Short Narrative: Can Of Corn

ShortStory_Can of Corn_ShortStory 1 Ed Boyd and Barry Edwards were inseparable, and had been since they were nine. Years ago, I, Myron Smyth made a futile attempt to teach Barry to stand on his own. The lessons never took. So, I wasn?t surprised when Ed, quietly nursing a beer after consuming four eggs from the pickle jar, silently broke wind and Barry immediately covered for him. Did Barry stop with an ?oops'? No. He jumped in, his ruddy face turning scarlet; nostrils flared, his eyes beginning to tear and said, "Aahhhh." Behind his senseless grin, he looked much as he had in the fourth grade trying to put one over on us; only today, acne scars had replaced the pimples and stubble covered his chin. His ears still stood out like radar disks
behind my back, Barry said, ?Hey, Angie.? I turned it time to see his face light-up. ?No. No, we?re with Myron, down at the bar for the Cubs game. It should only be a couple more hours.? His ears did the little oscillating thing, and he was grinning into the phone. He listened, and his smile began to fade, leaving the dim bar light to accentuate the pits in his cheeks. ?Sure Angie, I?ll tell him.? I watched the sparkle vanish from his eyes. ?I wasn?t?,? he hesitated, and then wound up the conversation with, ?Yup, I?ll see that he gets home today.? He handed the phone back without further comment. Just as I reached for it, he hauled it back, punched in a series of numbers, and whipped it to his
he said. ?Those umpires are blowing too many calls. It takes the joy out of watching the boys.? He tugged at the hem of his cardigan and threw his shoulders back. ?Honestly, I?m still concerned about Wayne. I thought I might run by the Packet and see if there?s anything I can do.?
After Mr. Schumacher had taken his leave, I went into the back room for a case of Miller Lite. Stepping into the walk-in cooler from the rear, I began to fill the empty rack and through the glass doors I could see Ed and Barry at the bar. Barry was hopping up and down on the far side of his bar stool, and Ed was waving him off. I could hear the voices, but the words were muffled by the hum of refrigeration. Barry grabbed the cap off his head and slapped it down on the bar. Ashes flew out of the ash tray and scattered across the polished wood.
As I came back into the room, Ed was trying to calm Barry down, "Let's have one more. Myron set ?em up." Ed sat forward on the stool and reached into his back