Macintosh

by TotalOverflow


Chapter 4

Macintosh
By TotalOverflow, '11

Chapter 4

        Cheerilee - or Ms. Cheerilee as she is now known as by her students - was probably the closest friend Big Macintosh ever had growing up.  They grew apart after he had to drop out of school, and today was the first time he’d seen her in years.  Although she was around the same age as him (maybe a little older) they were in different grades, since he’d been held back a few times.  She actually went to a different nearby school (which was designed very similarly to Mac’s school, although much larger and missing the pony-shaped hedge out front).  The two schools were so close in fact that Macintosh and Cheerilee would often meet and spend lunch together, chatting about their teachers or their family or the weather, and while most ponies made fun of his drawl, she never seemed to mind.  Being the oldest and largest in his class Macintosh was often the brunt of many jokes and jeers, and looking back he wondered if that was when he earned the nickname ‘Big Macintosh.’  Well, at least he was called ‘Big Dumb Macintosh.’  

        Being the oldest in his class was bad enough, but he was a 'blank flank' to boot.  He massaged his neck, remembering all the times he was bullied or even beat up by younger, smaller colts who teamed up on him.  He never fought back, however, partly because he knew he would get in trouble and could seriously hurt the younger ones, but mostly because due to his larger size he was never hurt by any of their attacks.  Not hurt physically, anyway.

        By now Big Macintosh had returned to the busy streets of Ponyville, made even busier by all the foals playing on the streets.  He briefly caught sight of his little sister and her friends climbing a tree in the park, perhaps trying to become professional tree climbers.  A few fillies ran screaming down the road, trying to get away from a pair of unicorn colts (one blue and stout, the other orange and lanky) who were hovering grasshoppers with their magic.  He even spotted Cotton Cloudy again, floating in the air behind a tree, trying to form a cloud with moderate success.  The city was teeming with life, the sort of thing Mac only saw during the Apple Family Reunion.  His relatives could probably fill their own small city if they wanted to, and cousin Braeburn actually bet Big Macintosh that they could do just that, which led to the founding of AppleLoosa (not many ponies knew that).  When Macintosh finally had the chance to visit, he found it populated with non-Apple Family ponies and even run by a non-Apple Family sheriff.  The look of shame on Braeburn's face was almost more satisfying than seeing him strut down the main street in a frilly pink saddle for losing the bet.  Almost.  Still, it was a very pleasant town, although Big Mac never did get the chance to meet any of the Buffalo he’d heard so much about.  I wouldn’t mind visiting there again, sometime.  Entering the park, his mind wandered, eventually drifting back to his earlier visit with Twilight.

        “Ah wonder if Twilight’s finished her errands now,” he said to himself suddenly, “Ah sure would like ta spend some more time studyin’.”

        “You WANT to study!?” said a voice.  Turning, he saw the voice came from a bed of yellow and pink flowers growing happily by the side of the road.  Blending in nearly to the point of invisibility was a pair of large, amber eyes resting in a pink head, its snout poking out for air.

        “Er, Lily?” Macintosh said slowly, “what’re ya doin’ in there?”

        “We’ve got much more important matters to discuss!” she cried as she untangled herself from the flora, hoof-fulls of petals and grass in her mane, “like why on earth would anypony want to study?”

        “Well, Ah jes’ enjoy readin’, is all.  Ah find it all very interestin’.”

        “I did all the studying and reading I needed in school,” she boasted, looking him squarely in the eyes, “didn’t you?”

        “Um, well, not really.”

        “Huh?”

        “Look, Ah’d rather not talk ‘bout it, if’n y’all dun’ mind,” sighed Macintosh as he slowly cantered along the path.

        “Okay,” she said, sidling up beside him, “I dun’ mind!” giggling, she hopped ahead of him, spun and began trotting backwards.  “So what were you saying about Twilight Sparkle?”

        “Uh, what?”

        “You like her, don’t you?” her eyes glimmered.

        “What!?”

        She gasped dramatically, throwing a hoof to her face and collapsing to the ground, her eyes rolling into her head.  “How romantic!”

        “Um...”

