Dear Rainbow Dash

by fluttershywriter


September 11

Dear Rainbow Dash,

Right now, I'm lying in my itchy bed and writing this to you on stupid flowery stationery. (I did not choose this stationery! It's Grandma's, okay?) It's kinda hard to see the paper in the dark, and I don't want the adults to know that I'm still awake, so my hoofwriting might be a little messy.
I know what you're going to tell me—fillies shouldn't be up past their bedtimes, it's nearly midnight, all of that stuff that grown-ups say. But I just can't fall asleep. I feel sick from worry.
It's kind of ironic, actually, that I really feel sick right now. Today I faked sick because I didn't want to go to gym class, so I spent a lot of the day lying in bed. I got so bored that at one point I almost wished that I was back in school! I mean, the feeling quickly faded, but still . . . I don't know if I've been more bored in all of my life. What I really wanted to do was run around outside, but Grandma's got this thing about sick days: if you're sick, you're sick, and that means that you're going to lie in bed and eat dry toast and be checked on every five minutes by an adult.
To be totally honest, I think that Grandma knew that I wasn't really sick. I've never been much of a liar, so my conversation with Grandma this morning was full of badly faked coughs and sneezes. Grandma sounded really suspicious during the whole thing, but she finally relented and told me to get some rest. I'm pretty sure that she knew that something was up with school. She can actually be pretty cool sometimes!
The thing is, though, she's Grandma. That means she's still living about a hundred years ago, which means that her theories about the ways that fillies should act can be a little . . . let's say . . . old-fashioned. I mean, maybe a hundred years ago, "sick" fillies were supposed to lie in bed and eat gross, healthy foods. But now, the whole purpose of a sick day is to do the stuff that you can never get away with in school!
I personally think that she was trying to punish me for faking sick. Well, lesson learned, Grandma. Never again am I going to fake illness. Even if I really get sick, I'm going to school. Anything would be more interesting than today's torture!
So that's the fascinating story of how my "sick" day went. Wondering what's making me so worried? Well, that's what came after school.
I went downstairs for about the millionth time that day at three-thirty. Grandma was in the kitchen washing dishes wearily. For the first time that day, I felt a stab of guilt for acting like a jerk the whole day and whining about not being let outside. "Grandma?" I asked nervously, ducking my head. She glanced over at me, sighing.
"Scootaloo . . ."
"Sorry," I said guiltily, my voice low. I peeked up at her through my messy magenta hair, pleased to see a look of satisfaction on her face. Then, pushing my look, I quickly asked, "Um . . . can I go outside to play? I feel a lot better." Then, to butter her up, I added, "All the sleep that I got really helped me."
She looked at me hard, pressing her lips firmly together. My stomach sank. Great job, Scootaloo, I thought. You made her upset again. Hasn't she already done enough for you and your parents? Shouldn't you at least be grateful for that, you moron?
I was startled to hear her speak in a non-negative tone. It wasn't exactly happy, but it was definitely better than the way she had been speaking lately. "Go," she said wearily, clunking the dishes down on the counter and drying her hooves on a dishtowel. "Just be back before dinnertime."
Hardly believing my luck, I thanked her and sped out of the kitchen in case she was going to change her mind. Beaming, I tilted my head up to look at the sky and practically skipped around Cloudsdale. (I quickly realized how stupid I looked, though, so I stopped and tried to look cool.)
I strolled along the sidewalks, enjoying the bouncy feel of the clouds underneath my hooves. I eventually found myself at the playground. A bunch of my classmates were still there (no Dizzy Breeze, though), flying around or going on the slide or just laughing. I stepped onto the playground, feeling like an outsider. Cool and calm, I glanced around, taking slow hoofsteps around the playground. I tried not to make eye contact with anypony, feeling my cheeks burn whenever somepony stared at me, wondering why I was there.
I tried not to look like I was looking for anypony, but I guess that it was just a little too strange for a loser like me to be hanging around in a public place without Feather. A filly with braces and a thick mane walked up to me, clearing her throat. "You looking for Feather?" she asked, spraying spit as she spoke.
I cringed, wishing that it wasn't quite that obvious. "Uh, yeah," I admitted, glancing away from her and trying to discreetly wipe her saliva off of my cheek. "Is he here?"
She shook her head. "He left a while ago. He's probably at the library or something." She pointed vaguely down the road, waving a hoof.
"Thanks," I mumbled, giving her a quick smile and starting to speed-walk off the playground. I guess she wasn't quite done, though, because she walked directly in front of me and cocked her head. Uncomfortably, I backed a way a little.
"Aren't you that filly in Mrs. Glossy's class who can't—"
That was it. I darted off of the playground, not caring how stupid I looked walking when everypony else could fly. I didn't stop until I was next to the huge library. Trying to make my hoofsteps as light as possible, I stepped into the library, letting the door close quietly behind me.
