//------------------------------// // Chapter 4: Steps // Story: Clean Slate // by Alaborn //------------------------------// Clean Slate By Alaborn Standard disclaimer: This is a not for profit fan work. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is copyright Hasbro, Inc. I make no claim to any copyrighted material mentioned herein. Chapter 4: Steps “Wake up, sugarcube.” I rubbed my eyes with my fetlocks and opened them. Applejack was standing over me, smiling warmly. I looked to my left. Apple Bloom wasn’t there. “Where’s Apple Bloom?” I asked. “She’s already left for school,” Applejack replied. That’s right; it was Monday. “How long until I can go back to school?” I wondered. “All depends on what the doctor says,” Applejack answered. “Probably not for two weeks, at least. In the meantime, you still have assignments to do.” I pushed the cover aside and righted myself. The distance from the bed to the floor loomed large in my mind. “Need help?” Applejack offered. Getting down wouldn’t be hampered too much by my weak hind legs. “I think I can do this,” I said. I jumped. I winced slightly as my legs touched the floor, but the pain passed quickly. “Do you need anything?” Applejack asked. “No, I’m good,” I replied. “Well, don’t be afraid to ask if you need something.” Applejack headed out of the room, but first turned to me. “How are you feeling, sugarcube?” “I’m fine,” I said. I wasn’t fine, not really. I was trying to rebuild my life, only to find my old life haunting me. I didn’t know what I did, but I hurt Apple Bloom. And I didn’t know why. It bothered me more than I thought it would. Much like the previous day, I spent the day working by myself. Granny Smith kept herself busy, tending to the homestead, while the younger adults worked almost nonstop in the orchard. I barely saw Apple Bloom that day. She returned from school that afternoon, but immediately headed out. Whatever she was doing kept her occupied both before and after dinner. Without seeing the expression on her face, I could pretend we were all one happy family. That illusion was shattered at night. We didn’t speak, except for me asking for her help getting onto the bed. But the chill I felt had nothing to do with the fall weather. The next morning, my studies were interrupted by Applejack. “You’ve got your appointment at the hospital today,” she reminded me. Again, Applejack carried me on her back as we traveled into town. I stared at the changing leaves of the many apple trees. “Something bothering you, sugarcube?” Applejack asked. Her words brought me out of my haze. I started to say I was fine, but something made me stop. I took a deep breath before speaking. “Am I a bad pony?” “Are you having problems with Apple Bloom?” Applejack asked. “She... she isn’t happy to be around me. But why? Am I a bad pony?” Applejack tilted her head back. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see the expression on her face, but she appeared to be thinking of her response. “I don’t think anypony’s truly bad, at her core,” Applejack said, and then paused. “But I think you worked very hard to become a bad pony.” My heart sank. I didn’t want to hear that. If it was just Apple Bloom saying it, then I could think that maybe, it was just some problem between us. But if everypony thought that? “Why?” I asked. “I don’t know. None of us know. We talked with your father, your teacher, anypony we thought might be able to help. But nothing made you change. The only pony who knows why is you, but that’s trapped in your head.” I fidgeted, twisting my forelegs as I rode on Applejack’s back. “Look, I’ll talk to Apple Bloom, tell her to give you another chance. But just like your own recovery, repairing this situation between you two won’t be easy, or fast,” Applejack said. “Have you been doing your exercises at home?” Muscle Memory asked. “I have,” I replied. “And how is it going?” “Okay, I guess,” I said. “I’m still not too good at holding things, and I’m having trouble jumping onto bed.” “I think we should spend today’s session working on strengthening the muscles in your hind legs,” the physical therapist said. “Let’s head to the weight room.” Another room in the hospital, near to the one where I had done my earlier therapy, housed a variety of weight machines. Metal bars, wire cables, and painted iron weights promised a difficult session. Muscle Memory directed me to one machine, where I rested my body on a padded bench. The therapist placed my rear hooves into straps and tightened them. “Now, lift your hind legs, and then lower them,” she said. I did so, feeling a slight resistance and hearing metallic clanks behind me. I heard the sound of metal banging together. “Your form is good. Let’s try it with weights,” she said. “Please do ten lifts.” I lifted again, a much more difficult exercise, given the weights added to the device. It went okay, to start, but by the tenth lift, I was moving much slower. I felt the sweat collect on my brow. “Very good. Now ten more.” I groaned. Fortunately, I didn’t spend all my time on this machine. Unfortunately, I did spend all my time on one machine or another, pulling or pushing against my heavy iron opposition. By the end of my physical therapy session, I was glad I still had my walker. I leaned against it, hoping my hind legs wouldn’t collapse outright. Muscle Memory departed, leaving me to rest. “Well, you look plum tuckered, sugarcube.” I looked up at Applejack. I was glad she was there to take me home. “I am tired,” I admitted. “It’s a good tired, right?” she replied. “The therapist says you did good today.” I nodded. I’ll have to do good every day. I received a pleasant surprise that night. When I returned to our bedroom, I found steps leading up to my bed. It was simple wooden construction, even less adorned than my bed. Just two steps, but those steps were what I needed to get into my bed on my own. And I recognized what covered the steps. The doormat, and its counterpart from the rear door, had been tacked to the stairs, repurposed to stop my hooves from slipping, making the surface safer for my unsteady legs. I climbed the steps and then hopped onto the bed. I smiled over this simple success, and repeated the moves two more times. At that point, I heard hoofsteps, and Apple Bloom entered our room. “Hi,” I offered hesitantly. Apple Bloom first looked away, but then she looked at me, though briefly. “Hi,” she replied. “Did you make these steps for me?” I asked. “Yeah,” she said. “Thank you, Apple Bloom,” I said. “It’s nothing,” she