I found out last weekend. Nimble had left for her work, as she often did. She was a weather-pony by trade, and had become a regional manager which required her to check up on the weather teams in the area on a regular basis. This trip seemed like any other. Someone had screwed up and now she had to go fix it.
She left Friday morning for some tiny burg in the middle of nowhere, promising to be back by Sunday. I’ll admit I barely looked up from my canvas to say goodbye, something I regret immensely. It had become routine for us at that point though. I worked from home, making my art and selling it in local galleries. She found herself constantly away on business. The arrangement wasn’t perfect by any means, but we made do. My schedule was flexible enough that when she had free time, I could easily stop my work to be with her.
I haven’t been in my studio since then, not that there’s much studio left anymore. I received the news from one of her co-workers on Saturday morning. He told me that there had been “an incident” and that he was “truly sorry for your loss”. I don’t think I even replied to him. I just shut the door and sat down in shock. The words echoed in my head. “Truly sorry for your loss”. I don’t know exactly how it started, but by the time I was finished, I had destroyed nearly everything in my studio. Canvas was torn, brushed snapped. Only one piece was left untouched. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it. I started work on it ages ago, and just couldn’t finish it. It’s missing something, but I can’t place what.
She was always stronger than me. I was very sickly as a child, and as a result I spent most of my time inside, reading. By the time I was well enough to go to a regular school, I had become closed off, uninterested in dealing with others. Though I was healthy enough, the constant sickness in my youth had taken a toll on me physically, leaving me unable to fly for more than a short distance.
She was the opposite of me in almost every way. She was constantly full of energy, zipping around as if lighter than air, never wanting to sit still. While I was quiet and studious, she was always fidgeting, wanting to do something new all the time. They say opposites attract, and I suppose we were the perfect case study for that theory.
Her presence helped me to open up to others a bit, but I never made many friends outside of her. Although I am far more comfortable making small talk with strangers now, I tend not to keep close contact with anyone. Most of the people I consider friends of a sort were met through her, usually by her forcing me to meet them.
We eventually graduated, and went our separate ways to find our places in life. I went to art school to continue my passion, and she left for the Weather Academy. I had figured that was the end of our friendship, as I’ve never been one to keep long distance contact. Then the letters started showing up. They were so conversational, as if she was right there with me. She told me about her day, about how things were going at the Academy, about all the ponies she’d met. I began writing back, and the letters became an everyday routine for us.
We kept contact with each other for four years through letters alone, both of us far too busy to take any time off to visit. Then, one day the letters stopped. At first I figured she was busy with preparations for her finals and didn’t have time to write, but after a week with no response I began to worry.
My graduation from Art School was coming up quickly, but I couldn’t focus on anything. Where was she? I became despondent, my mind coming up with horrible thoughts. “What if she’s hurt? What if she’s dead?!”
Graduation day came, and I found myself on the stage with forty others awaiting our diplomas. My mind was so bogged down with worry, I almost didn’t hear them call me forward to claim my degree. Slowly making my way across the stage, my heart began racing. I hated being up in front of everyone, their eyes staring at me. I looked up, reaching out to accept the prize I had studied so hard for. I had only just taken the paper when I heard someone yelling my name. “Vaaapooooor!”
Something slammed into me, my diploma flying into the air. There was Nimble, hugging me as I lay on the stage. I was in shock. I had no idea what to say, what to do. A chuckle rumbled through the audience, and someone began to clap. Blushing profusely, I stood up and walked off stage, Nimble’s wing over my back.
“Why did you stop writing back?” I asked, once we had found a more private place to speak.
“Well, I wanted to surprise you!” She said cheerily.
“It… I thought something had happened to you.”
“Aww! You’re worrying about me? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked me!” She said, that familiar wry smile on her face.
That smile… It was my favorite thing about her. It said so much without a word. It was sarcastic and yet warm at the same time. More than anything I miss that smile of hers.
Most of the guests have left already, returning to their everyday lives. They’ll feel sad for a while, but they will eventually return to a normal state, going about their business as if nothing has really changed. I hear laughter nearby, and the anger in my chest rises. This isn’t a time for jokes. I just wish everyone would leave me in peace. I don’t want sympathy, I just want solitude.
And yet I don’t. I don’t want to go back to how things were before I met her. Even when I was alone in our home, I never felt truly alone. I always knew she would be coming back, that she was only a moment away, and when she returned I felt whole. She was all I needed in life.
That loneliness I felt for so long is already starting to creep back, my thoughts dark and worrying. I wish she were here. She’d know what to say to bring me back. But then, if she were here I wouldn’t need her to help me with this problem. I still can’t bring myself to cry.