I don’t think I’ve ever had a fight with Sammy or Boyce. I didn’t know if Boyce and I technically had a fight at the casino. We were in a fight certainly, but we were on the same side. Can you fight with someone while fighting with them against someone else, especially if that other person was a walking beaker of molten loser like Dr. Shades? We didn't really talk much the morning after the casino, so I wasn’t sure. That's why this morning I called Boyce up to make amends, and without saying any kind of introduction, I went straight into #11: the eleventh time I was punched in junior high and high school. Even though Boyce knew all these stories, I knew he loved to hear them, especially from me.
#11 came on the very last day it could: our high school graduation. We were all in purple gowns, the color of our school, and lined up in a hallway just outside the auditorium where our seated families awaited our entrance. I wasn't even sure why I was there since my father was dead and my mother had informed me that when I had kids one day, I’d understand why she'd rather stay home. Maybe I wanted to have Boyce’s and Sammy’s parents see me walk across that stage. Even that rationale was dubious, though. Sammy’s mother didn’t trust me, and every time he had a lady friend, his mother was convinced I was trying to steal her from him. If we were all over at the Clifton farm, and Sammy had to go to the bathroom, Sammy’s mother would come into the room so I wouldn’t try anything funny. Sammy even tried to tell her I was gay just so she'd relax, and while she instantly believed him, she still didn't trust me around anyone her son was interested in. Boyce’s parents didn’t dislike me, but despite the fact that I was best friends with their youngest son, I was never convinced they actually knew who I was. When I’d see them I would say, “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster,” and they’d look at me hesitantly, as though I just walked out of a crashed space rocket.
With the name Wetherbee I was one of the last people in line, and standing near me was the valedictorian Josh Elliot who was preparing his speech. He was part of another line who would enter after us regulars, and then be seated on the stage. He was going over his notecards and those of us at the back of the line were watching him prepare. I certainly didn’t envy him. Every time I had to speak in public it was a disaster. At my father’s funeral I just played a bunch of bird songs that I recorded, and that worked decently well. After that, every time I had to speak in public I would recite a bunch of bird calls and songs to calm myself. When I saw how nervous Josh was, I walked up to him and we chit chatted. Excited that my attempts at small talk were going well, I told Josh about my strategy of calming myself with bird sounds. He asked if that worked, and I told him it always worked to calm me down. It never made the speech go well because I never actually knew what I was saying from one sentence to the next, but at least I was able to physically deliver the verbal nonsense thanks to the relaxation technique.
I told Josh to think of a bird he knew, and concentrate on it really hard. He said he didn’t know any birds, but I told him to think hard. He said a robin, and I knew he was saying that just to say one. That’s okay, though, because the American Robin is a gorgeous, lovely bird. When my father would see an American Robin he would say, “Cyrus, did you see it?” I would say no, and then he’d say, “Just like the rest of them,” and hold out his hand to blow on his palm like he was getting rid of a handful of dust.
I repeated to Josh the call of the American Robin, and he got excited when he told me he could actually hear it. It’s a bird call he’d heard his entire life, but only now did he know he had heard it. I sang over and over again, “Cheer-up, cheer-a-lee…cheer-ee-o, whinny,” and Josh was so nervous and so desperate for help that he didn’t even notice the people giggling at us, including the one guy who screamed, “God, Cyrus, are you shitting your pants?” I repeated the call again and told Josh to try it himself, and he did, and for a beginner, it wasn’t bad: “Cheer-up, cheer-a-lee…cheer-ee-o, whinny.” I told him when he was on that stage to just think hard about that call and imagine an American Robin singing in his front lawn. He shook my hand and said thanks.
Our line was called out before Josh’s, and I waved good luck to him on my way through the doors. I sat in my place near one of the aisles and impatiently waited through all the ceremonial stuff. I was excited for Josh’s speech. When it came his turn, I watched him approach the podium with a completely bloodless head and shaking hands. I thought he might even faint he was so nervous. He struggled in silence with his notecards for a second, then hemed and hawed a hello and how are you to the audience. It was awful. It went back to dead silence, and I had to help my new friend out. So in that silence I put my hand to the side of my mouth and called out, “Cheer-up, cheer-a-lee…cheer-ee-o, whinny.” The people sitting next to me acted like I just threw up into my gown, and there was some chuckling in the audience. I didn’t care though. I was a safety line to Josh. I called out again: “Cheer-up, cheer-a-lee…cheer-ee-o, whinny.” Josh squinted and stared out into the audience. He started his speech, and my god, it was terrible. Clichéd, stuttered, and delivered in a shaky voice, I was sure Josh would never get through it. Sometimes he’d go quiet and I’d call out again, “Cheer-up, cheer-a-lee…cheer-ee-o, whinny.” A guy sitting a couple people down from me told me to shut the hell up, but I leaned over and said, “No one can shut the American Robin up.” Then I did it again. I couldn’t tell if it was helping Josh or not because he was so terrible to begin with. Sometimes he just looked upwards toward the lights for an amount of time that must have, at least temporarily, blinded him. I tried another American Robin call, but it was interrupted by a man in a suit who approached the end of my row, leaned over toward me, and said, “If you don’t let my son give his speech I’m going to take you outside.” Then everyone around me broke into applause and Josh’s father marched back to his seat triumphant and proud. I’m not even sure how Josh’s speech ended because I was so afraid of getting beat up by our valedictorian’s large, mustachioed father.
When I went across the stage to get my diploma a spattering of people booed. There were a few applause to combat them, but it was just Sammy and Boyce doing their best. After the ceremony when people were meeting up with their families, I walked around trying to find Sammy and Boyce. That’s when I saw Josh approach me. I extended my hand and said, “I hope it helped.” I didn’t really get out the last word though because Josh punched me right in the stomach. That’s the last time I ever saw our valedictorian. Boyce and Sammy found me on the floor moaning, “Cheer-up, cheer-a-lee…cheer-ee-o, whinny” to myself. They were the only ones in a large lobby full of graduates and parents to bother picking me up off the floor. Everyone else just walked around me like I was the an epileptic piece of furniture.
As I recounted this final beating to Boyce, he laughed nearly non-stop. He told me that during the ceremony, when he heard a bird call go out during Josh’s speech, he knew he was either going to have to fight someone or pick me up off the floor. “My grandparents were there, so I’m glad I just had to pick you up off the floor.” Then Boyce told me thanks for the story, but he needed to get off the phone so he could call Bruce Barenburg to begin a sale listing on his house.