muttered. I hadn’t seen much of Apple Bloom, so she probably spent some significant portion of her free time making these steps. That was time she could have spent on herself, but didn’t. “No, really, thank you. That was really kind of you.” “Look, I just didn’t want to have to keep helping you onto the bed,” Apple Bloom said defensively. I looked back at the stairs, seeing the mats attached for my safety. I hoped there was more to her gesture than that. So I proceeded as if that were the case. “You made that, even though you didn’t have to. Maybe I haven’t done anything to deserve something so nice, but from now on, I’m going to focus on being somepony worthy of kind gestures.” I stepped forward and embraced Apple Bloom. She squirmed as my forelegs reached around her shoulders and withers. I closed my eyes, focusing on the warmth, a feeling not caused just by her nearness. Then, I felt Apple Bloom return the embrace. I was surprised by how good I felt the next day. I had a little lingering soreness, but I felt more energetic. I was ready to move again. It was too bad I still had the walker. I used the upstairs hallway as a test to see how fast I could walk. I could almost run, pushing the walker on its little wheels. Climbing the stairs was no longer a challenge, although getting into bed still required the help of Apple Bloom’s steps. I attacked my schoolwork with additional enthusiasm. With each chapter assignment completed, I rewarded myself with a walk around the house. Conversations with the Apple family started to make more sense. I was picking up on the details of the farm, and asking questions about what was going on. They were getting ready for cider season, which sounded very important. It was going to keep them all very busy, even busier than normal. I even managed a few short conversations with Apple Bloom. We talked about school, the filly mentioning a number of names that meant nothing to me. My body may be healing, but I feared I was never going to recover my memories. Perhaps it was better if I never did. “I’m very happy with your progress so far,” Doctor Heart said, following my Friday checkup. He had lowered himself, placing him closer to my eye level. “And I think you don’t need this anymore,” he continued, taking the walker. That was the good news. The bad news was, following another tough physical therapy session with Muscle Memory, I wanted the support the walker provided. Applejack noticed. She stepped next to me, allowing me to lean on her. “So what’s our next step?” she asked the doctor. “Let’s do the same two visits next week,” Doctor Heart said. He turned to me. “Diamond Tiara, I’ll clear you to walk all you want, but don’t overdo it. I’ll also clear you for light housework.” He looked intently at the sturdy farmpony. “And I mean light work as I define it.” “I understand completely, Doctor,” Applejack said. “I’m not going to let Diamond Tiara hurt herself.” “What about school?” I said. “I think you’ll be ready for school after another week. If you feel you’re ready for school, that is.” I nodded. “Thanks, Doctor,” I said. We left the hospital, the brisk autumn air enveloping us. “How are you feeling, sugarcube?” Applejack asked. “A bit tired,” I said. “You hungry?” My stomach wasn’t growling or anything, but now that she mentioned it, I was hungry. My appetite had returned enough that I was eating full meals, and that physical therapy took a lot out of me. “I am,” I said. “Then let’s get something good to eat.” Our destination was Sugarcube Corner, the local bakery. I had seen its picture, and Applejack mentioned it once or twice, but to me, it was just another place I didn’t know but felt I should have remembered. The establishment was quiet; not surprising, given that it was early afternoon. The plump blue mare behind the counter, another pony unfamiliar to me, greeted us warmly. My eyes, however, were drawn to the incredible display of pastries. “How about some cupcakes?” Applejack suggested. I nodded. And before long, I was seated at a table, a seriously huge cupcake in front of me. Pink cake and white frosting awaited me. The raspberry flavor of the cake combined wonderfully with the vanilla buttercream. It took a while to finish the cake. “You think you’re ready to walk back?” Applejack asked. I probably couldn’t have handled the walk back straight out of the hospital. But after the rest and food, I was ready. I nodded eagerly. It was nice, walking so far on my own four hooves again. Applejack kept to a slow pace, constantly looking back at me. “Diamond Tiara, if you’re tired, let me know,” Applejack said as we approached the entrance to Sweet Apple Acres. I had made it this far; I was going to complete the trip. “I’m okay,” I said. “Just remember, we’re there for you. All of us.” I sat at the kitchen table, taking notes on a chapter about early Equestrian history. The names of noble families were beginning to blur. I needed a break. My attention was drawn to Granny Smith, beginning her preparations for dinner. For a week, I haven’t done anything for my new family. Well, I was officially cleared to help now. “Do you need any assistance, Granny Smith?” I asked. “Need any what?” she replied, holding a hoof to her ear. “I said, do you need any help?” I repeated, louder. “Help? Now, dearie, you don’t have to help,” Granny Smith replied. “But I want to help.” “Hmmm. You ever made shepherd’s pie before?” Granny Smith said. I think that’s a food, but I don’t remember ever eating it. I shook my head. “Well, how about you start with boiling some water for the potatoes?” she suggested. That was more my speed. Closing the textbook, I got up and headed to the cupboards. After a few tries, I found the one with pots and pans. I took a large pot in my mouth and lifted it to the sink. I nudged the tap on with my hoof. Once the pot was filled, I turned off the water and carefully moved the now heavier pot to the stove. Granny Smith was merrily chopping vegetables. After a while, her ear pivoted. “Eh?” she muttered. I watched as she looked at the pot of water curiously. She then walked over to the stove, turning it on. “What, haven’t you boiled water before?” Granny Smith said. I stopped. Now that she mentioned it, I couldn’t remember anything about cooking. Was it something I forgot, or something I never learned in the first place? “Well then, there’s lesson one for you. To boil water, put a pot of water above the fire. And when bubbles rise to the surface, the water’s boiling,” Granny Smith explained. I can do that. Baby steps.