Inside, it was completely silent. I mean, completely silent. The only sound was the rhythmic open-stamp-shut-slide of the librarian stamping books. I never went to the Ponyville library often, but suddenly, I felt myself wishing that I was back there with Spike and Twilight Sparkle, who didn't make you feel tiny and insignificant and who didn't glare at you when you glanced around and didn't really read anything. Okay, so sometimes Twilight got a little weird, but it's better compared to . . .
Horseapples. I'm thinking about Ponyville again. Okay, so back to the stupid Cloudsdale library:
I stumbled around stupidly for the next few minutes before I got it into my small brain that I should probably check in the nonfiction section instead of among the picture books. I jogged gratefully in the direction of the stairs, ignoring the disapproving stare of the librarian and the strange stare of the mother reading to her foal (both of whom were probably wondering why I wasn't flying). I tried to pretend that they didn't bother me, instead sprinting up the stairs as fast as I could and scanning around the library for Feather. Books, books, books, and—
"Scootaloo!" I heard a shy voice calling from behind me. Whipping around, I was pleased to see the skinny blue colt. He had seven thick books lying open on the table next to him, with about twenty more unopened books stacked around him.
"Hi," I said breathlessly, jogging over to him. "What're you here for?"
"Reading," he responded calmly, rearranging himself in his puffy cloud chair. He propped an old orange book on his knees, blissfully turning page after page. "You weren't gonna be able to do anything after school, so I thought that I'd maybe work a little on—" He frowned a tiny bit, cocking his head. "Where were you today, anyway? You don't look sick."
"Uh—" My mind went totally blank.
"Was it 'cause of gym class today?" asked Feather shyly. "I bet I could have got you out of it by—"
"Sheesh! No!" I snapped. "Look, my family, uh, just has to finish unpacking. Momma said that I could take a day off of school to finish rearranging my room and stuff like that. You know, if there wasn't anything important going on at school. And there . . . there wasn't," I finished lamely.
Feather looked skeptical, but he didn't press it (which is one of the reasons he's the best pony in Cloudsdale—he doesn't push stuff like that). "Oh," he said, shrugging. I buzzed my wings nervously, wishing that he would stop staring at me like I had food on my face.
"You wanna get out of here?" I asked coolly when the silence had gone on a bit too long. Feather nodded cheerfully, tucking a few books into his satchel and swinging the bag over his shoulder.
"Wanna know something totally awesome that's going on today?" he asked happily, skipping down the stairs. He didn't wait for me to respond, his words spilling over each other. "There's a weather show going on today!"
"Huh?" I asked, confused. He rolled his eyes, hitting himself in the forehead with a hoof.
"Oh, right! You don't know about that!" Instead of waiting for me to comment on that sad fact, he went on with his overexcited babbling. (Whatever this "weather show" was, it was obviously good!) "Okay, so once a month or whenever there's a special event, there's this weather show. That's when a bunch of pegasi on the weather team get together and do this epic show with a bunch of rain and lighting and clouds. I'm totally going to be a member of the weather team as soon as I get old enough to." He seemed to realize that he was practically having a wingboner over this weather show, and he blushed a bit. "So, um . . . it lasts thirty minutes or so, and it's right outside of the rainbow factory. If you want to come, um, if it's okay with your parents . . ."
Right. They probably wouldn't even notice if I didn't come home at all. "No, they'll be fine with it," I said, shrugging.
"Great!" said Feather cheerfully, doing a little excited wing-buzz similar to my nervous one. "It's probably already started, but if we hurry, we can get there before they start doing the lightning!"
Together, we hurried to the rainbow factory—he flew, and I ran, wishing that I had my scooter. He shouted above the cold wind rushing past our ears, excitedly telling me exactly what was going to happen. "They elect a few pegasi every month," he shouted, grinning from ear to ear, "to take a few clouds outside of the rainbow factory. Then they make shapes with the lightning and make a bunch of tiny little rainstorms. Only really talented pegasi can do it!"
"Are you gonna do it when you get old enough?" I asked, slowing down as I saw the fountains of rainbows pouring out of the clouds. I could hear booms of thunder, followed by the cheers and gasps of ponies.
Feather hesitated. "I dunno," he said. "I mean, you've got to be really talented. If I train, maybe . . . I don't think I'll ever be good enough, but it's really what I want to do." He gestured at his flank with his front hoof, and for the first time, I really took it in that he had his cutie mark. The gray cloud with the little lightning bolt on it stood out against the blue timidly, as if it was scared of being noticed.
"What's your cutie mark mean?" I asked, pointing at it as if he needed help locating it. "Like, how'd you get it? What does it mean that you're going to do?" My heart pounded a bit, and not because of the bright, crackling lightning filling in the spaces of our conversation.
"I got it right here, actually," he said, shyly kicking the clouds beneath him with a front hoof. "They were having one just for Cloudsdale Academy, so we got to go on a field trip here." His eyes went glassy, and I could tell that he was on the brink of telling some sappy story about discovering who he was. It was with great self-control that I didn't gag or tell him to shut up.
