~*~
Let me tell you a story. It’s not the happiest story, and it’s not the most exciting action packed one, but I think it’s an important one, and right now, given the circumstances, I feel like it’s the right one for me to tell. At least… it’s important to me. I think that's worth something. There’s a lot that comes before now, and a lot that comes after, but I’ll start this story with just myself. Just me.
Alone.
Watching you leave.
~*~
I finally pull down my hoof as your train becomes a smaller and smaller speck on the horizon. The smile I’ve so carefully constructed remains poised on my lips for only a moment longer, before I at last allow my face to relax. It feels heavy, like I’ve been trying to prop it up with boards and crutches, just long enough so you wouldn’t see me crumble. Well, I’ve done at least that. Even now, Berry Punch isn’t someone who spoils the mood.
I wonder if you could see in my face how much it hurt. How many things I wanted to say, but didn't in exchange for set lips in a well-built smile. Were you lying too? Were you pretending to be okay, like I was? You’re not as good an actor as me, you’re not as good at holding those cheeks up taught, hiding your sadness, keeping your eyes from filling with tears and betraying you. But then again, I cry easy. You don’t. Maybe it’s a fair trade off then.
You’ll be back in three weeks, I tell myself. Three weeks. Tomorrow, it’ll be two weeks and six days. Repeat the length of time every day as it counts down, and it’ll feel like an eternity, I know. But at least it’ll remind me that you’re coming back at all.
You are coming back, right?
That’s a stupid thought. That’s a morbid, stupid, insidious thought, and I can’t give it any time or leeway, or it won’t leave.
There’s a doctor in Manehattan who wrote to you and asked you to come in for some tests on your immune system. It’s hard to say if it’s because you’re just a human oddity or if there’s an actual real possibility for a more steady treatment for you, but it’s something. I haven’t allowed myself to hope for yet, real hope anyway. I can’t allow myself believe that somehow, I can save you. That if I say the right magic words, concentrate hard enough, wish on the right star then poof! You’ll be fixed. If I let myself believe that, I’d spend every day reading every medical book there is, learning every magic spell ever invented. I would find a way to become a unicorn or alicorn, even if it seems impossible, all for you. And as I did that, you’d have to wait, alone, without me. There’s a dry comfort in the hopelessness of knowing you’re going to die too, like me. It means I can stop wasting my time on hope, and start using it appreciating every moment we have together.
Well, that thought does seem a little foolish now, considering we’re apart. Maybe in a few days, I’ll get lonely and foolish enough to start to ponder the what-ifs of magic, cures, and the purely-willed life-saving power of love. Not yet.
Right now, all I feel is a sort of tearing at the inside of my ribcage, like a part of me is struggling to break out and go elsewhere. Maybe it’s that broken part of me that called to you once, so long ago. Maybe it’s crying out for your brokeness again, and feeling the lack of it around me.
I wonder, can you feel it too, on that train, bound for cities far away?
This is the first time we’ve been apart for an extended period of time since we got together. Recently, you’ve even been sleeping at my house more nights than not, and I can feel a coming discussion where we’ll have to decide if we want to live together. Honestly, I don't know what I'll say when you bring it up. Things work this way, things are stable for the most part. Living together might complicate things, and I wouldn't want you to get sick of me. Literally, and figuratively. We haven’t quite hit that perfect sleeping stride yet either. You snore. I kick. I get more restful sleep without you there. Yet, if I’m honest? I know that when I get home tonight, the bed is going to feel desolate without you. I doubt I’ll get much sleep.
As I turn away from the station, sniffing hard to swallow the tears attempting a coup on my otherwise clear face, I resist the urge to look back. Some weird part of me thinks you might miraculously be there, if I do. It’s a stupid part of me, and I don’t indulge it, because the disappointment of it not being true might be enough to break me right now.
I’ll be fine without you, I tell myself. It’s only three little weeks. You won’t die yet and leave me alone out here. You’ll be with a doctor the whole time, and if your immune system goes on the fritz, he’ll take care of it. You’ll come back to me. You promised you’d come back to me. Please come back to me. I trust you.
Why, then, do I still feel so worried?
