Boyce called me in the morning to make sure I wasn’t going to be upset if Charlotte took Boyce Jr. to the spring lunch sponsored by The Thunderbirds bird watching group. I asked him if he wasn’t going too, but Boyce just laughed real low into the phone for a long time, like he was remembering when his worst enemy fell down a flight of stairs. I assured him that I would never be resentful to Charlotte or Boyce Jr. In fact, I told him I’d love a report on how everything went. Boyce laughed again.
After hanging up the phone I laced up my bird-watching boots. I couldn’t stay away. Someone had to protect Boyce Jr. I love Charlotte, but I knew those Thunderbirds could have Boyce teaching a toucan to speak before she even drank her first glass of world-class lemonade from group-member Karen. I caught the bus to the park about thirty minutes before the lunch was supposed to begin. I could see them putting some tablecloths down, and then a few people came in bringing rather large subs. Not wanting to be noticed, I stationed myself on a bench about fifty yards away and hid from view thanks to a trash can.
It wasn’t long before the entire Thunderbirds group was assembled. There were pitchers of Karen’s lemonade on the table, and a flood of emotions came rushing back to me. I wasn’t sure how I should feel. Did I want a local bird watching group to prosper despite its unjust practices? Or did I want to bury my hands into the grass at my feet and beg sweet mother earth to rise up and swallow the entire group, sparing only Karen's lemonade? I couldn’t decide as I watched them mingle and eat their giant subs.
After a while visitors began to show up, and finally I saw Charlotte and Boyce Jr. To my surprise, I then saw Boyce and Sammy show up too. They were laughing pretty hard while they were putting some chips on their plate. Sammy and Boyce at a bird watching event? It was something I had dreamed about for years, and now that it was happening I was banished behind an empty garbage can. Oh, irony, you vampire harpy who feasts upon all promise of happiness! Succubus of all that is dreamt in innocence and purity! Slut!
Julia Albert then appeared from behind some of the members of The Thunderbirds. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but everyone was listening to her. The visitors and members gave polite applause when she finished. Boyce and Sammy kept laughing it up, having a gay old time, and pointing to the sky like they were thanking the heavens. I watched plates get set down at the end of picnic tables while binoculars were passed from The Thunderbirds to the visitors. When Sammy got a pair he pointed it way too low to see any birds, and Boyce must have warned him because he put his hand up in the air again. And then they laughed. Oh how they laughed.
I knew that showing up was a mistake. Seeing The Thunderbirds was difficult, seeing Julia Albert getting applause from strangers was murder, but seeing Boyce and Sammy enjoying birds was just too much. I had to take a stand. I breathed deep and marched over to the table. I went straight up to Sammy and Boyce and asked them why, after over twenty years of trying to get them to go bird watching with me, did they decide to do it now. I was pretty hot and bothered but Boyce just laughed, and said, “I knew from the moment I heard your voice on the phone that you were going to show up today. So we had to come. We’ve been waving to you for the last thirty minutes. Sammy looked right at you with the binoculars. I waved. You didn’t wave back.” Then Charlotte added that all the Thunderbirds knew it was me and had been having a pretty good time about me hiding behind a trash can.
Julia Albert approached me with a grin on her face. I stopped her before she spoke and said that I would take my complimentary slice of giant sub, a glass of Karen’s lemonade, and then be on my way. She said she was hoping I had a change of heart and wanted to let bygones be bygones. I informed her that so long as one clipped wing could be found in a Thunderbird home, I would never join the group. She said, like I asked how her birds were, “They’re doing great, thank you. I was thinking of getting a new one and calling him Cyrus.” I have been punched by a woman before, but never have I been so stung. I announced to the visitors that The Thunderbirds allowed bird ownership. The visitors didn’t quite understand my meaning, and applauded politely.
That’s when Sammy wiped his mouth and stepped between us. He was still chewing his last bite but he was already smiling, and I knew he was working on an idea. He said, “Ms. Albert and Mr. Wetherbee, you both want something. Cyrus wants this group to ban bird ownership. Ms. Albert, you want to show Cyrus that having birds is a good thing. We can solve this. We can fix this all with a friendly bet.” Julia Albert gave a polite laugh like the way a mother does when her ninth grade son tells her he’s a communist. She put her hand on Sammy’s shoulder and called him a sweet boy, but that she didn’t care what I thought at all. Sammy told her that wasn’t the spirit. On a nice spring afternoon in the park, the only thing we needed more than lemonade and birds was a friendly wager. “If Cyrus wins, you make The Thunderbirds ban bird ownership. If you win—well, Ms. Albert, what do you want?” She laughed again. She said she didn’t want anything but for me to realize I was wrong. “Fine,” Sammy said. “If you win, Cyrus has to have a pet bird.” That’s when Julia Albert got real excited and laughed in a different way. She said she’d love to see me eat crow, and I said it’s no mistake such filthy language comes from a bird owner.
“We just need a bet,” Sammy said. Boyce offered up the idea of who could eat the most chicken wings in under ten minutes, but Julia Albert politely pooh-poohed him like he was a grandchild. Boyce Jr. then shouted it should be whoever can shoot the most birds, and then air-shotgunned a few blasts into the air. What have you done to that boy, Thunderbirds?
Julia Albert is the one who decided the bet. At first I said no, that it went against everything I felt was good and right. Sammy and Boyce both assured me I could do this, and when I did, The Thunderbirds would officially be anti-bird ownership. So I shook Julia Albert’s hand and agreed to the bet. She told me how the girls at the country club were going to love hearing about this—“And they do love my Cyrus Wetherbee horror stories,” she said.
Sammy, the Lancasters, and I walked away after the bet was made. Sammy and Boyce were clearly very excited, and complimented me on bringing out the worst and most selfish in aging women. Boyce hugged me hard and picked me up a little. Even though the bet was that I had to keep a caged bird in my home for a week, I still smiled really big because thirty minutes earlier I thought Sammy and Boyce had betrayed me. Now I knew they were always my friends. Who else is going to help arrange my bizarre bets over bird ownership with a rich widow who hates me? Cheers to Sammy and Boyce.
And to you, Julia Albert? Jeers. Jeers in the worst way.
