The man who ate the 747 by Ben Sherwood

Author:Ben Sherwood [Ben Sherwood]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Humour
ISBN: 9781439570159
Published: 2008-11-05T08:00:00+00:00

The egg wobbled through the air, end over end, catching the sun for an instant, glowing translucent gold. J.J. reached out and felt the shell shatter in his fingers. Cool, slimy goo dripped down his arm.

In all his years with The Book, he had never once tried to break a record. Sure, there were plenty of opportunities. Wing walking was definitely the easiest: 3 hours and 23 minutes. Roy Castle set the mark by strapping himself to the wing of a plane and flying from England to France. With enough rope, resolve, and tranquilizers, anyone could topple that record. It would take only 3 hours and 24 minutes.

Now, because of an irrepressible woman, J.J. stood in a cornfield with three cartons of fresh eggs. Far and away, his favorite category in The Book had always been “Projectile Throwing.” Specifically, the egg toss. Long dominated by the Finns, the record was now held by Americans: 323 feet 2 inches without breaking the egg, no gloves allowed. Johnny Dell Foley threw an untreated fresh hen’s egg to Keith Thomas in Jewett, Texas. J.J. had been there.

After dropping off the last newspapers, he and Willa had spent a good half hour at Kier’s Thriftway in Mankato debating the aeronautical merits of the different sizes. As a nod to scientific inquiry, they settled on three—medium, large, and jumbo. They also bought a roll of paper towels and a bottle of cheap white wine.

The sun was setting and a gorgeous warm light blessed the fields. J.J. had marched 109 generous paces, well beyond the record, just to show Willa how far 323 feet really was.

“Hellooooooo,” he called from the far side of the field.

She waved to him. He could see her smile a full football field away. She was barefoot in a yellow sundress, and she stretched in the wind.

“You sure you want to do this?” he called out.

“Yeah,” she said. “Quit stalling!”

“Fine.” He jogged back to her. “Let’s take this in degrees. Say we try 15 feet for starters.”

“You’re on,” she said.

As she counted off 15 steps, she laughed like a young girl. She turned toward him, her dress flitting in the wind. He liked her face when she wasn’t accusing him of ruining Superior. He took off his shirt and threw it in the fork of an elm tree. He saw her watching and he sucked in his belly. He wished he did more sit-ups and push-ups.

“Shake ’em up good,” he said. “Break up the yolk and they fly better.”

“Here comes a jumbo,” she said, throwing it underhand.

The first few were easy and their confidence grew. Back and forth they tossed gently, catching, missing, laughing. Impatiently they increased the distance, first 40, then 60 feet. Eggs cracked in their palms, goo flew everywhere.

“This isn’t fair,” Willa said. “How come I’m getting yuckier than you?”

“I’m plenty messy,” he said.

They looped eggs high in the air. Pop, one on Willa’s head.

“Ow,” she yelled. “The mediums hurt. They’re like golf balls.”

Splat, another against J.J.’s chest. Egg splooge dribbled down his stomach.

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