First Call - Pinkie Pie and Applejack
Two ponies walk into a bar. One, who’s clearly already sloshed, says to the bartender “My friend here has been having a bad day. Maybe a bad life. I wanna make her feel better, if only for a little while. Gimme your best drink.”
The bartender is a sweet old stallion. He’s nice. He knows the mare and he says nothing. All night, bar patrons come up to the drunk pony, keep offering her drinks, but only for her, never for her friend. She gets a little curious. Night goes on. Drunk pony gets invited to a party, nothing for her friend. Drunk pony gets a sweet dance from a nice stallion. Her friend doesn’t. Drunk pony has an amazing talk with half the patrons of the bar. No one talks to her friend.
Drunk pony’s had enough. She asks the bartender “Hey, what’s with this crowd? I know I’m getting special treatment but my friend here hasn’t been acknowledged once, not once, by any one of these folks.”
The bartender looks a little sad. He reaches out and puts a hand on the drunk pony. “Sweetheart, you came in here alone and you were already drunk. At the door, you saw yourself in the mirror and you’ve walked the length of the room, next to the mirror the whole time, until you sat down next to it here at the end of the bar. It’s been you this whole time. There is no friend.”
The drunk pony looks at the bartender, at the mirror, and then back at the stallion. “I know that,” she says. “I’ve never been able to ask for help. So I come in here, every night, hoping that one day, someone, anyone, can make that mare in the mirror smile, because I’m tired of looking at her sadness every time I see my reflection. I’m tired of walking through life and knowing that all I’ve got to show for it is the wear on my face and the years of memories I’ve half-forgotten because I’m too busy drinking away the bad ones to remember any of the good ones.”
Sorry. My name’s Berry Punch and I’ve never been that good at telling jokes. But I love to make others smile.
---
It’s October 10th and my frequent bar patron card is maxed out. Means I get a free drink. In reality, it’s a little business card from the establishment the owner gave me with signatures on the back to let him know how many beers I’ve had in a week. It’s a clever way to keep track of my alcohol intake, so I don’t keel over. His name’s Rock Hound, and his special talent is keeping the bar patrons in-line while keeping an eye out for their well-being. Don’t ask me how a kid’s special talent became mixing drinks, cause I don’t know. Anyway, he’s a nice guy.
It’s October 10th and…wait, did I already say that…yeah, it’s October 10th and it’s three days before my birthday. Everypony knows this. I never said it, but in my hometown of Ponyville, where Rock’s bar the Diamond Dig is located, there’s this one pony. She knows everyone’s birthday.
And today, she just walked into the bar and into my life yet again.
I don’t like her. Imma say that. I don’t like Pinkie Pie. I wanna point out: it’s not her fault. She’s a nice mare. She’s bubbly…hyper…chaotic…she’s pretty much the pony equivalent of a stampede of cats hopped-up on catnip as they tear through town looking for ponies to rub their face against. Right. Pinkie Pie is all of that and also she’s a pony who I don’t like. Whom I don’t like. Shut up, you grammar…police pony.
Anyway, I only really have to see Pinkie Pie once a year. Twice if she has enough money to give out presents during Hearth’s Warming Eve. Other times I just sit in here and drown in tiny pools of liquid courage. Best drink to drown in, by the way: Alicorn Hard Brew. It’s when you mix hard Sweet Apple Acres Cider with equal parts Cloudsdale Rainbow Spicer and the Flim Flam Brothers Miracle Curative Tonic. The only miracle it’s performed is make me fall asleep in ten seconds flat. You can also use the mixture to clean rust off engine parts. Little life hack for ya.
So Pinkie’s in here now. She’s talking up a storm over there, I don’t know about what. I try to ignore it.
Why do I hate her? No, I don’t hate her. I don’t like her. There’s a difference. She’s done nothing bad to me, so there’s no reason to hate her. I just…she reminds me of somepony is all. Who, you ask? I keep drinking to forgot, so I’m sorry but I ain’t telling you.
You…you ever look back on your life and wonder what you could’ve done? Of course you do. Everypony does. Some more than others. Me most of all. Three years in this bar. Day in, day out. Three years of distance between me and those horrible memories.
What’s so horrible about ‘em, you ask? Uh…hard to say. That would require me thinking about them and that’s not something I’m going to do right now. I’ll just say Pinkie Pie is…what I should be. Whom I should be. But I’m not.