No. I’ll be okay. I’m a big girl, and I’ve been alone for a long time before this. I just have to get back into it, and it’ll all feel natural again. I repeat this new mantra to myself as I make my way back to my now empty home.
I’ll be okay.
~*~
I stare at the empty bed next to me. The morning sun is streaming in, making white horizontal lines across the bare mattress. I touch the place where you usually lie, still slumbering beside me come morning, but the sun has yet to warm the sheets. It’s cold. My whole room feels cold. I pull the blanket as close around me as I can, but my own body heat just isn’t enough to make me feel at ease.
I glance at the bedside clock, then groan as I see that it’s almost ten. I’ve been lying here for way too long, feeling sorry for myself, but I just can’t bring myself to get out of bed. What’s the point? I don’t have to work today, no one is coming to see me, I don’t have anyone to cook for besides myself. Can’t I simply say I’m feeling sick from the effects of liver disease, and leave it at that? No one would question me. Well… if they knew I had liver disease, of course. Until I’m ready to take that out from under wraps, maybe it’s best to just make do and forego any excuses.
With a further groan, I toss myself out of bed onto the floor with a thump. It almost hurts, but I’ve gotten so used to it that the shock of hitting the ground is more of a wakeup call than actual pain. I lie there for just one more brief minute, shutting my eyes and repeating my new slogan that I’ll be okay, before I finally rise to my feet and attempt to start the day.
I recite the things I need to do as I check them off my mental list, that way I won’t forget. Get a glass of water, you’re always dehydrated in the morning. Figure out breakfast, something high sodium because your body isn't retaining that well anymore. If there are leftovers, eat them first. Brush teeth, don’t forget again, and do a check of the color in your cheeks to see if things are looking less yellow. Take the meds. All of them. One might make you feel nauseated as hell, so wait about twenty minutes before you do anything else, just in case you need to puke and retake the meds you just expelled. Then… figure out what the fuck to do with yourself until it’s time to sleep again. Maybe clean, or read or stare at the ceiling and pretend you’re a rug on the floor, probably the shag kind, or maybe cable knit if you're feeling daring.
Yes, my day sounds exciting as ever.
Everything seems to be going pretty normally until I find that it’s pill time. I glower at the five different bottles sitting next to the sink as if they are my mortal enemies, rather than life-giving supplements.
“Back again I see,” I tell the group of them, my own voice scratchy from disuse.
They don’t answer. I don’t know what I was expecting. I haven't spoken to another pony in at least a day, so maybe I'm getting delusional from loneliness.
I open the first one and empty out the red and yellow tablet into my hoof, then go for the next. I like to swallow them all at once rather than one at a time. It makes me feel gluttonous or extravagant somehow, like some celebrity mare choking down pills at a party, to take the edge off. It’s a better storyline that me standing in the bathroom, hoping beyond hope that these meds won’t make me throw up or curl on the sofa with stomach cramps. Both scenarios sound like bad news in the long run anyway.
As I shake the third bottle, nothing comes out, and I feel something sink in my chest. Oh good. Am I out of meds? Do I need to actually go somewhere today, heaven forbid? A doctor’s visit was 100% not what I’d hoped for, even if it sounds more active than my planned rug imitation. Hopeful, I give the pill bottle a shake, and it rattles like there’s plenty of capsules inside. I frown and give the bottle a harder shake towards my hoof, thinking that they must be jammed or something. No sooner do I give one more violent shake, than there is an uncontrollable eruption of pills from the bottle. I squawk and, rather than having the presence of mind to turn the bottle upright, begin trying to shovel all the pills back up into the container from below, against the flow of gravity. It’s not very effective. My mind finally begins operating like a normal pony and I right the bottle and set it down, listening to the soft clattering of all the many many pills bouncing in the bowl of the sink.
Good. Great. Well there’s a paycheck’s worth of pills gone. I again glare at the bottle, then down into the sink, as I try to pick up any capsules that didn’t find their way down the drain. I almost think the bottle did that just to spite me, not liking my tone earlier. Why weren’t those damn pills coming out in the first place?
