Thump
The next day, Mother made a special exception to take me to the park. As soon as practice was over, I stowed my instrument as fast as possible to get to the park sooner. I had never wanted to go more than now, when I knew somepony else would be there. Mother laughed as I rushed us out the door, then warned me to wait for her as I rounded the first corner by myself. The park wasn’t far and I knew the way by heart. Mother was just slow.
Three more turns and I could see the park. I could already hear the hum of mostly-oiled metal from somepony on the merry-go-round.
“Sounds like your new friend is already there,” Mother said. “Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”
I didn’t listen to anything after ‘go’ before taking off. Like I said, it wasn’t far. Before long, I could see the spinning multicolored disc being pushed by an enthusiastic unicorn. One hoof wrapped around one of the support poles, she ran, faster and faster, until I thought for sure her hooves were going to give out. Just before, she jumped and slammed onto the top of the merry-go-round with a whoop.
Pavement gave way to wood chips under my hooves. Seeing me approach - in several second bursts - Vinyl grinned. “Hey, Tavi! Jump on!”
“My name is Octavia,” I muttered, trying to time the spinning of the disc, and the thick metal supports on it. After a couple of false starts I jumped, hooves scrabbling for purchase on sun-warmed metal. Vinyl reached over, hooked a hoof around mine, and pulled me towards the center.
“I'm glad you came back today!” she shouted over the wind.
“Mother made an exception because I practiced cello longer than normal today!” I could see her every so often as our rotation slowed, just off the edge of the playground on her normal bench.
“Woah, you play the cello‽ That’s so cool!” Vinyl grinned again before letting go of her support and flying back off the rim. Right before her second fall in front of me, she grabbed an outer support leaving her hind legs dangling off the edge. A few moments later I found out why, as we began to pick up speed.
This time, I reached over to pull Vinyl up. “Yes, my parents are both musicians. It was only natural for me to learn too.”
“Can you play for me sometime?”
“O-Oh, I’m not very good yet...” I stuttered. “I haven’t been playing for very long.”
“So?” We slowed again, but Vinyl didn’t seem to notice, and I certainly wasn’t going to dangle myself off the metal disc to speed us up. Vinyl spoke again, at a more reasonable volume. “I can’t play anything, so you’re already better than me.”
The merry-go-round finally stopped with one long, drawn-out squeak. “Why don’t you ask your parents to get you lessons?”
Vinyl turned her head, looking around the rest of the park. I did too, noticing once again that, other than us and Mother, the park was empty. “Hey, where are your parents?”
“Hey, want to see my do the monkey bars upside down?” Vinyl asked, jumping down from the merry-go-round and walking over to the playground proper before I had a chance to reply.
I let the obvious distraction slide. “Are you going to fall and hurt yourself again?”
Vinyl smiled and hopped up the couple of steps separating the ground from the bars. She flipped around and hooked her hind legs across the metal. Her long, shaggy mane fell over her face, resisting all efforts to be blown back into place. She began swinging and moving, headed towards the first of three multi-storied towers, connected together with suspended percussion bridges.
“Nah,” she said, huffing with the effort to maintain her swings. I followed behind on the ground, planning to meet her at the other end of the monkey bars. Vinyl had obviously done this before, showing no hesitation to fling herself into space from bar to bar. I’d never try it, and definitely not if I couldn’t pin my hair up.
As she approached the end, I hurried to meet her at the other side. She flipped back around, landing in front of me with a breathless, “tadaa!”
I dutifully pounded my hooves on the ground in applause. She walked over to a ledge leading to the second floor and sat down with a huff. “Wow,” I said, sitting down in front of her. “I didn’t think you could do it.”
“The first few times weren’t nearly as cool,” she laughed, rubbing her hind legs with a hoof. “Didn’t feel great either.”
My gaze followed her hoof down to her hind legs, noticing the fur, matted and almost grey. Her hooves were chipped as well, likely from dragging around in the wood chips and banging across the metal of the monkey bars. “I think Mother would kill me if I ever came home that dirty.” She looked down and I started to panic. “N-Not that you aren’t pretty! O-Or clean! It just looks like, kind of, you don’t have your hooves filed often, o-or your coat brushed, or... or...”
My voice trailed off, stuttering into nothing. Not many ponies came through the park, and I now rather like having a pony to play with. I was rude, and an idiot.
To my surprise, Vinyl laughed. “No, I get it. You’re right, though, I don’t go for any of that... girly stuff anymore. Or, y’know, ever.”
