Silence, as profound and loud as words themselves could be, stretched across the rock farm. The dead of night showed Luna’s stars twinkling in the sky, and the moon shining bright above the farm, carrying the only light for miles. The home was dark now, but one lone occupant was awake. Cloudy Quartz roamed the halls, the wooden floors creaking ever so slightly as they groaned in protest with her weight. She moved through the house, out of the front door, and onto the porch. She sat. She contemplated.
Children will listen.
The phrase had been drilled into her by her own mother so many years ago. The importance of listening, of learning to interpret silence. It was impressed upon her that children who did not learn to listen did not flourish. Especially working on a rock farm, learning to listen for stampedes or earthquakes, or the shifting of other rocks was crucial. Children who did not listen, who did not pay attention to these small things, would be in danger. Her mother had given her that advice when she’d been pregnant with her first daughter, Maud, and she’d carried it with her wherever she went.
She’d given birth to four daughters- Maud, Limestone, Pinkamena, and Marble. She’d impressed upon them the importance of listening. And they had done so. They had learned how to interpret silence, how to know when rocks were shifting, or when a cave was unstable. They had listened. They had learned.
But now, she was in a predicament she didn’t quite know how to face- because now there was an exception to the rule.
Pinkamena Pie had left the homestead. Maud, Limestone, and Marble had all stayed. Maud was preparing to get her rocktorate in rock science soon, but she had intended to return to the farm. Cloudy hadn’t worried about that. No, Pinkamena was whom she’d worried most about.
From the moment Pinkamena had thrown her first party and earned her cutie mark, Cloudy Quartz’s wisdom of “Children will Listen” seemed to have become moot. Pinkie talked excitably, with a new volubility, that she’d never heard before. Sometimes it worried her. Her daughter would be so busy talking that she would forget to listen, or perhaps forget something more important than that.
Pinkamena was off to some faraway land. Her daughter had not told her where she was going. Cloudy doubted she even knew where she was going, and it was frightening to her. In Pinkamena’s excitement this morning to catch the train, she wondered if her daughter had forgotten the lesson she’d drilled into her the first years of her life. To listen. She’d taught her daughters that sometimes it wasn’t a sound that she should have been listening for. Sometimes it was the ghosts of unspoken words that she tried to communicate with her. All those things she couldn’t say or had left unsaid.
Looking at the moon, the sole light in the sky, she felt her heart aching. She’d never felt such a sense of loss in such a long time. She knew that it was ridiculous, that Pinkamena would always have a home with her and would only be a train ride away from wherever she was, but it made her feel so empty. But maybe it wasn’t just Pinkamena leaving that was hurting her so. Maybe it was the idea that the lesson she’d tried so hard to teach her daughter hadn’t been received. It hurt to think that.
Children Will Listen.
She’d tried to defend her daughter to herself in a million ways since she’d walked through that door. She knew Pinkamena would never do anything to cause her distress by intention. She also knew that Pinkamena would do anything to help a pony in need. Her daughter was listening. So why did she feel differently?
Maybe, perhaps, because although Pinkamena had listened, she hadn’t obeyed the old ways.
This caused her her greatest conflict. To her, the definition of listening meant obedience. But… Maybe her daughter hadn’t learned to listen that way. She recalled her daughter’s nickname, Pinkie, by which she still went by. A little known fact was that Cloudy herself had given her daughter that nickname as a baby. However, once her daughter got old enough to begin to build a work ethic, she called her Pinkamena, both to teach her about the old ways, and in hopes of building her work ethic. But the nickname had stuck with her daughter. Pinkie had listened to her. So maybe… Maybe Pinkie did listen. Maybe not in the same way she had been taught to, but in her way.
And her daughter had taught her so many things, too. Cloudy could recall with ease Pinkie’s first party, where she’d smiled for the first time in years. Pinkie had taught her the value of sound, with hearing her laughter. Still yet, her daughter had shown her the importance of having her own voice, and going her own way. Perhaps she wasn’t bold enough to stray from the old ways, but Pinkie was. Maybe Pinkie was the exception that proved the rule.
Cloudy lifted her eyes toward the moon. When Pinkie had been a very little girl, she’d told her that the moon would always be watching over them both, and if they were ever apart, the moon would carry their messages to one another. Looking at the moon now, she didn’t feel as lonely, and whispered,
“I’m listening.”
She sat there, in the expanse of night before her, as if waiting for a reply. But none came. Sighing, she decided to go to bed. Crossing the threshold of the front door, she moved back to her bedroom, and got underneath her quilted blanket to settle in for the night. All the while, she tried to find sounds in the silence, some semblance of her daughter’s vibrance. And just when she was about to give up, she swore she could hear her daughter’s laugh. In hearing that, she smiled.
The next morning, just before noon as Cloudy was preparing lunch, a letter came from the post pony. It was from Pinkie, telling her that she was okay, and had found where she wanted to stay- in Ponyville. Cloudy smiled a teary smile, and pressed the letter to her chest, thinking one thing:
Children will listen.