//------------------------------// // 2. Time Marches On // Story: That Maverick With The Dog // by Dan The Man //------------------------------// 2 - Time Marches On (You may want to play this) The TV was actively buzzing away on the ceiling. The tap was fizzing with white foam in full blast. The coffee machine screeched and hissed as it emitted its beans' juice. I turned around. Behind me, at the window table, two farmers were laughing and cheerily puffing away their noon break. To my left, a bored constable rested on the bar with his elbows, digging around in his dish of pancake, rummaging out one raisin at a time. Had I done it? I have dared it. For the first time for months, I had gone out again and dared to live again. Been among other people. For the first time since... the departure, I had seen the town from inside again. In former times, I had usually visited the city for supplies for Dashie and me, but after that I had even stopped that. I usually supplied myself with some home-grown stuff, and went into town for the drugstore or groceries. After Dashie left, I felt weak. Too weak to make the whole way into town. I wasn't too interested in it either, it creeped me out more than it pulled me in. I preferred to stay at home, inside my very own four walls, to keep the outside world out. And you know why I was creeped out? It was because of people such as that dick who parked in my driveway. Smug people who were thinking that they are entitled to everything, and then they back down if things get too problematic for them. Birdwatching? Yeah, sure. I know exactly who that was and what he wanted. It was one of those no-up-to-good idiot real estate agents, looking out for pleasant homes to buy out from their owners. He may have wanted my house as well. It was good I told him to get lost. Nobody and nothing would take this house from me, especially none of the likes of him. This house, it was one of the very few things that reminded me of Dashie, just like the album or the letter. I wouldn't simply sell it like that! But even when and while I stayed at home, life was not kind. The house was gaping with emptiness, with darkness and simply with the lack of life. It was by no means the same anymore. I would sit in the living room for hours, somewhere in a state between wakefulness and sleep, listening into the darkness, trying to find even the smallest sign of life. But there wasn't any. Even the dormice backed off, terrified by the grave silence that held reign over my home. When I would get too frightened myself, I would go out and work in the garden, pull weeds and cut the lawn, to distract myself from the state of things. And while I did all that, I couldn't help myself staring into the distance, enjoying the fir woods and the brightly shining fields. I cannot deny that it reminded me of Dashie. I still have picture of her in my head, as she plays with the clouds in the afternoon sky. Were those the same clouds that flew over the house at this very moment? They looked all the same. I wondered now as I wondered back then, if Dashie was riding on one of them? But if she was, I could never tell from the ground. The was practically invisible when she did that. Only then would I remind myself that it was impossible. She couldn't be possibly riding on those clouds if she was back in Equestria. And she was back in Equestria. Not here. Then I would go inside again, and roll up on the sofa for a few more hours. I had gotten fond to the loneliness, but I had never grown fond of it. It was like a predator, stalking me, circling around whenever I didn't pay attention. I felt actually kinda glad that right now, it was impossible for this feeling to return. I sat among others now. I was not alone. It gave me a very good feeling, I was happy to be around people whom I could talk to again. My head, my mouth, they were aching for a conversation. I did what I hadn't done for many many years. I sat down in a bar, to lax my tension, to forget the world around me for once. That was so many years ago. The last time I spent some quality time in a bar was back in Pleasance, right after I found Dashie. I had to get myself really drunk to make sure I wasn't already. Maybe today will grant me another such revelation. But the barkeep disagreed. Smugly sorting out stained shot glasses on a rack, he looked at me through observant lenses, conspicuously mustering my clothes, as well as my presence in general. I would have tried to smile to shake his stare off me, but I was too much drowning in thought to really mind him. In the end, it was he who broke the silence. "So you say that you live up there in the old Gilroy Farm?" he asked, then shook his head. "You must be living, like, ten years up there. How come I saw you around here not once?" "I was... up to my ears in work." I stuttered. I didn't even lie there. "You a family man, Mr Fisher?" he said, bobbing his head knowingly. "Me? I... no. Not anymore." It really hurt that I had to put it like that. But again, it was the whole truth. There would have been no use in telling absolutely no one. Maybe it was just because I had grown too estranged to converse normally with others. "Little kid left the nest, eh?" he smirked. I froze for a moment. I took me a second to realise that he didn't actually... knew. "The nest?" "Yeah. Home. You know, once they feel that they're old enough and brave enough to topple your reign of terror, they pack together their stuff and are off to college. Literally overnight." Then, he