"They were kind of doing a tamed-down version of this," he went on. "You know—less lightning, no thunder, only little drizzles. I was into it, though, since I'd never seen anything like it before. I was smiling throughout the whole thing, and I guess they noticed. At the end, they asked for a volunteer to kick a cloud for them, and they chose me almost immediately.
"When I kicked the cloud . . . well, I'd never felt anything like that before. I could feel the lightning bolt shooting out and making my fur stand on end, and I could feel this big gush of rain pour out. Everypony just stared at me, but in a good way. I felt better than I'd ever felt, and that's, um, that's what happened." He ducked his head shyly, looking up at me nervously.
"Oh. Cool." I paused, considering the advantages and disadvantages of getting a weather-related cutie mark. I mean, I would finally have one, but if I got something weather-related, I'd be expected to stay in Cloudsdale forever.
My pondering was interrupted by Feather nudging me. "Scootaloo?" he said nervously. "Um, Scootaloo, I think that that stallion's staring at you," he said. I looked up, confused.
"What stalli—" I froze. I mean, I seriously felt as though I had been frozen into an ice cube. Standing about ten feet away from me was a stallion who was obviously drunk out of his mind. His eyes were bloodshot, he was stumbling around and tripping over his own hooves, and he looked ill.
Worst of all, he was my father.
My heart stopped. My face drained of color. "Feather," I said, taking shallow breaths. "We need to leave now, okay?"
He frowned, looking as scared as I felt. "Scootaloo? Is something wrong? Do you know that stallion or something? Is he—"
"Stop," I said weakly, backing away from the huge crowd. The flashing of lightning was making me feel dizzy, especially when combined with the shouts of the overexcited ponies in the crowd. How could they be happy at a time like this? How could they not care about the fact that Feather was about to find out that my father was a drunken idiot? How could they not care about the fact that I was just really seeing this for the first time?
I don't remember much of what happened next. I remember running so fast that my legs burned, not caring where I was going, and feeling like I was about to puke. I couldn't think, couldn't see. I only remembered that I was still alive when I felt somepony wrestle me to the clouds.
"What's wrong?!?" shouted a panicked voice. I stared up at the sky, my vision blocked by a blue foal. Though my vision swam, I struggled a bit and forced myself off of the ground.
"Feather?" I asked, confused. How did we get so far away? Was my father with us?
"I'm getting somepony," he said, his voice shaky. My stomach did a swan dive. I leapt up, buzzing my wings and hovering over to him.
"No!" I told him, my teeth chattering. "I don't need help. It was just kind of, uh, loud, I guess. And maybe I'm still recovering from today. I'm still sick, you know." I badly faked a cough, though it probably wasn't necessary if I looked as nauseated as I felt.
"Okay," said Feather, looking scared to death. He stopped walking and turned to me, nervousness filling his big eyes. "Scootaloo . . . do you know that stallion that was looking at you? Is that why you panicked? Is—is he bad or something?"
"No!" I denied his question immediately. "I don't know who you're even talking about. I didn't see any stallion looking at me." (Okay, so I'm not the best liar, especially not under pressure. So sue me.)
"Oh," said Feather, shrugging. He looked at me sideways while I did my best to keep a completely normal (while still somewhat sick-looking) face. "Do you need help getting back to your house or something?" he asked, turning around and walking with his back turned to the weather show. "You know, just in case you pass out? You still look really pale."
"I'm okay," I mumbled, looking away from him and strolling ahead. "I'll be fine on my own."
I could feel his eyes poring into my back, but I didn't look back. I couldn't bear to see what his expression looked like. Hurt? Angry? Horrified, as he slowly pieced together the facts and figured out that the alcoholic stallion was my father? I was dying of curiosity, but I couldn't take any more misery. A few moments afterward, I broke into a run in the direction of Grandma's house, wanting to take Feather's eyes off of my back.
I slowed down after I turned to the corner, glancing around at the neighborhood that surrounded me. A few streetlamps had flickered on, and with the yellow light in the air, I realized just how dark it had gotten out. Grandma was going to freak out when I got home. And Daddy? How late was he going to stay out? Until it got completely dark out, or longer? Or what if he didn't come home at all? Or . . .
Turns out I'm worrying for nothing, Rainbow Dash. He came home just a little after dinner, when everypony thought that I was sleeping in my room or doing homework like a good little filly. That's the good news, I guess. The bad news? As I write this, he's currently throwing up in the downstairs bathroom. Aside from being completely disgusting, it's the most painful thing I've ever heard.
Don't get me wrong—I'm used to hearing him throw up. It used to happen all the time, especially in the mornings. But I thought that he'd stopped! Did losing his job really mess him up this badly? Or was it the move to Cloudsdale?
Or maybe he's been drinking for a while. Maybe he's just been doing a worse job hiding it.
I'm done writing. I'm going to try (and probably fail) to sleep now.
Bye.

-Scootaloo