A few weeks later, after finding myself without much to do, Coco offered to have me help her as her assistant with the costumes for the upcoming show. I was hesitant at first, but after some coaxing on her part, and a lot of practice on mine, I became a solid sewer, and even helped Coco with a few of the design concepts. After knowing how stifling it could be to never be asked for ideas, Coco was more than willing to let me be creative in some fashion, and I had a lot of fun with it.
Yet, the problem remained that I still felt like the same confused pony, still a Pinkie clone in some ways, and a mystery pony with no name in other ways (even if I did give myself an improvised name). Coco asked me about my name later, wondering: “So wait, if you’re a clone, and technically had no name other than Pinkie Pie, does that mean you gave yourself the name Mina Pearl?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Oh, well, I think it’s a pretty name.”
“Oh, really, you think?”
“Yeah, unless you would rather change it?”
“Hmm, I’m actually not sure.”
I pondered that question for a long time after that, wondering if it was worth it to invent a whole new name. After many days of deliberating and questioning, I ultimately decided to stick with Mina. I did like it, and it held hints of my past identity that I didn’t want to entirely give up.
After a few more weeks, showtime was approaching. The costumes were done, and they looked fabulous! Coco and I got tickets to the show courtesy of the director, and they were pretty good seats. The first few showings were great, though the fifth one had many problems, with the lead actress coming down with the flu, and her understudy getting a bit of stage fright that made her performance shaky at best. The lights also malfunctioned, and the third song had the curtain accidentally drop in the middle of it. The director said it was a textbook example of a perfect storm of technical disaster.
When that particular show was over, Coco and I were talking to a few of the stage ponies, from whom I noticed the understudy was absent. I felt an immediate concern, maybe a form of Pinkie sense, and I excused myself to use the little filly’s room, a ruse to see if I could find her. The understudy’s name was Raspberry Beret. I had met her a few times before. She had talked about how excited she was to be the understudy of the great stage actress Cherry Hoofburn - the lead mare of the show - and how she dreamed of becoming a part of the Method Mares troupe.
Turning a corner that led down a hallway backstage, I heard something, a sound I somehow knew I might hear. As I walked farther down the hall, it became more distinct, and I had no doubt: it was the sound of crying. I found her at the end of the hall, near the rear exit. It was Raspberry Beret, sobbing in the corner. I approached her and said, “Hey, Raspberry, what’s wrong?” She responded rather curtly:
“Do you really need to ask?”
“Well, no, not really. You’re probably upset with how the play went.”
“Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it! This was my first ever chance to act in a real, big production. Any actor dreams of this kind of chance to finally shine, and what do I do? I blow it! I looked like a completely incompetent fool out there. After that, what production would want to hire me?”
“Raspberry, I know you don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do! I clearly don’t have what it takes to be an actress. I can’t even go out for one performance without getting textbook, amateur stage fright.”
“Hey, now listen to me. I may not be an expert of theatre, but I know a few things from working with Coco and the stage ponies, and if there’s one thing I know about stage fright, it’s that every actor gets it, even the really experienced ones sometimes. Even Onstage told me about how he still has to do a ritual before every show to get over it. You’re not incompetent just because you got shaken up. And like you said, it was your first ever real performance in a big show. Who wouldn’t get at least a little nervous before something like that?”
“Well, I guess...”
“Well I say it’s true. I’ve seen some of the acting you’ve done, and you’re really talented.”
“But what if it doesn’t go away? What if I just can’t shake the anxiety?”
“Do you love theatre and acting?”
“Yeah.”
“Then that’s a risk you’re going to have to take. You sometimes need to fight demons to hold onto the things you love. Princess Twilight fights literal demons like Tirek, but not everyone has that luxury. Some of us have to fight the worst demon of all: ourselves. I know it seems hard, even impossible right now. You’re upset, and probably exhausted. You should at least sleep on it before you give up acting because of one bad show.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Trust me, you have so much talent and potential, and you could go so far if you just stick to it. Will you try, at least for me?”
“Okay, I will.” She took a moment to sniff a bit and compose herself further. “The more I think about it, I actually can’t believe I just said that.”
“Every pony says things they don’t really mean when they’re upset. It was a bad night, I know. But just go home, breathe, and sleep. Here, take this.” I pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from my mane. “This is my address, that way you can send me a message or find me if you need someone to talk to. I know we don’t know each other super well yet, but I hate to see ponies so upset, and you and I are friends, right?”
“Right.”
“Right. So, take this, and remember that you can always talk to me, okay.”
“Wow, thanks Mina. You’re really sweet, you know.”
“If I can put a smile back on somepony’s face, that makes me happy.” Immediately after I said that, she and I both noticed a sudden flash of light from under my dress, like an old camera was hidden in there. Before she could say anything, I rushed off to the restroom and looked in the mirror, raising my dress to see if what I suspected had just happened was true.
Surely as my hide is pink, the last remnant of my cutie mark, that one solitary balloon, had vanished. And like the air escaping rapidly from a popped balloon, my spirits blew out of me, and my mane drooped flat into full Pinkamina – or, whatever my version of that would be. If ever there was a moment where I felt utterly confused and hopeless, it was that moment when I stared at my own blank flank in the mirror.