shrugged. "At least, that's what my kid did." That was new. I hadn't actually thought about the possibility of Dashie leaving on her own accord. It had always been out of the question for me. It was not possible for her. There was no one out there. She had nobody, nopony on this whole planet but me to care for her. And she knew that too, of course. Even when she ran away or flew off for a longer time, and I started worrying, I always had this little grain of hope in the back of my head. It assured that there was no way she could not return. She would come back eventually, and if only to smack me in the face. Not that I didn't deserve it. Naturally, she returned, time after time. Back to me, and back home. She would not have left me on her own. One can understand how much I felt this mindset upset when the mane six and Celestia themselves came to take her with them. That was, and I knew that all along, the only way I wouldn't have abandoned her kicking and screaming. Like when other people would catch on about Dashie living with me. It would have been a horrible thing to happen. "So, uhm... what about your kid, Mr Fisher? How fast was she gone?" I smiled desultorily. "Too fast." "Over night? Just like I said? Ah well, kids these days..." I wish I could have told him. I wish I could have told him that, in his own, limited perception of this world, Dashie would be a lot closer to death than running away from home. And it even felt like that, too. But I stayed silent. The last thing I needed was empathy from a guy who didn't even come close to understanding what happened to me. But yes, it was more like that, anyway. I gradually realised that nobody would understand. Understand my grief. Certainly, there weren't many people out there who would have spent a chunk of their life raising a talking pony, before getting separated from it in one of the most tragic ways other than death. And the barkeep was no different. Anything I would tell him now, he would simply not be able to believe. You'd have to have seen it with our own eyes to believe a thing like that. He rather minded the television on the ceiling rather than get into tuff he couldn't comprehend, I could tell that from a mile. And so he did. The television brought one of its hourly newsflashes, without sound but with subtitles. Right now, it showed a suited man with a rather familiar face standing in from of a grey podium and giving a speech that was apparently so emotional that his face was turning all red. The subtitles said, 'Pleasance County +++ 2014 Pleasance Bombings newly unfurled.' "You heard that already?" the barkeep asked me. "They're rolling up the investigations about this botched bombing down there in Pleasance. Urbanite dandies, they just can't let the dead rest now can they?" Yes, the so-called '2014 Pleasance' bombings. That's how the local authorities called Rainbow Dash's very own sonic rainboom. From what I had heard, it had caused a lot of trouble in the town, including some looting and mass hysteria. But I think the damage could be contained to a tee, so it was only half as bad as it could have gotten. "Goddammit, those damn politicians are so fricking stubborn. Twenty years of War on Terror, and they still kinda try to relate to long gone events. Though, to be fair, this time it was only some kind of tiny fringe group at the Ministry of Defence that tried to get the investigations running again. Well, you can't please everyone, now can you?" I knew full well what kind of impression Rainbow's little stunt left on the city's population, but as the new investors moved into town, the incident had been forgotten surprisingly quickly. The police stopped searching for the cause incredibly soon. They never got as far as our street, and it was good they didn't. Dashie was safe, nothing could get to her. I didn't even want to think about what could have happened. Behind me, the bell rang as the door opened. "Ah, Ms Tremblay. Nice to see you again." I turned around. A woman in a smart purple suit and a pair of discrete shoes walked into the establishment, her hair pinned back into a brunette bun, grinning at the barkeep, who smiled back at her. She shrugged comically and folded her arms in mocked shame. "I guess you were right. I drove into the perfectly wrong direction. Ten miles down to the interstate, and I couldn't turn around for half an hour. It's a miracle I made it back here." The barkeep nodded smugly and cleared away the last couple of glasses, rubbing his hands with a rough dishcloth. As the woman slowly came to a halt in front of the bar and amiably leaned on the counter, less than three feet away from where I was sitting, I discretely sent my stare down at my food and drink, trying not to get her attention any more than needed. I... I wasn't in the mood for that kind of thing. But the barkeep apparently wouldn't let me. He clapped a hand onto the counter next to my drink, sending me jolting from my cowering fixation on my plate with snacks, and attracting the woman's attention onto me. "That's Mr Fisher, he lives up Coop Street. I think that was the direction you wanted to get to. Right, Miss?" She was surprised. "Ah yes, of course." Then she stretched a greeting hand into my face, giggling and greeting me with a well-meant "Hi. My name is Ingrid Tremblay. How do you do?" It... it took me a moment to summarise my thoughts and come up with a reply. With a feeble, hesitant hand, I shook hers and smiled half-heartedly, stutteringly. "Fisher, Brian