large field, which belonged to the Bailey brothers. For a few years, I thought it was our field because no fence was erected between our yards and it. I would play in the cornrows or in the wheat, whichever was the crop of the season. I remember looking out our window one day, as workers were busy combining the wheat, and asking my mother, "Momma, how far is it across this field to Henry's house?"

She replied, "I'm not sure, Cotton. I suppose it is close to a thousand feet."

"That's sure a lot of feet," I said. "Does the field belong to us?"

She answers, "No, Cotton, the land belongs to the Baileys."

I did not understand the concept of ownership, and I replied, "But momma, the land is right next to us! Why isn't it ours?"

"Just because we live next to a farmer's field does not mean it is ours. See how the field stretches to the east of us."

"Yes, I do," I answered.

Mother continued, "It also attaches to the Bailey's backyard, just as it does ours. They rent it out to Mr. Olin, and he plants crops in it each year. That is Mr. Olin, who is out there right now harvesting the wheat."

I still didn't understand completely, but if my mother said it belonged to the Bailey's, then that was that.

I went outside and watched the large combine travel across the great field. I could hear it clearly on the other side of the field by the Henry farm. Mr. Olin would travel so far, then stop and unload his combine in one of his big grain trucks. Dust and small particles of chaff floated in the air around both the combine and the truck as grain was loaded into them. Mr. Olin's son, Ralph, was with him.

I walked toward the combine through the wheat, and the stubble reminded me of my brother's flattop haircut, which he always wore. When I got to the combine, Mr. Olin said, "Hello, little man, and who may you be?"

"I'm Cotton C. Jones, but everyone calls me Cotton because of my hair. Yes, sir, the Bailey brothers call me Cotton Top, but I prefer just plain O' Cotton. My mom says you're Mr. Olin, and you farm this land for the Bailey brothers."

"Well, Cotton, I reckon your momma is exactly right. Would you like to ride in the combine with me and my son Ralph?"

"Yes sir. I sure would." So, off I rode in the combine with Ralph and Mr. Olin. It was a noisy, bumpy, and dirty ride, and the smell of fresh-cut wheat and dust filled my olfactory receptors and eyes, but I did not sneeze or blink. I braced my short frame tall and proud and felt important, and I enjoyed the bumpy ride in Mr. Olin's mighty harvesting machine. From one year's harvest to the next, Mr. Olin would always stop and ask me if I wanted a ride. Most of the time, I would say yes, and off we would travel in Mr. Olin's combine. The field to my small frame seemed endless, stretching from our house to Henry's' place. Riding in this contraption was tremendous, and Ralph and I would ride until the hopper was full of wheat. We would get out of the combine and walk over to the truck, which sat idly in the field waiting for us to bring it its load of wheat. Mr. Olin would move the rigging over the bed of the truck, then he would start the next process, and out would flow from the chute the multitude of wheat kernels. When the truck was getting close to full, Ralph and I would climb up on top of the wheat, jump, and play. After tiring ourselves, we would collapse on our backs onto the wheat and rest.