So I sit in here and think about what could have been. I just keep hoping I look in the mirror one day and see something change, but I know it never will. Not like this it won’t.
“Hey there!”
“Ah!”
“Berry Punch, are you talking to the mirror?”
“Pinkie, I’m really busy right now.”
“Well, can you tell your reflection to hold on for justtttt one minute? I need to talk to you about your birthday party this weekend…why are you staring at me like that?”
“Pinkie, how many times have I told you I don’t want a birthday party? I don’t need a reminder of how much time has passed because I can see that reminder every day.”
“Why do you talk to yourself in the mirror, anyway? You’re not telling yourself stuff you don’t already know, right?”
“Do you know how hard it is to carry a conversation when you’re drunk? It requires skill, and practice, and effort, and skill, and I practice every day so when that day comes for that perfect life-changing conversation, I’ll be ready.”
“I didn’t know you were looking for such a conversation, Berry. I can stay and chat if you want.”
“I don’t wanna talk about my birthday party.”
“I promise it won’t have anything to do with the party. In fact, if you let me talk to you now, I promise you get to decide what type of party it is this year.”
“…Really?”
“Yes. Anything for my super best friend Berry Punch!”
“We’re not…ugh…fine.”
“Woo hoo! Bartender, one cider please!”
“Wait…you don’t…drink, do you?”
“Only cider. I don’t touch the harder stuff.”
“Pinkie, promise me you’ll never touch the harder stuff.”
“Okay, I promise. But why are you so concerned about me?”
“…”
“Berry, you can talk to me. You have been practicing.”
“I don’t…I don’t like…”
“You don’t like what?”
“Do you know why my name is ‘Berry Punch?’”
“I always thought it had to do something with wine. Like it was a nickname for a special type of drink.”
“No no…I’m called Berry Punch because that’s a symbol of parties, like the flavored punch drinks you bring to all the special events. It’s cheap. It’s simple and everypony loves it.”
“Ah! Is that a metaphor for you?”
“Do you think I’m cheap, Pinkie Pie? Is that it?”
“No! I thought…”
“Eh, nevermind.”
“I’m sorry.”
“…It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Did you used to throw parties?”
“Since I know how crazy you get over parties, if I tell you, do you promise not to freak out and make a scene?”
“…yes.”
“I used to throw parties.”
“(Gasp!)”
“Hey, you promised!”
“(Self-muffled screaming)”
“I guess muffled screams don’t really count as freak-outs. Good on you.”
“But why don’t you do parties anymore? I’ve never seen you throw one of your own.”
“Pinkie Pie, I want to tell you something really important, but I know how you are, and I have to make sure you’re going to take this seriously. I don’t have very many moments of clarity anymore, so what ya looking at now is a rare thing, and very precious. You have to respect the fact that I’ve pushed myself hard tonight. So I don’t want any silly songs, or random acts of craziness or whatever nutty stuff you do because you’re you. I want you to show me the most serious Pinkie Pie you can muster, because if you don’t, I may fall back into that mirror and never get out again. Ya got it?”
“Berry, I know you don’t know me very well, but I can be serious if I need to. It’s just usually, ponies around here need a clown. They need to laugh. So I do that for them because that’s who I am.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s a good thing, that clown of yours. I used to do the same thing.”
“Really?! I mean…please tell me more.”
“Pinkie, have you ever considered what your later life might be like? After all the parties and the craziness and you hit your later years?”
“Sure. I’ve thought about it. If I’m lucky, I will hit old age gracefully. I know I’ll slow down, but at least I’ll still make others happy. I don’t need to be wild to do that. I’ll find other ways to have fun. Age isn’t there to tell you what you can’t do. Age is there to give you extra time to try all the things you haven’t done yet! It’s not the creepy grim-faced reaper everypony keeps pretending it is. Age is the old friend who keeps coming back to see how your life is going, so it can give you a second chance. And a third. And a fourth. And as many as you want as long as you’re willing to keep trying.”
“Wow…you’ve really thought about it…”
“Of course. I know I can’t go on forever. One day, I’ll…”
“Pinkie? You okay? You look lost in thought.”