Abruptly, I see the answer sitting among the rogue pills. It’s a small, folded piece of paper, that must have been neatly tucked into my medicine bottle, and caused the traffic jam of pills that resulted in this mess. I want to be angry at it, but I’m honestly too curious and baffled to feel that way. What the hell is that? What is it doing in my meds? Is it added instructions I’ve never seen until now, is it part of the label come off? Did I put it in there when I was drunk, as a note for my sober self? I remind myself that I don’t do that anymore, so I can at least scratch one possibility off my list.
I eye the paper with caution as I gingerly lift it up and unfold it two, and then three times. The writing is a little smudged from residual water in the sink, but it’s plenty clear to make out. And… oh my god. My breathing catches, and stops as recognition swarms my senses. I’ve been with you long enough to recognize your handwriting by now.
Reading, but probably not fully understanding, I take in what you’ve written:
Dear Berry,
I figured you’d find this the day after I left, assuming you’re taking your meds like you’re supposed to. If you have found this, then congrats on trying to not die while I’m gone. Nice job. I wrote you this because I’ve got a little something for you, in order to keep you from going completely stir-crazy with boredom while I’m away. I’d like to think you’ll love it, I really tried to pick a good one. But you know I don’t play on easy mode, so you’ll have to follow a few instructions to get it. Or you can not, you know, that’s fine too.
Who am I kidding, I know you’ll be too curious to pass this up. I’m only, maybe, a little sorry.
First, you’ll need to find something in this room that I really shouldn’t have left behind.
Talk to you in a few minutes. Assuming you can figure it out.Love,
Anon
I stare down at the paper, then re-read it a few times to try to make it clear. My heart flutters, knowing you’ve written it, but aside from that, the gears are turning in my brain trying to discern your intent here. From what I can tell, you wrote me this note, briefly made fun of my life-threatening disease, teased me for my curiosity, and then said some cryptic shit about giving me a gift, challenging my intellect.
See, this is why I love you. But right now, it’s also infuriating.
I feel a rage fill me, but I’m also smiling in a weird tight-lipped way. How dare you give me a shock like that and cause me to lose meds? How dare you be so glib and light-hearted, as if I’m not suffering like crazy without you around? And how dare you even suggest that I am ruled by curiosity?
How absolutely dare you be right about that last part.
I grumble to myself as I crumple the note and put it on the side of the sink, before gathering up my pills and taking my required meds. Medicate first, then begin infuriating treasure hunt nonsense. At last, once everything is back as it was before, I uncrumple the note and read the last few lines. Something you shouldn’t have left behind? Well, there’s me, but I somehow doubt that would ever be part of this treasure hunt's answers. No, it’ll be something more obvious. You’re a clever thing, but you also like to be straightforward, so it’s probably not some pun involving “behind” even though I am in a bathroom.
As I scan the room, my eyes fall on the counter right next to the sink, where I keep my toothbrush. It’s in a small porcelain cup, and usually that cup just holds my purple brush, which I really should get around to replacing one of these days. More recently, however, it’s held your green toothbrush as well, because you’ve been staying here overnight so much. Now, as I glance at that cup, I see that your toothbrush is still there.
Well, that’s a pretty obvious answer. But it also begs the question of why you would go about forgetting your toothbrush on purpose, for this little game? I can only hope you have a spare, and are not planning on going through medical tests with a mouth full of food residue. That doesn't sound like you, but you've been known to do pretty silly things out of spite or for a purpose, so I can't rule it out either.
I tilt the cup towards me slightly and, sure enough, there’s another piece of paper curled around the inside, so I would never have seen it unless I was really looking. I tug it out, uncurl it, and read your second note.
See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? We’re going to do a few of these, so I hope you’re up for it. Next, you’ll need to find a something I always try to steal from you. And no, I don’t mean your heart.
Love,
Anon
Well that’s sweet. It’s sweet and corny and cheesy and dumb, and I feel any anger I had towards you start to slink back into the recesses of my body, replaced with a sort of pleasant yearning. It’s the kind of feeling you get when you feel a caress on your cheek, or the sensation of hearing someone whisper your name as if they worship you. I feel parts of my body relax that I didn’t know I was holding taut, and my smile this time is far more genuine.
“Okay, you want to play?” I mutter at the note, as I fold it up and put it on the counter. “Let’s play.”
