Serval and Sheep (Chapter 24)
A year ago, Solomon and Brian went out for lunch.
Last year, when I became student council secretary, I decided to take the new treasurer Brian out to lunch on a Saturday. As we were both sophomores, and new to the council, it seemed like a good opportunity to get to know each other. This was a completely artificial gesture, as were all my social interactions; simply another animal whose good favors would probably come in handy along the road. Might as well get a head start in establishing a mutually beneficial relationship.
My first impressions of Brian were as underwhelming as expected. A happy-go-lucky simpleton who happened to add and subtract well. It's not uncommon for otherwise brainless animals to excel in one specific academic area. This rock dove must have been hit with a calculator at a young age and convinced himself he's some prodigy on the subject, content to ignore all other (far more important) areas of knowledge, clinging to his inflated sense of value.
Did I sound harsh? Forgive me, I am unfortunately a terrible person. Terrible people only expect the worse from others, since that's all we're used to.
Anyways. I invited the simpleton to eat at some mom-and-pop style restaurant. It had a bright, refreshing atmosphere that put herbies at ease, and healthy meals for a reasonable price, taking into account his no-doubt skinny wallet (though I planned on paying for his meal myself).
Everything was proceeding smoothly. We met up outside the restaurant, exchanged some vapid pleasantries, and made our way inside. Once seated, we perused our respected menus (mine being a carnie menu and his a herbie's). He was underdressed for the occasion, sporting an old t-shirt and scuffed jeans as opposed to my button-up shirt and trousers, but I accepted this with grace. Personally, I truly couldn't care less about dress etiquette, but I'm simply obliged to care so long as the social scenario forces me to. This was not such a case.
We discussed our newly appointed roles in student council, and how each of us applied to Noah's Arc Academy. His was a terribly trite tale of teacher-student motivation, something to do with an old lizard. Of course my tale was even drier: with my father's wealth, applying to a prestigious school such as Noah's Arc was merely a formality. I had been guaranteed a place well before middle school. I phrased this in a more humble manner, naturally.
The lunch was overall forgettable to the extreme, one in a thousand of forgettable lunches I have attended for similar goals. I'm afraid I can't recount specifics on the matter. What I remember clearly, and what shook me to my core, so much so I still feel the reverberations in my soul to this day, is what happened next.
Bill paid (he insisted going Dutch, and I internally scoffed at the poor simpleton's sense of pride), he offered to take me to a nearby park where he knew a vendor that sold delicious caramel apples.
I kept the fact that felines despise anything of the sweet variety to myself, and pleasantly agreed to his proposal. We ambled through the streets, continuing the same pointless chatter from our lunch, when he suddenly suggested we cut through an alleyway, claiming it was a shortcut.
Due to the obvious shadiness of the alley, I was skeptical, but it is not in my nature to contradict. I recalled an old wives' tale of pigeons having an excellent sense of direction, so I followed him without a fight. As it turns out, while rock doves may be excellent navigators, Brian was not.
We twisted and turned throughout the winding labyrinth of seedy passages without a good idea of where exactly we were going. While Brian offered occasional finger points and "maybe turn here"'s, it was clear to me at this point his directions were worth less than nothing.
All of this I was willing to forgive. This was simply what happens when letting a rock dove call the shots. If anything, I was relived I happened to be with him during all this. Lord only knows what would happen to a plump little pigeon without a carnie protecting him.
I kept that somewhat generous thought in mind before I smelled it. Meat. That fat-filled, delicious, evil scent I had become oh-so-sensitive to. It dawned on me that we were about to accidentally stumble upon some shady black market. Thankfully, my nose helped me avoid a terrible ordeal.
"Wait," I nudged the doughy bird in front of me to stop. "I think we're going the wrong way. Let's try going back where we came from."
"No, don't worry! I think we're almost there!" Brian offered a slightly twitchy smile. While his mediocre attempt of reassuring me was somewhat cute, in the same way a beetle helplessly rocking from side to side on its carapace was cute, I had to get us out of that situation. If I were to be seen in a meat market, my reputation would be ruined.
But I had no options. I definitely couldn't inform him of the faint but undeniable scent of gore coming from that direction: no carnie should ever admit they have the capacity to smell, much less taste flesh. And I had no real reason to defy him at this point. With a heavy stomach, I followed the simpleton ever-closer to the stench of meat.
Perhaps my mind had begun to become corrupted, intoxicated even, by the siren smell. I began to conspire. Could this pigeon know of the market up ahead? Could he be planning to set me up and sell me to some freak who only delights in carnivorous meat? Does he want to purposefully be caught and butchered, only to somehow pin the blame on me? He must be a relative of one of my past Sunday lunches, here to exact revenge on me for what I've done!
All of these thoughts were horribly churning around in my mind as I maintained my perfectly neutral disposition. It was a test of all my strength and training, to be slowly engulfed by the perfume of blood, spiraling down a mental rabbit hole few crackheads had stooped so low as to venture in.