        “Don’t worry!” she chirped, hopping to her hooves in a pink and yellow blur, “I won’t tell anypony!”

        “Not that there’s much ta tell,” Macintosh said slowly, cocking an eyebrow at her theatrics.  “What were y’all doin’ in them flowers?”

        “Well, to sell flowers, one must be the flowers!  One with nature!  Think like a flower!” she stopped and contorted her face to look like something out of one of Pablo Pichorso's paintings.  “Suuuuuuuun, waaaaaaterrrrrrr, diiirrrrrrrt....Ah!  A bee!” she swatted at the small insect, shrieked and ran in circles around Macintosh until she fell into a shivering heap at his side.  The bug gave up trying to pollenate Lily’s lily and buzzed towards a large bed of flowers.

        “Y’all okay down there?” he looked sideways at her, amused and mildly annoyed at her energy.

        “It’s hard to be a flower!” she shuddered.  Shaking his head Mac resumed trotting along the path, Lily swiftly catching up to him.  “Sooooo, whatchya doin’?”

        “Nuthin’,”

        “Nuthin’, or nuthin’?”

        “Both.”

        “Oh, I gotchya!” she nudged his side.  He couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile.  Her cheeriness was contagious.  Shouldn’t she be working right now, though?

        “I’m on a break right now, to answer your question.”

        “What?”

        “You were going to ask why I wasn’t working right now, right?” she looked at him with earnest, innocent eyes.  His were filled with disbelief.

        “But how did you...”

        “My special talent is reading other’s minds!”

        “But yer...”

        “Flowers ARE psychic!  Why do you think I work with them so much?” she glanced nervously around the park before beckoning Big Mac to lean in close.  She dropped her voice to a low, intense whisper.  “You should hear some of the things they tell me!” her eyes were filled with dread; a deep secret locked away for years about to emerge.  Macintosh’s own eyes grew wide with wonder and curiosity.

        “What do they tell ya?” he whispered.

        “I dunno, they’re flowers!  They can’t talk, silly!” she giggled, her golden eyes ablaze with realized mischief, “pshaw, talking flowers!  That’s almost as believable as ponies who can read minds!”  She skipped along the road, across the bridge and out of sight, her long, blonde tail bouncing merrily along behind.

        Macintosh felt planted to the path, legs locked in place.

        “What jes’ happened?”

        Mind working overtime to make sense of the last few minutes, Big Macintosh felt a large, goofy grin creep its way across his heavy-set face.  Lily was by far one of the strangest creatures he’d ever met.

        And he couldn’t wait to bump into her again.

***

I looked down.  

I was very high up.  

I had never been on top of the barn before.  It took a long time to climb up here, but now here I was.  

I looked up.  I saw them flying.  Their wings flapped and their legs kicked.  They flew with the birds and moved the clouds.  They could fly anywhere.  They could go everywhere.  

A wind blew and opened my cape, my own set of brightly colored wings.

I took a deep breath.

And I jumped.

And for a moment, I flew.

***

        The trek back to the library was uneventful, leaving Big Macintosh alone with his thoughts.  He walked slowly, enjoying the sights and taking an occasional intentional wrong turn just to see more hidden nooks and crannies of the town.  By the time he arrived, therefore, it was already four in the afternoon.  Dinner at the Apple Family household always started at six o’ clock sharp, so he still had at least an hour to study with Twilight Sparkle, assuming she was back.  Three brisk knocks to the door later he found himself welcomed inside by a cheerful Spike.

        “Hey Big Macintosh!  ‘Sup?” he held a duster in his hand and had a neckerchief acting as a filter over his mouth.  

        “Not much,” Macintosh’s deep voice traveled throughout the room; the place was empty enough to have sent back an echo if it weren’t for the books muffling sound slightly.  “What’s goin’ on in here?”

        “I was just doing some cleaning,” smiled Spike, pulling down the mask, “Twilight doesn’t spend much time outside the library so I always make sure to clean up whenever she’s gone.  She’s really good at turning this place into a war zone.”

        “Ah see,” coughed Big Mac, a bit of lingering dust invading his lungs, “so Ah gather she ain’t here at the moment?”