This question is a bit more difficult. It’s not isolated to just one room or type of thing, but you’re not the kind of person to steal things from me. Or anyone. You’re not a thief by any means, so I begin to wonder if you’ve been trying to steal from me and I just haven’t noticed before. Are you secretly trying to eat any of the special 'Berry-is-sad-and-needs-to-eat-her-feelings' cheese I set aside in the fridge? Oh… that would not end well for you.
My eyes narrow as I hastily turn from the bathroom and dash to my kitchen. With a grunt, I throw open the fridge door and seek out my dill havarti, nestled neatly near the back of the middle shelf. Not only is it completely untouched, and a little inviting, just from even glancing at it, but there’s no note anywhere near it I can see. Okay, so I don’t have to strike you down ninja-style in your sleep for stealing my cheese right under my nose, but that still doesn’t solve this little riddle. What do you always try to steal from me? Why would you ever try to steal anything from me anyway?
As I start to push images of myself clad as a ninja, attacking you and screaming vengeance for my cheese while you slumber, something in my brain stops me. It’s just for a moment, but it’s enough for me to put a few mental pieces together until they click. I’ll be damned. There is something you try to steal from me, without fail, every time you stay in this house. You don’t mean to, it’s not intentional by any means, but something in your unconscious still does it. I’ve even kicked you for it once or twice. How you managed to leave me a clue or gift there, however, is beyond me. It seems you’re more sneaky than I previously thought.
With an almost mischievous smile, I trot to the bedroom and reach for my pillow. Each night we sleep next to each other, you seem to end up sleeping with your head on the same pillow as me. Maybe it’s because you like being close and trying to cuddle me, or maybe it’s some subconscious territorial thing, but your sleep brain has decided that my pillow is also your pillow, and try as I might, I cannot dissuade you. You've even sometimes bumped me off of it, and I've woken up with one hell of a cramp in my neck.
I lift the pillow and poke it all over until I at last feel a crinkle in one corner. Somehow, at some point, you slipped a small bit of paper into my pillow, and I slept on it without even noticing! I’m not sure if I feel impressed with you, or disappointed in myself. I guess we now know I could never be in one of those Princess and The Pea stories, huh? I fish the paper out of my pillowcase, and fold it open.
Okay, the practice rounds are over. Staying at home is all well and good, but it’s time to get some fresh air. Next, you’ll need to find a creature that’s not from here, but is here, that reminds me of my old home while welcoming me to my new home.
By the way, we’re far from done, so pace yourself. Make sure you drink water, and get enough salt.Love,
Anon
Now I give this letter a more earnest glare. Practice rounds? You mean there's a lot more of this? I had at least hoped to keep myself from going outside today, and somehow I suspected you knew that. So, you promise me a gift, a surprise, waiting for me out there in the world at large, knowing I won’t be able to resist going out to find it. It’s a clever method, and I’m instantly annoyed that you know how to play me so effortlessly well. I haven’t even begun to guess at the meaning of your riddle, which seems more difficult than the last one. I’m too busy just being frustrated at you for all this, and even that feeling makes me miss you all the more.
There’s nothing to it but to do it, though. I grumble all the way to the bathroom, where I splash my face with water and wait to see if my stomach will turn on me from the meds. I seem lucky today, so I gather a small bag of snacks and a bottle of water, as well as some emergency meds and a salt tablet. All the while, your words ring out loud in my head. An animal not from here? That is here? Hell, there are ponies all over the place that came from far away lands, if you count those. And Fluttershy has a ton of animals that come into town for her care, many from distant places. The key here has to be that it reminds you of home, while welcoming you home. What kind of animal does that? Again, I don’t think I’d be an answer to any of your clues, but I do hope I fit the bill for this description as well.
As I approach my front door, I again feel a stab of missing you course through me. I glance down at the last clue, trying to memorize it as I put it into my bag. Then, in a moment of weakness, I take the paper back out and hold it gently to my mouth. My lips press the place where your hands carefully scrawled out looping letters, where your fingertips creased a fold so neatly. In that moment, it’s the closest I can be to you, as foolish as it feels.
Then, I place the paper back in my bag, open my front door, and shut it behind me as I go. If nothing else, I get the sense that you’ve put together a bit of an adventure for me out here. I just hope that I can rise to your challenge.
~*~