Honestly, I don’t like it much either, but Mother always insisted, saying it was a responsibility of a filly from a family like mine. “Well,” I tap my hooves on the edge of the next level up. “Maybe we could go together sometime...?”
“Oh, uh, I-I don’t know, maybe...” Vinyl pulled herself up fully to the next floor of the playground and walked off. She pulled herself up to the railing of the bridge. I followed behind, but across the bridge, the clacking of my hooves drowned out by the waump the bridge made as my hoof struck the first panel.
We continued in silence for awhile, continuing across to the next tower, then taking the narrow stairs to the first floor. I glanced up at Vinyl as we walked to the next bridge. Eyes down, she plodded forward practically dragging her hooves across the coated metal.
Had I made a mistake? We were having so much fun...
Wrapped in my thoughts, I almost ran into Vinyl as she turned at the end of the bridge. “Hey, you like music right?” She pushed past me back to the bridge. “Watch this.”
She stretched her hoof off the railing and tapped it against a single tile of the bridge which sounds with a deep boom. She hit it again a few times before stretching her other hind hoof to gently scrape against another. It made a gentle swish, barely audible over the base thump of the other.
After a few repetitions, Vinyl braced her rump against the railing, freeing her other two hooves to make even more additions. She tapped her hooves across a couple more planks in rapid succession, overlaying the thump and swish with a patter of more static notes.
Vinyl turned to me, panting. “Hey, hit this one in time with me.” She motioned to the firstmost tile with her muzzle. I waited for a second, feeling for the beat before stepping forward and taking over, only letting the music falter for a second.
With a free hoof, Vinyl crawled her way across the bridge, ditching the swoosh sound for something much lighter, a tinkling made by very lightly tapping the tip of her hoof one one of the tiles closer to the other castle tower. She carried on, seeming to get lost in the music.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mother approaching, beaming. She showed up right before Vinyl finished.her song. I stepped back to applaud on the castle tower floor, Mother did so on the wood chips. Vinyl took an exaggerated bow from the middle bridge railing.
“Fantastic,” Mother said. “Vinyl, right? Do you have an interest in music?”
Vinyl hopped down onto the bridge, the discordant noise much worse after what we just did. “I don’t know, maybe? I’m just really good at finding the rhythm, y’know?”
I nodded, Mother smiled. “I understand. We are a family of musicians,” she said. “Music has always flowed through the Philharmonica bloodline.”
“Oh yeah, Tavi said something about playing cello. Do you play too?”
“My name is Octavia.” Muttered under my breath, nopony heard me over Mother’s reply.
“I play the cello as well. My husband is a conductor and founder of the Royal Canterlot Symphony.”
A shadow fell over us. Overhead, weather pegasi rushed back and forth, putting the finishing touches on the first major storm of the season. Mother glanced upwards as well, then motioned toward one of the stairs down from our tower. “We should probably go, Octavia. We don’t want to get stuck in the storm.”
“Okay,” I said. Vinyl followed me over. I walked, she jumped. Mother had already turned and headed for home.
“Bye, Vinyl.” I quickly turned and followed Mother. The sky now had enough cloud cover to turn the street lamps on.
Two hours at the park had never felt long, but today it felt shorter than ever.
How else do ponies spend time together? I had heard other fillies at school talking about playdates and sleepovers, but I had never been invited. How many ponies do you need?
Why had I never seen Vinyl at school?
<><><><><>
The rain drummed on the roof of my room, blanketing everything out the window in grey. My room had a small window seat, framed by the walls of the rest of the room. It was my favorite place to sit, right next to the window. My cello was on the floor, one hoof idly plucked at an open D, filling the room with rich sound. Practice was over, but it didn’t matter. Mother won’t let me go play in the park in the rain.
Then again, I don’t know if I want to go to the park in the rain.
An image of Vinyl running, rain dripping from her mane and coat, down on of the music bridges Slipping and falling, sliding headfirst into one of the towers, laughing the whole way.
I climbed from my nook, careful of the cello, and left my room. The grey sky dampened the hallway as well, blocking the light from the large windows lining the stairs down. I walked down them and across into the parlor. The room was bright and warm, lit by a fire. Father was in his favorite chair, subtlety trying to take a peek around the split door to see what Mother was cooking.
A strict no-no in our home.
He glanced over the book he was pretending to read and smiled. “Hello, Octavia. Done practicing?”
I plopped into the chair next to him and nodded.
“Weather got you down? Wanted to go see your friend, right? Vinyl?” His voice was level as always, but his head kept leaning, kept stretching, trying to see into the kitchen.