        “Nah, but she should be back soon, so just make yourself at home,” said the dragon as he resumed dusting a corner of the room.

        Strolling over to the impressive array of books that lined the walls Macintosh casually began reading their spines.  He hadn’t taken a second look at them this morning when helping clean, and he was now taken aback at how extensive the collection was, and at the wide variety of titles: ‘History of Equestria Volume 6,’ ‘The Adventures of Captain Sethisto;’ there was even a book about playing banjos with hooves written by somepony named Ralph.  Every topic you could possibly imagine was covered, from mathematics to science to cooking to skydiving to art to music.  He even saw one of his favorite story books from his school years, 'Fortress of Fire,' its blue spine (faded slightly with age) held a tale about a pair of young foals, he recalled, who trained under a mysterious old Creature Catcher to avenge their father's apparent death.

        One book in particular caught his attention: ‘The Physics of Flying.’  Gently, he pulled it out of the shelf and set it down on the table, flipping through its contents.  It was filled with diagrams and artwork of various flying creatures, from horseflies to pegasi, showing their wings in great detail.  On one page, it compared the wingspans of different animals, starting with a pegasus and working its way up to a full grown dragon, whose wings were long enough to fold around the entire barn back home.  

        There was one page in particular that caught Macintosh’s interest: it showed a pegasus with outstretched wings, going into detail on how finely tuned the size of the wings are to accommodate the size and weight of the pony.  An average pegasus filly, for instance, should have a wingspan a little under twice her body length, while a colt’s should be slightly longer.  On the next page was an entry about wing defects, examining the myriad of afflictions or birth defects recorded.  Wings too small, of course, wouldn’t be strong enough to lift a pony off the ground, although they could use them to propel themselves along the ground and maybe glide through the air.  Interestingly, a pegasus whose wings were too large could also have difficulty flying, as the massive wind displacement from their wings could send them careening off course, or they may not have fine control over the wings’ movement.  

        The subject of flying was far more complex than Big Mac had ever expected; who knew there were so many variables, from wind speed to velocity to humidity to size and weight?  On the following pages were articles about historical ponies who had tried to create their own flying devices, with an almost perfect record of failure.  Macintosh chuckled at the memory of his own primitive attempt so long ago.

        “Spike, I’m back!” the door swung open, snapping Macintosh away from his daydreams.  Twilight marched into the library but stopped, stunned at Macintosh’s presence.  “Oh, hello Big Macintosh, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

        “Howdy,” he smiled warmly; she was clearly frazzled by his being there.  “Ah was jes’ doin’ some readin’ while Ah was waitin’ fer ya ta get back.  Are ya all right?”

        “Oh, yeah!  I’m fine, just surprised is all,” she smiled, placing her satchels onto a desk, “I didn’t expect anypony to be here.”

        Big Mac tilted his head in confusion.  “But this is a public library, right?  Ah’da thought there’d be lots o’ visitors all day.”  The purple unicorn sighed, looking deeply into his eyes for a moment before breaking away.

        “Spike!  Could you put my bag in my room please?” she called.  Spike bounced into the room.

        "Sure thing, Twi!  What's in it?" he said, handling the large satchel.

        "It's my Gala Gown.  Rarity just had to do a few touch ups on it so it would be ready for the ‘Summer Sun Celebration.’"

        "But that's not for a few days!" Spike said, bemused.

        "What, didn’t you get a suit yet?"

        "Meh, I'll get around to it."

        "It pays to be prepared, you know!" she said, snout in the air, "will you just take it to my room, please?"  The small dragon saluted and carried her bag off to the second floor, closing the door behind him.  She turned back to Big Mac, sighing again.  “You’re right, this is the Ponyville public library, but ponies around here just don’t come by that often.  To be honest, I’m worried that it might be because of me.”

        “Now what in tarnation does that mean?” Mac asked, his voice reassuring, not accusatory.

        “Well, the only thing different is that I’m running the library now.  If it’s not being used anymore it’s got to be my fault.  I have heard some ponies gossiping that I use it as a private study hall.  I feel kind of bad about it...”

        “Now Ah’m sure it ain’t yer fault,” Macintosh said, trying to smile, “Maybe the ponies ‘round here jes’ aren’t much fer readin’.”