“Nopony ever really talks to me about this. I’m usually stuck in my room thinking about it on my own on those cold rainy nights. After everypony is asleep and carried away in their dreams, I’m stuck there thinking about what would happen if I just…stopped. If I found that I wasn’t the friendly pony everyone wanted me to be. If I had to find some other skill…Berry, I’m not really good at too many other things. I make ponies happy. I throw parties. I have some part-time jobs at the candy store and the burger joint, but nothing major. I don’t know what else I would be if I wasn’t…wanted…”
“I know how you feel. Believe me, I do.”
“It scares me sometimes to think that I could change into something I don’t want to be. I know life moves at full force and we have to deal with whatever it throws our way. I’ve been lucky. I have wonderful friends. This great town. And all these loving ponies here who care so much about me.”
“I never saw it that way.”
“You forgot sometimes. I know I have. I’m a little scared of what will happen one day when a pony takes my place…”
“Why would you think they’d take your place? Nopony can do that Pinkie. Sure, others may come after you, but you’ll always be the one and only Pinkie Pie.”
“You’re sweet, Berry. I’m glad you think so.”
“Pinkie, I have a confession.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know how to say this gently, so forgive me if I’m a bit rough. Just…chalk it up to the alcohol.”
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
“Before tonight…before we had this wonderful talk, which by the way, I hope continues further than this…before all that, I really didn’t like you. I hadn’t…called you a friend.”
“I know that.”
“…You did?”
“I’m not stupid, Berry. I kept calling you my friend in hopes that one day you’d accept the title. If that sounds a little desperate, then I’m sorry. I can’t stand the idea that someone hates me just because I’m being myself.”
“I don’t hate you Pinkie Pie. We may not have meshed well in the past, but that doesn’t mean I hate you. I didn’t understand why you were so peppy…and I held a grudge against you, which was unfair, because you never earned it.”
“Why did you do that? What did I ever do to you?”
“It has nothing to do with what you did and everything to do with what I never accomplished. You are the pony I wanted to be, but never succeeded in becoming.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was a party mare for many years. I used to be just like you, before you got here. I helped ponies. I made them laugh. I made them smile. I did everything I could to make their lives better. But I almost never did anything for myself. Because of that, I suffered in silence. I should’ve said something. I should’ve…been honest! Talked to someone! But I was such a loner. Not at all like you, going around, making friends. I mean, yes, I was a friend to many ponies, but I never felt I could truly trust anyone…”
“Why?”
“Hard to say. Maybe I was so wrapped up in making others feel better that I started to expect some kindness in return and never really got what I wanted. Maybe I missed one too-many opportunities to make my own life better because I was spending too much time focusing on the lives of others. Pinkie…you’ve got to understand. You have five close friends whom you can trust. Twilight, Rarity, Applejack, Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash are all connected to you, and because you guys stick together, they lift you up when no one else does. I never had that…”
“I’m so sorry, Berry. If I were there when you started, I would’ve been your friend.”
“Thank you. But now you see why I find it hard to call you my friend. It was just a word, Pinkie. No one really understood what it meant and it never felt truly genuine. You’re special in a way that I never was…”
“Stop that! Stop putting yourself down! We’re not meant to be the same. Our differences are beautiful, because that’s what makes us so special to one another. You said there’d never be another Pinkie Pie. Well, no matter how you think about it, they’ll never be another Berry Punch. You’re the one and only. And this town loses something by the fact that you’re stuck in here, drowning your sorrows every night rather than going out there and finding somepony special to be with. I’m not talking romantic. I’m just talking friends. As much as I’d love for you to stop drinking completely, I know that’s not something that happens overnight, but if you wanted, you could find friends who’d invite you to into their lives so every hug of theirs will replace the emptiness felt by those drinks you kept cradling like they were some precious treasure. Wouldn’t you rather hug a pony who’d hug you back?”
“Yes…very much so.”
“I’ll tell you what: why don’t I introduce you to some of my friends? Bring them here and you can get to know them a little better. Hey! Applejack created that cider you like so much. I bet you and her would hit it off easy!”
“You’re very sweet, Pinkie. I don’t want to inconvenience anyone…”
“Do you think you inconvenienced me?”
“Heh, hardly.”
“Good! You’ve been looking for life-changing conversations. I know my friends can help with that. Please let them meet you.”
“Yeah…yeah I’ll think I’ll do that.”
