No, no ... he didn't die. At least I'm not aware of it just yet. He is supposed to be in Africa for the next few months and he's supposed to be updating us with mass, hilarious e-mails while he's away. He's also NOT supposed to be sleeping in the streets at night like he did while he was in Europe: a request from his mother. Willy ... hopefully you're OK. I hope the reason you have only sent one e-mail is because you did in fact meet that sailor and are cruising the oceans like you had hoped.
A few days before he embarked on his adventures and moved out of his unique pad in Chautauqua, he called me up. It went like this:
Will: So I'm gonna bury my bird.
Me: Oh ya? Where?
Will: Outside in my backyard. I want to get as many people as I can to come watch it. My friend
Tyler is going to play
Taps on his penny whistle and my dad's going to come.
Me: Ohhh ... Willy. Really?
Will: It's gonna be hilarious.
Me: I'm in. I'll take pictures. You should post a story about it.
Will: Maybe.
A few days pass, and finally it's time for me to drive up to Boulder for the service. On the way up, I start thinking, "Ya know ... it's a little odd that his bird just DIES right before he leaves the country. That's odd. And ya know what? I didn't even know he HAD a bird."
So I decide to confront him about it as I tell him I'll be a little late.
Me: Will, I think it's ironic that your bird just died. Did you kill it? And where was it? All this time I didn't even know you had it!!
WIll: I never told you this story? It's been dead for five years.
Me: WHAT???? What do you mean? Where has it been?
Will: It's been in the freezer. My mother put it in the freezer and somehow it got pushed under stuff. Hell, it might have been there for longer than five years. I'm just going by how old the meat was that was on top of it.
Me: Wow, Will. That's so disturbing it's funny. See you soon.
I arrived. There were, oh, about six people standing in his front yard, including his father -- as planned.
I walked up with my camera and some copies of
YourHub.com, because Will was going to give the Father's Day story to his dad that got into print. (He's supposed to be blogging about his adventures in Africa right now. Let's hope he really is alive. The world is a funnier place in a morbid kind of way because of Will. That's a compliment. Really.)
Soon after being reacquainted with old friends and some familiar faces, I saw that I'd been shown up. Another guy,
Josh, brought his fancy camera to take photos of this unforgettable service as well. Still proudly haunted by the headless Bolder Boulder photo I took, the task was passed on to someonewho really knew what they were doing.
We all gathered inside to find Will finishing up his eulogy. I thought, "Maybe this bird really did mean something to him."
Will did the honors and opened the freezer door. Out came a bright yellow, innocent bird in a plastic baggie that looked good as new. I've never seen anyone look so good after they've been deceased for half a decade. Damn!
We marched (OK, fine, we didn't march, but it would have been even funnier) out to the burial spot. Will had so graciously dug a hole for the bird and planned on putting the bird feeder over its grave.
From the moment he started his eulogy addressing the bird as "Bird," I knew it was silly for me to think this really meant anything to him. Will and his dad couldn't remember if its name was Twiggy or Figgy, so they decided to go with "Bird." Wise choice, boys. How long did it take you to come up with that?
The eulogy was priceless. I can't even attempt to replicate such a masterpiece. Let's just say that each verse ended with, "And let the free bird sing, 'Caw CAW! Caw CAW!'"
I was laughing (and so was everyone else) so hard that I had to hold myself up on his patio furniture and tell myself that my burning, tightened cheeks would get through this.
It was an uncomfortable laugh, though. Kind of like watching porn in eighth grade with a group of people. (I wouldn't know what that's like. No, no, no. But I can imagine the awkwardness.) No, but really ... thanks to that illegal Cable box in our basement back in the day, my friends and I got an early sex education.
Moving on. As if things couldn't get any more uncomfortable, Will's dad decided to take the bird out of the bag and hold it while he read his eulogy. Not only did he just hold it like it was a dead bird that might not be the most sanitary thing to touch, he stroked its head and pretty much gave that deceased piece of creation the best massage it never got.
Oh, and did I mention that the dog was there? She was the only one with any common sense -- attempting not to delay this process any more. Dogs don't wait five years to consume a bird. They don't even wait five seconds. (My dog, on the other hand, who is a spoiled human, drops her ball in front of ducks expecting them to play with her.)
After WIll did the honors of placing "Bird" in the Earth, we each took our turn burying it.
Then, the part we had all been waiting for:
Taps. I've never seen someone attempt to one, play a penny whistle, or two, play it while trying not to laugh. It looked and sounded as though he was trying to pull off dry-heaving and whistling at the same time. Not only were my cheeks numb at this point, but my bladder was threatening me with a warm, wet tragedy.
The service was undoubtedly an unforgettable day. It reinforced my belief that there are people in this world just as strange as I am. It also reinforced my belief that funerals can actually be quite funny and that freezing birds for five years (let alone just freezing them) is odd. It's very odd, but it's actually quite effective.
As for the two birds (at least) that are frozen in Will's mother's freezer in Denver ... well, that's another story.