        “Maybe,” she shook her head, an earnest smile returning to her face, “Anyway, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting; was there something I could do for you?”

        “Well, Ah jes’ had some spare time b‘fore supper, an' Ah was hopin’ ta get a li’l more studyin’ done.”  

        Her eyes lit up at this as she hopped over to his desk.  “All right!  Sounds like fun!”  She glanced down at his book, its pages open to a diagram of a large metal tube with long, flat protrusions.  “Oh, a flying machine!  I didn’t know you were interested in flight!”  

        Macintosh grinned.  “Eeyup.  Ah’ve always found it interestin’,” he gazed down at the picture again.  “Do y’all really think they can build a flyin’ machine that works?”

        “I hope so,” she smiled, flipping through the other pages, “I think it would be a great alternative to air-chariot travel.  Even the largest chariots can only hold about ten passengers, but one of these machines could carry hundreds!  Balloons are a relaxing way to travel, but too slow to be very efficient...”  She enthusiastically carried on about different possibilities for creating flying machines, but Big Mac’s thoughts were halted at the mention of air-chariots.

        I suppose I could get a ride on one of those, he thought, that could be a heap of fun.  I’ve never ridden any sort of flying machine or balloon or air-chariot before.  But, it’s not really the same as flying on your own wings, is it?  That freedom...I guess hang-gliding would come closest, but that’s too dangerous for someone my size.

        “...But if there were a form of propulsion, maybe the ignition of a fuel of some sort, with the lift of the wings and a propellor, it could fly.”

        “Huh?”

        “Oh, sorry, I guess I was rambling, heh heh,” she shut the book, placing it back on the shelf, “was there any particular subject you wanted to study?”  

        Big Macintosh took a few seconds to bring himself to reality, his mind still lingering on thoughts of being airborne.  “Ah did have a couple questions ‘bout algebra.  Ah never got a real chance ta study it in school an' them books are hard ta read.”

        “Ooh!  Algebra!” she giddily pulled several books out of the shelf with her magic, arraying them across the desk.  “That is a tricky subject, but once you get the hang of it, it’s actually pretty fun!  Let’s take a look...”


        Their hour together went smoothly; Macintosh was beginning to feel very at ease around the unicorn mare.  They both enjoyed discussing topics most others would find boring (Spike pointed this out once, even asking if he should call a doctor or psychiatrist), and he felt they understood each other well.  He asked for another quick refresher in table manners before he left, and he had considered asking if she was going to the party tonight, but she made mention of her plans for the evening (which would consist of more studying and correspondence with the Princess Celestia).  Ironically, the prospect of extra studying sounded more appealing to the earth pony than going to the party, but he had promised his new friends he’d be there.  Besides, he couldn’t overstay his welcome.

        He took his time waltzing back through town towards the farm, the early evening sun casting long shadows between the old fashioned buildings as his mind drifted back to his new acquaintances.  Are they really already my friends?  Shouldn’t it take longer than a day to become friends?  Maybe they just invited me to the party out of pity.  I mean, I’m obviously not the most exciting pony to be around.  His questions lingered in his head.  Friend-making was not something he had experience in, and although he had met many new ponies who seemed nice enough, he was worried that they didn’t regard him with any more interest than an out-of-town stranger would earn.  Twilight seemed to enjoy spending time with him, but what if it was only because it meant she could do more reading?

        Violently shaking his head he banished the thoughts.  His mother always told him to never assume the worst about anypony, and he felt a pang of guilt for doing just that.  It’s not my place to judge them or their intentions, he thought, if I want them to be friends then I’ve got to be friendly too.

        As he crested the last hill he took in the full sight of Sweet Apple Acres, illuminated by the evening sun.  Its grandeur was a sight to behold, with hundreds if not thousands of trees sporting apples of every sort spreading out across the horizon.  While apples were the main focus of the farm, they did have a small vegetable garden, chicken coop and cow ranch.  The cows themselves were friendly, if a bit air-headed, but Macintosh couldn’t bring himself to milk them.  That task was left to a more steel-stomached (and less prone to blushing) sister of his.  Applejack teased him constantly about his fear of milking, but he’d gladly take the teasing any day over having to...squeeze...and...

