The Society Man and The Owl
When the Society Man went on his walk he stumbled across an owl. This was quite a curious sight for the man; usually when he turned onto Florio Boulevard he spotted the Charlestons’ grotesque Christmas paraphernalia and the Wendlebrooks’ manicured hedge replica of Michelangelo’s David. But tonight, on this wintry Tuesday in the middle of July, he spotted an owl instead.
The owl said hello to him. Naturally the Society Man replied in kind, asking the owl how his day had been. The owl had not done much on that brisk Tuesday; he had been sleeping for most of it and had only ventured out of his nest ten minutes earlier to stretch his neck. The Society Man could empathize with the owl’s current predicament as he too was walking in order to stretch his tired extremities. His calves had been aching up quite the fuss after his tennis practice the other day. His usual coach was attempting to qualify for Wimbledon and the substitute they sent in her place was just all too rambunctious for his brittle bones.
The owl, in all his calming wisdom, asked the Society Man what he thought of the sunset. That night it was particularly extraordinary, as the smoke from the Calabasas fires alit the sky in shades of red and orange the Society Man had not seen since his days in the Venetian portrait galleries. Yet at that moment the Society Man hadn’t even noticed the sunset; no, in fact he had barely realized that it was dusk at all. As much as he loathed recognizing his own ineptitude, the Society Man was feeling quite gracious this evening and told the owl that he forgot it was quarter after eight. In fact, for some reason, he thought it was the morning.
The owl, as anybody would be in his predicament, was quite confused. As they began strolling up the cobblestone road together, the owl perched upon the Society Man’s shoulder, he inquired to his newfound companion why he thought it was the morning. The Society Man did not know the answer to such a well-informed question, and he said as much. Therefore the owl took it upon himself to help the Society Man identify the reason behind his lapse in memory.
First the owl asked the man whether he had been taking any medication that might impair his natural brain function; perhaps he had been sipping upon some champagne or taken some barbiturates that he should not have. But the Society Man had not. He had been sober ever since his capoeira instructor told him that artificial stimulants would catastrophically impact his knee flexibility.
Recognizing how important it was to maintain one’s knee flexibility if they were pursuing expertise in the great martial art of capoeira, the owl turned to a second line of questioning. Perhaps the Society Man, the owl inquired, had taken an afternoon nap, one so luxurious and restful that the Society Man felt as if he had gotten a full night’s sleep. But the Society Man, to the owl’s understandable ignorance, did not take naps. The only time he closed his eyes for more than a blink during the day was during his beginner’s yoga trainings for meditative purposes. The owl was intrigued, as he himself had just started a new yoga regimen, and asked the Society Man how long he had been participating in yoga. Six years, the Society Man replied as they turned right onto Belusha Lane.
Given that his first two questions arrived at dead ends, the owl was quite puzzled. Why would a sophisticated person like the Society Man think that the sunset was actually the sunrise? It simply made no sense! So for his third attempt at helping his new colleague solve the puzzle within his mind, the owl took to a different tactic. Rather than using his words, as the owl was prone to do during such a politically-correct era, he launched a single peck at the Society Man’s head.
Now the peck was not a strong one; the owl had not pecked in quite some time as his beak was particularly brittle during the summers. Nonetheless it still had quite the effect on the Society Man. See, up to that point in his life, the Society Man had not been pecked in the head by an owl before. The closest he had come to such an experience was when a penguin at the Milan Zoo for Former Studio Animals ate some fresh roe from the Society Man’s hand, letting its beak stroll gently across his manicured index finger. Suffice to say, the Society Man was somewhat perturbed.
Not enraged but not exactly calm any longer, the Society Man asked his owl companion why he had done such a thing. The owl replied that he was simply trying to help the man. His attempts at retrieving some memories from inside the Society Man’s brain had failed up to that point, so he performed what the lowbrow owls colloquially called a “Hail Mary.” The Society Man understood where the owl was coming from but was still quite irritated. He hoped the owl was not carrying any viruses that could transfer to him from such a peck. He had recently tested borderline positive for some autoimmune disorder he had trouble pronouncing (likely caused from his 22-year streak of never catching a cold) and he did not want that to get any worse.
But the owl sensed that such perturbation would produce good results. It had helped when his niece had forgotten where her eggs were (his niece was quite forgetful, it was a surprise she could even turn her head around 270 degrees in the first place) and so he thought that it may help the Society Man. So he pecked again. And once more after that.
The Society Man, unable to fathom that any living organism could fail to comply with his wishes, collapsed to the ground. This was not a good location to do that, as Belusha Lane was on a steep 15-degree incline. Indeed the Society Man’s collapse compelled his limp body to tumble down the cobblestone street. Muddying up his silken pajamas, he rolled and rolled and rolled past the Castells’ Belaggio fountain prototype to the west and Ed Pliny’s second golf cart shed to the east. He rolled for at least forty-five seconds, an eon to say the least to someone who was rolling down such an incline. Yet at the forty-sixth second he came to a sudden stop. Belusha Lane still continued downward, but a mound of fertile soil (from where the Chesapars’ new front-yard pool would soon be, no matter how much the Society Man campaigned against it during the weekly HOA meeting) had obstructed his egress.
Staring up at the starless sky, the Society Man saw the owl come to perch once again upon his now absolutely filthy shoulder. The owl first asked the Society Man whether his body was doing alright after such a nasty tumble, but also as to whether his memory had returned. The Society Man did not say much at first; he was picking bits and pieces of soil from his veneers and simply did not have a chance to speak what was on his mind. But once his teeth were as shiny as they were when he left his mansion, he sat upright in an instant.
His memory had indeed come back. See what had happened, he informed his avian friend, was that he had spent the day in the sensory deprivation tank he recently installed in his third bathroom. The experience was so incredibly unstimulating that he simply forgot what time of day it was. He had ventured outside for a walk, thinking it was time for his morning jaunt through the hills, when it was actually nearing supper.
The owl cackled jovially. His new friend the Society Man was such a spirited chap and he was relieved that his nearly-violent tactics were effective in restoring this kind fellow’s memory. As the sky was nearing black, the owl requested that he might try the sensory deprivation tank for himself this upcoming weekend, as it might help soothe his generally nocturnal mind. The Society Man immediately obliged, providing the owl with his business card so that he could contact his assistant to set up a time to visit. Clutching the card in his beak, the owl bowed and bid adieu to his new friend before soaring up into the hills, ready to start his own nightly flight through the neighborhood.
The Society Man, coated in dirt but maintaining a genial attitude, gave a hearty chuckle at his strange situation. Dusting off his knees, he strutted back down Belusha Lane, onto Florio Boulevard, and into his lovely abode so that he could return to his sensory deprivation tank once again. After all, it was the only place where he could truly feel at home.