I grinned, enjoying as always the nightly game we played. “Yeah. She’s good with music stuff too. We did a really cool thing on the bridge.”
Father paused long enough to look at me and smile. I’d probably told the story one hundred times over the past week, but he always smiled. He even offered to help rework the song for cello. “I’m sure she’ll be there the next time you go. We can probably convince your mother to take you when the rain stops.”
Before I could reply, a salt shaker torpedoed from the kitchen and hit Father square on the forehead. He lurched back into the seat and raised his book to hide his hurt pride. “By the Sun, Octavia, your mother just a-salted me.”
“You know the rules, you’ll know what’s for dinner when it’s done,” Mother’s voice floated from the kitchen.
From the stories I’ve heard, before Mother and Father met, Mother didn’t do much cooking. Father, on the other hoof, dabbled in, “the fine culinary arts,” as he called them. She asked for lessons, and he gave them, hovering over her shoulder the whole time, critiquing but never actually helping. It ended when Mother whacked him with a spoon, and he hasn’t been allowed to even know what’s cooking since.
Father sat back and placed his book on the side table. “Are you excited for school to be out?”
To this day, I still wonder if this is just part of that Dad 101 handbook. “Yes,” I replied, continuing in a loud whisper. “I just hope Mother doesn’t make me practice all day again this year.”
“I heard that! Just because you’re not visible from the door doesn’t mean I can’t get you.” Father and I both glanced at the door, then at each other and smiled. Mother poked her head around the door, gray mane falling into twinkling eyes. “I’m watching you two, no colluding before dinner.”
She pulled her head back, leaving Father and I alone again, but likely not for long; when Father put his book down, he rarely picks it back up again. He stood slowly, creeping his way across the thick carpet to the kitchen door. Making sure to stay silent, Father pressed an ear to the seam between door and wall.
Apparently hearing nothing alarming, he slowly pushed his luck further, opening the door agonizingly slow to peek his head around.
Something wet smacked into the door on the far side, shaking the thin wood. Father slowly pulled his head back, his face, mane, and upper barrel covered in a thick red sauce. “Dinner is pasta tonight, honey. Go wash up.”
I ran back upstairs quickly, moving one door past my own into the bathroom. Because I hadn’t left home, my hooves don’t take long to wash. Grabbing the nearest clean washcloth, I went back down the stairs, past the parlor, and into the dining room.
Inside stood a small table with seats enough for four. Another door opened back to the kitchen, this one next to a passthrough. In the kitchen, Mother was busy cleaning pasta from the parlor door, leaving Father to bring the remaining food to the table.
I walked to the kitchen door, offering my rag to Father over the passthrough. He smiled before trading me the cloth for a bunch of bowls, which I quickly placed on the table before taking my own seat.
Dinner passed in a comfortable silence. Regardless of my parent’s stories, Mother is a great cook. She pretended to be mad at Father, but I could see her grinning when he wasn’t looking. It’s one of the little things in our family, like how she hid his favorite conductor baton before concerts, and I liked to swap the dust jackets on all the books around.
I only did that once, though. He replaced my cello strings with double bass strings. It was just different enough for me to notice, but Mother had to tell me what was actually wrong.
For that one, Mother replaced Father’s coat shampoo with dye. Father has a very light coat, so when he came from the bath that day he was pink for a month! Mother called him nothing but a pretty pink pony princess until the dye finally washed out.
As the big serving bowl in the middle started to empty, Mother turned to me. “So, I overheard your father mentioning something about the park when the rain stops? Did you want to go?”
“Yes!” I practically bounced out of my seat, before remembering to be proper, like Miss Strings always told me to be. “I mean, yes, please.”
Mother placed a dramatic hoof on her chin. “Hmm... Okay--”
I smiled again, unable to suppress another bounce.
“--but--”
Bounce retracted pending further review.
“You have to practice for an hour a day for a full week after school is out--”
I sighed. It could have been much worse, she could have asked me to...
“--standing up.”
To do that. I sighed again. “Yes, Mother”
She moved a hoof across the table, placing it under my chin to lift my eyes to meet hers. “I know it hurts your legs, but if you don’t practice, you won’t get stronger.”
“Your Mother is right,” Father added, his normal joking tone gone. “Just a little every day, and you’ll be able to play just like your mother.” He smiles. “Probably better.”
I grinned at Mother’s threatening glare, then ducked below the table. Another wet slap echoed around the room, a pool of red sauce forming under Father’s char. Mother squealed, followed by limp noodles falling from her chair.
Which is why I ducked.