“I’ll bring Applejack over later tonight. She hasn’t had a chance to unwind from all her hard work this week. I’m sure she’ll love it. How about…two hours from now?”
“Two hours. I’ll be waitin’.”
And with that Pinkie hugged me and left. Wow, she’s right. I really do have a thing for talking to my reflection.
---
I tried so hard not to drink in those two hours. That whole time the blasted mug was staring me in the face on the bar counter. I could’ve thrown it away. That would’ve been easy. Except…that it wasn’t. It was hard to say no to something that never disappointed me. I mean, the drinks are just drinks. A little alcohol. A little flavor. They don’t care what I think of ‘em. They’re not going to judge me or tell me what I should be doing with my life…
But maybe that’s the problem. I can never see myself clearly in these little mirrors of liquid. And when I’m done downing them, the bottom of the glass is never clean enough to look back at me.
Ya know, sometimes I wish I’d never found out about this place. Maybe it would’ve been better if I was a drunk who stayed at home, watched television and never bothered anyone. At least there I could look at all the photos of the good times I’ve had and think about what it was like. Who’s to tell me otherwise when I live alone?
I really did like Pinkie, though. She’s a sweet gal. A lot more honest than I expected. I thought the loopiness was a sign of some deeper trouble she kept to herself. Maybe I was right. Her heart was deeper than any bottle I’d ever met and her words were sweeter than fresh cider. She did what I did back in the day, but she made no excuses. I liked that. Wish I’d like myself enough to do something to change.
If I could go back…I wonder if I would. Be the center of all the parties. Talk to the townsfolk and get to know everyone again. Maybe change a few things, like care for myself a little better. I’ve been lucky the drink hasn’t taken my health. Maybe that’s the gift age is still giving to me. A stubborn constitution and a mind sharp enough to cut through my own B.S.. But one push ain’t enough. I needed more.
Applejack could be the next step.
And two hours on the dot, miss punctual horse farmer showed up at my door. Hair fussed and hooves dirtied from work, I could tell she’d come directly from the farm. She wasted no time, all because Pinkie convinced her to come see me. I like a mare who knows not to keep a gal waiting.
The other patrons eyed Applejack and lifted their glasses to her, no doubt thankful her apple farm contributed to their hard cider. In that regard, don’t know if I should be thankful to her for giving me the miracle of the perfect drink or furious for pushing me further down the path of drunken stupor.
She eyed me from across the bar, obviously noting my ongoing monologue. I should probably have a little more self-awareness if I’m going to keep meeting others like this. The whole self-narration thing really does rub some ponies the wrong way.
“Hey Berry. Pinkie told me ya’d be here. Give me a minute. I gotta talk with the boys in the back about the new cider shipment.”
“Take your time, sugarcube.”
I liked trying out her own countryisms for myself every once and a while. Didn’t quite fit.
I wondered if I had what it took to do Applejack’s job. It’s a rare position where one can wander apple orchards all day bucking apples by yourself. So much time alone. But at least it was honest work. The hardest work often was.
I watched her approach from the back once again. Her stride had a noticeable air of pride, as though every step was holding up a pony that should’ve been raised upon some royal platform, looking amongst the subjects she helped grow. And yet where every haughty badge should’ve been stood dirty medals of pride, each mark of dust on her coat speaking a silent symphony of beautiful music which said she was the real deal.
I looked at her form and then back at mine in the mirror. And there stood the darkened colors of berry, tarnished by the dirtiness of unwashed glass, like I was stuck in a bottle sitting next to me, and it was just as empty as I was. And every night I came here, to this Diamond Dig, searching for treasure but only finding dirt, while Applejack used that same dirt to plant seeds which would grow bounties more rich than any vein of mineral ore. She fed the ponies of this town with her blood, sweat and tears. I could only fill my ever-thirsty maw with more glasses of beer. It may have looked like gold, but it was fool’s gold and I knew it.
“Applejack watched the mare push herself further down the rabbit’s hole of her own mind. She spoke with every intention of fillin’ the void between them with words harder than stone. Stone hard enough to filter the flood of emotion pourin’ from the saddened Berry mare whose tears were so rich in alcohol that a single spark could set them aflame. Applejack thought it’d be easier this way, as it was one of the only methods she had for reachin’ Berry so they could have that life-changin’ talk she always wanted.”
“Heh. Nice one, A.J.”