        “Ech!” he cried, knocking his head with his hoof trying to forget the imagery.  At his outburst Winona ran up to him, yipping and playfully jumping at him.  She was a good dog, but rarely listened to his commands.  Applejack was her 'mother.'  Macintosh was more like an uncle.  Patting her head he let himself into the house, a sweet aroma of cooked apples and carrots emanating from within.

        “S’that you, Apple Bloom?” he heard Granny Smith call from the kitchen.  He wiped his hooves and trotted in.

        “Nope,” he grinned, his stomach growling with forgotten hunger.

        “Macintosh!  Yer back!” his grandmother smiled, placing a steaming pie on the table, “Ah hope y’all had fun in town t’day!  Now go fetch yer sisters b’fore dinner gets cold!”


        Once they were all gathered around the table, Granny Smith said a quick thank you to Celestia for their meal before they all dug in.  Big Mac took a moment to watch his family chow down, burying their muzzles in their meals.  Chuckling to himself he carefully balanced his slice of pie on his hoof, taking small bites and chewing slowly and carefully.  The food may taste better this way and sit better in one’s belly, but it sure wasn’t satisfying.  Still, it was more than worth it for the stunned expressions it inflicted upon his family.

        “Er, what’re y’all doing, Mac?” Applejack asked, her own face dripping with apple pie filling.

        “Well, Ah jes’ though that maybe Ah should start actin’ like a civilized pony if Ah’m goin’ ta be spendin’ time with ‘em.”  His sisters had to take a moment to decide if they’d just been insulted or not.  Finally, Granny Smith broke the silence.

        “Well, good on ya!” she smiled, not deterred in the slightest about her own style of eating, “y’know, yer mother was a stickler fer good manners, right up ‘til Applejack were born!  Ah reckon she jes’ gave up when she saw she gave birth ta a pig instead of a pony!”

        “Gramma!” moaned the orange pony, her hat only partially hiding her scowl.  

        “It’s true,” grinned Macintosh, “Ah ‘member how Pa wouldn’t ever get away with wearin’ that hat ta the table!”  His sister glowered at him, fastening her hat to her head.

        “Well this here hat ain’t budgin’!” she threw her face back into her meal, chewing and snarfing loudly.  Laughing, Macintosh looked down to his youngest sister.  Apple Bloom had been quiet this evening, and although she giggled at the ‘argument,’ her eyes were tinted with sadness at the mention of her parents.

        “So what were yer days like?” Big Mac quickly changed the subject.

        Granny Smith was the first to reply.  “Ah read some o' me stories and took a nap, then cooked up the vittles y’all are eatin’.”

        “Thanks fer supper, Gramma,” the three said in unison.

        “I was able to buck most of the west orchard t’day,” boasted Applejack, “I got all them apples in the barn, even.  It weren’t easy without you around, Big Brother.”

        “Ah’m sure ya managed.”

        “Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle and me all tried to become Cutie Mark Crusader Maple Syrup Farmers, but we couldn’t find any maple trees,” said Apple Bloom.  “Oh, and I pushed Snails into the mud during recess.  But it was an accident,” she added quickly.

        “Sure it was,” chuckled Applejack, “when are y’all jes’ goin’ to admit ya like him?”

        “SIS!” she shrieked, “that’s gross!  Ew!”

        “That’s how Ah met yer Grampa, y’know!” laughed Granny Smith.  The others chuckled, remembering that story which had been told many times, but Apple Bloom’s face turned white.

        “How was yer day, Macintosh?” asked Applejack, taking another mouthful of carrots and chewing loudly.  He took a deep breath.

        “Well let’s see...Ah helped Twilight clean up her library, almost beat Rainbow Dash in a race, ate an expensive sandwich fer lunch, saved a filly from fallin’ to her death, met a pony who claimed to be psychic an’ could talk to flowers an’ Ah learned how ta do algebra.”

        The only one who manage to keep her jaw fastened to her head was Applejack.

        “Oh, an’ Ah also got invited ta a big party after supper.”

        And there went Applejack’s jaw.