Damn this pigeon, became my final coherent thought, which I clung onto, repeating those three words like a mantra to keep me on the crumbling edge of my sanity.
Damn this pigeon damn this pigeon damn this pigeon damn this pigeon damn this pigeon damn this pigeon damn this pigeon--
Suddenly, we were in a bright sunny park. The crisp wind blowed through the nearby leaves of trees, and I could hear the merry laughter of children running around playing a game of tag.
"We're here!" The simpleton chirped, gesturing towards the nearby pond encircled by birch trees. "Pretty good shortcut, right?"
I desperately let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding. Gasping for air, I pathetically gripped the bird's shoulders to prevent myself from collapsing right then and there.
Brian helped me towards a nearby bench, which I crashed onto, left to stare at the faraway leaves of the trees above me. After what must have been a long while, I finally regained enough strength to pull my head back into an upright position. Brian looked at me with a patient expression.
"Good air, here." He commented, lifting a clawed hand as if he were holding the oxygen itself. "Take all the time you need."
"I-I'm terribly sorry--" I began, frantically trying to concoct an excuse that would seem even semi-plausible.
"It's okay. You've eaten meat before, right?"
I could not even manage to choke up a "what?" to such a question.
"The shortcut I use goes right behind a meat market. It's completely sealed off from the market itself, but carnies can probably still smell the meat," the pigeon explained. "I'm really sorry. If I had known you were sensitive to the smell, I wouldn't have brought you through there. It's because you've eaten meat before, right?"
I only stared at him, eyes wide.
"I know you already think little of me, but this was something else, huh?" He chuckled, somewhat ashamed. "I really should've thought it through more. Regardless of anything, I put you through an uncomfortable situation."
I tried to ease his worry with a white lie. "I-I didn't think little of you."
"It was rather obvious." He responded bluntly, his face devoid of any bitterness.
I slouched, propping my elbows on my thighs and let my head hang. A long silence passed.
There's no point in denying it.
"Please don't tell anyone. Especially not the president." I choked out a pathetic plea.
Brian looked as me, his beady eyes bright and honest. "I would never."
A caracal, completely and devastatingly bested by a pigeon. No, to him, he hadn't even bested me. He just stated the obvious. He was devoid of agenda or pretenses. And using only his common sense, he shattered the mask I had vowed to never take off.
Why must I continue to place myself on these imaginary pedestals, only to be forcefully kicked off by the boot of reality, forced to confront that I am worse than any pigeon, any herbivore, any animal? Vermin. Insect.
"Such pretty ears."
I turned to him. Upon his round beak was a silly smile, one completely at odds with everything that just happened.
"Pardon?" I asked.
"When the wind blows, the fur on the end of your ears move like fluffy grass. It's very pretty."
I opened my mouth. No words came out. There was not even a single thought in my brain that could be translated into speech.
Suddenly I burst into tears. It was all I could do. I thought I was empty, but somewhere along the way, my eyes had been selfishly storing up tears unbeknownst to me. I buried my face in my hands, not caring that my fur soon became drenched in salty tears or that my nose strip sogged up. Although I couldn't see his expression, I felt Brian's hand lightly pat my back.
It was the hardest I have cried since that one Sunday lunch.
When I calmed down, Brian offered me a paper tissue from a pack he kept in his pocket (perhaps he still carries the very same pack to this day). I shakily accepted it.
"It's good to let it all out once in a while, right?"
"N-no." I croaked.
He laughed. Even I allowed myself a chuckle.
Eventually, we got up and he walked me to the nearest bus stop. We never did end up eating those caramel apples. Come Monday, he greeted me warmly as if nothing had happened.
Brian the simpleton.
"Excellent work today, everyone!" The choir teacher, a howler monkey, gives an emphatic hand clap, signaling the end of the class. "And Solomon, thank you for being the only tenor who can keep that c sharp a c sharp all the way through!" He shoots a look at the clutter of males next to the caracal. "That was an indirect attack, by the way. Step up your game people, this is choir, not acapella."
The class collectively chortles as one by one, the animals filter out of the music room.
Solomon is last to leave. As he closes the door on his way out, he notices the rock dove leaning against the wall next to him.
"Hey, you're done!" Brian greets. "It sounded great! Are you gonna perform for the next assembly?"
Solomon gives him a small smirk. "That's the plan. If we can't get this song down by then, we'll just sing some old gospel piece."
"Sounds exciting. Makes me wish I were born a songbird."
The caracal wraps an arm around Brian's neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You're better off being a pigeon."
"H-hey!" Brian fidgets, tickled by the sudden pinch. "You're awfully nice today!"
"Hmm." Solomon hums as he closes his eyes, lost in thought. "I was reminiscing on the past."
"Feeling nostalgic?"
"Not quite. I just remembered something nice, that's all."