“The mare from the farm never really had a chance to explain to her friends what it meant to be tough. To toil everyday in a place were sometimes the only face she saw was her own, reflected back at her from the puddles of rain formin’ during those days when even nature couldn’t stop her. She’d look at the mirror pools fillin’ across every pathway and with a determined scowl, her fierce expression would reflect back up at the very sky which brought the downpour. Applejack didn’t run from the weather and danced in the rain when no one was lookin’. She learned the sweetest apples were always the ones cleansed by the rain.”
“Berry Punch looked up at the mare and wondered what it’d be like to live a life so free. Free, and yet so vital to everyone else, filled with all the quiet and wonderful necessities of life. Knowing the town was fed because of you and every tree which filled the ground from here to horizon exists because you planted it. Every seed becoming something sweet and beautiful and right and true.”
“I can teach ya, Berry. If ya want.”
“I don’t know A.J.. I’m kinda doughy in the middle from all the years of turning my kidneys into beer processing plants.”
“I know the rain would fill your heart more than any glass of alcohol.”
“I still haven’t learnt to dance within it, though.”
“If ya have time to worry, ya have time to learn.”
“I’ll think about it. In the meantime, why don’t we talk about a few other things?”
“Fair enough. I hear ya birthday is coming up. Should I send the keg of cider straight to yer house or bring it here so everypony can enjoy it?”
“Hah. Funny gal.”
“Who’s joking? I want muh share of it, ya greedy mare!”
“You own the farm!”
“But it’s sweeter to enjoy it with a friend rather than alone at a bar.”
“Ah…well said, Applejack.”
“I know ya spent a lot of time here, but what do ya do fer work?”
“Odd jobs here and there. Mostly freelance stuff.”
“Such as?”
“I cater small parties whenever ponies need some wine to lighten the mood.”
“Ah, so ya STILL do parties. Ya didn’t tell Pinkie that, did ya?”
“Nope. I don’t even know if they qualify as parties. I show up. I drop off the drinks. Sometimes I’m allowed to stay. Depends on the clientele. I don’t push.”
“Why not?”
“It’s kinda sad, isn’t it, A.J.? I mean, the pony who provides the fun being excluded from it? I think my old habits die hard, ya know? Always keeping myself separate from everypony else, even when they’ve directly invited me into their lives.”
“That’s a shame, Berry. I can’t imagine what a life like that must be like.”
“Neither can I. I forgot most of it. That lessens the pain.”
“Any good memories? Things ya want to share?”
“ …Not right now. Sorry sweetheart.”
“What are ya looking for, Berry? What can get ya outta this darkened room and back into life again?”
“I don’t know, Applejack. That’s the sad part. I want out. I want to get away. But to get away from what? This place? Myself? The drink? This whole town? I can’t tell anymore. And it’s fading together into one big cluster of broken dreams and missed opportunities. Every day is another excuse as to why I don’t pull myself back together. I’m not even sure all the pieces of me are still here. Maybe the puzzle will always be incomplete from this point on.”
“Ya can’t keep thinkin’ like that, sugarcube. Ya gotta own up, move forward and find yer way past this time in yer life. Ya know there’s a problem. Ya admit it. That’s further than most others get when they’re stuck in a rut. And now, finally, there are ponies who are willin’ to talk to ya about it. If there was a time to escape, now would be it.”
“But what do I do? I mean, I’ve tried to quit before, but I fall so hard I just drown myself even further the next time I go back in.”
“Ya have to find something that matters to ya more than the drink. And this place. I don’t know what that is, but you have to try.”
“I might have an idea of how to start…Are you going to be involved with my party in any way?”
“Shoot, I’m bringin’ the drinks!”
“Ah, but this time…can you bring a non-alcoholic option as well? Something to inspire me to move away from my old life. In fact, what about apple fritters, or cobbler? Or some other various apple-related foods? The more flavor they’ve got, the more I can think about something else than the drink, even if only for a little while.”
“Granny Smith would love to hear you’ve taken an interest in her cookin’. Her and I can whip up somethin’ fierce for ya. Get yer mind off that cider.”
“It’s gonna be hard. I’ll fall again. I know it.”
“Fallin’ isn’t the problem. It’s stayin’ down that traps ya. Learn to get back up, no matter what.”
“Will you help me?”
“I’ll try, sugarcube. I’ll try.”
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