        “I still can’t believe yer goin’ to a party!” giggled Applejack.  She stood just outside his room, watching him comb his ruffly orange mane.  “I mean, after last time-”

        “Ah know!” he blurted, “but that was a long time ago.  It’s time ta move on.”

        “Well, good luck with that,” she snickered, “jes’ watch out fer the punch!” guffawing, she cantered down the hall, Macintosh slamming the door behind her in a huff.  

        “It weren’t funny,” he grumbled to himself as he returned his comb to his drawer.  It’ll be fine, he reassured himself, no need to worry.  Nope, none at all.  His pep talk failed, he turned to face his stark room.  He didn’t spend much time in here, its dark blue walls unadorned and the bed messy.  Really, all he ever did in here was sleep and get dressed for the day.  Pulling off his harness and slinging it around the bed post he suddenly felt much lighter.  He wore the harness almost all the time out of habit, but he wouldn’t need it tonight, and its bulkiness would only be a hindrance at a social gathering, even if it was casual.  Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something he could wear to look a little nicer, so he made his way to his closet and looked inside, taken aback at just how empty it was.  He hadn’t looked inside for a very long time.  A single necktie and a winter coat were hung inside, and a small box rested beneath, covered in a layer of dust and neglect.  In a sudden burst of nostalgia he delicately pulled out the cardboard box: his own little treasure chest of memories.

        He placed it on the bed and opened it, sending a cloud of dust into the air.  Coughing, he looked inside.  He smiled, pulling out various memorabilia from his youth.  A small ball cap from the first baseball game he went to, an old ring he found in the field one day among other similar nicknacks.  There was also his father’s secret recipe for Apple Crumble.  The mares of the Apple Family may have been the best bakers, but somehow Mac’s father had come up with an amazing recipe that he shared with nopony but Big Mac.  Macintosh had only attempted the recipe once and failed, much to his father’s continual disappointment.  Didn’t I ever do anything to make him proud?  Maybe I’ll try this recipe out again someday.

        Near the top of the box was an old newspaper clipping turning yellow from age.  It mentioned how the Apple Family had produced a record-shattering crop that year, several months before Apple Bloom was born.  In the accompanying photo, he saw his father, mother, little sister and himself smiling with satisfaction.  Well, he wasn’t smiling.  He was scowling in the picture, and he vividly remembered why.  It was the first time Big Macintosh had received a B+ on a test, the highest mark he’d ever earned up till then, but his family didn’t take the time to look, much more preoccupied with the journalists that crowded the house.  As they were whisked outside for the picture, the test was blown from his hooves, never to be seen again.  His father didn’t believe him about the mark, and his mother simply said how nice it was, insincerity tainting her voice.  Frustrated and a little resentful, he vowed to one day get a perfect score and prove to his family that he could succeed, and didn’t have to be stuck on the farm for the rest of his life.

        Sighing, he placed the clipping aside and rummaged through the rest of the box.  He found an old ball he used to play with, and even the first valentine he’d ever got from Cheerilee back when they were tiny little foals.  Underneath them was something that Macintosh remembered far too well.  He pulled out his old cape, its bright colors now faded and torn slightly.  He recalled the day he spent creating it, which he considered to be his ticket to freedom.  His flight attempt didn’t go so well, however: he had to spend three months in casts, two of his legs broken from the fall.  He remembered his father’s face, filled with anger and concern when he found him crumpled at the bottom of the barn, barely conscious.  It was then that his father’s feelings about pegasi really struck a chord in Macintosh, and his cape wasn’t worn for many years.

        At the bottom of the box was possibly the most painful item of all.  It was another newspaper clipping stapled to the last test he took.  He finally earned an A+, but he never got to show his parents.  The two old pieces of paper shared the same date, but while one was filled with numbers and a smiling sticker, the other held a grim article about the two farmers who lost their lives after a terrible rainstorm, trying to hold back the flood that threatened to destroy half the town.  They managed to hold back the dam until help arrived, but at the cost of their own lives.

        His heart heavy and eyes clouded he placed the items gently back into the box, gingerly tucking it away into the closet, where maybe he’d take another look at it in a few years.