Fisher. Nice to meet you." She leaned onto the bar, facing me and the barkeeper who began leaning towards her in response. Only I stayed rolled up like a porcupine in the undergrowth. "The thing is, I'm not from here. I'm from Bayneck, and I'm only on my way to the border. I was thinking, 'Hey, how about I spent some quality time in the countryside, do some panoramic excursions or something like that.' Unfortunately I forgot that I don't have a sense of direction. I've been driving around in circles for the last two days." and then she laughed. And the barkeep laughed. I smiled quickly. "I'll take a lemony Martini, please." "Okay dokay." She sat down on the stool next to mine, smirking and fumbling with her purse. "Now that I think of it, I should just get myself a Sarsparilla. I mean, it's still so early in the day." she joked. I nodded, absent-mindedly making what I thought was a friendly snark. "I think we'll all need some extra sars for the day." I only began thinking about what I said when she began staring at me with big eyes. I looked back at her, my eyes as large as hers. Did I... did I really just quote My Little Pony in front of her? The second thing I ever said to her was a My Little Pony rerence? I knew that at that point of time I shouldn't have been ashamed of something like that at all, but I still was. To me, MLP may have grown to be realty during the last years, but to all the others, it was still a kids' show. Something I would never talk about with complete strangers like her. But she simply smiled, shaking her head cheerily and thrusting me an amiable glance. I was hoping she didn't get the reference. "I think you just made my days twenty percent cooler." Then she sneered again. She got the reference alright. I squinted my face, trying to make it appear that I was above this sort of thing. It didn't quite work, seeing how she just grinned at me cheekily, with a knowing peer in her eyes. "You're from the old Brony Brigade, are you not?" she asked. I winced, like a wrestler who had just accepted his defeat in the ring. I swayed my head around, staring on the ground, subtly acknowledging her remark had at least some substance. She greeted this jest with a nigh-preteen glee. "No offence. But I'd always know a fan of the... the series when I see one." Again, I nodded and smiled hastily. I tried to get this theme scotched as quickly as possible, but she was tougher than that. "Who was your favourite character? If I may ask? Back then, I always had a thing for Applejack." Applejack? Yeah, I could actually understand that preference. It was because of the dialect, wasn't it? Slowly, I began taking interest. Suddenly, she seemed like a much more sympathetic as a person. I looked up at her thin, cameo-pink lips, her rosy celestial nose and lively brown eyes. I nodded and said, "Yeah, Applejack was... polite." "Polite?" I forgot that I was talking out of personal experience. I still remembered how she tipped her hat at me, vouching for the understandably jumpy nature of Pinkie Pie. When they all came to get Rainbow, Applejack maybe even was the first to actually respectfully acknowledge me as what I was, a knowing human. "Well... I mean... you know, Applejack always knew what was expected of her." She smiled away at my interpretation, without doubt reliving some glorious childhood memories, who may or may have not included certain fanfics with dissenting interpretations. "Wow, now that you put it like that... I never really thought about that. But you're right, I guess." She accepted her drink from the barkeep, took a grateful gulp of the strong contents, and then slumped onto the bar in a soothed manner. She laughed and said, "You know your ponies well." She harrumphed and turned to me. "What was your name again?" I smiled. Her interest was very comely, and made it all the more easy for me to... to talk freely. "My name is Brian. Brian Fisher." She asked right away, "What was your favourite pony?" The was right there for me. Still, I took a few moments to answer. "Dash-... Rainbow Dash." Dashie, my only favourite, now and forever. "Yeah, Rainbow Dahs was a great character, too." She pressed her lower lip for emphasis. "Even though I have to say she tended to be pretty lopsided." I stopped. What did she say about Dash? Why would she say that? Why would she think that Dashie - who was perhaps the deepest and most sincere of all the characters for me - was 'lopsided'? "You know, steroetypical." "Why?" I inquired straight away. I really took that little judgement personally. Too personally, perhaps. She seemed a bit scared and repulsed by my speedy, but somewhat forceful reply. Her smile slowly faded from her mouth. "Well, you see, for me she was always a typical jock. Proud, self-centered, and maybe quite elitist." She followed up with a quick justification. "I'm from Bayneck, you see. Where I come from, these are the worst attributes of the people around me. I came a long way to loathe them. But still, no offence." "Oh, no no no. Please, I didn't mean it like that." "No, it's okay." She took another zip. "What is it about Rainbow? What is it that pulls you in?" A good question. Judging my the original show's material, the question was indeed a lot harder to answer than with my... my very own experience with Dashie. Honestly, so what could I tell her? The truth? "Rainbow Dash... yes, she reminds me very much of my own little girl." And I moved up with a smile. Apparently, she quickly identified as a teary, telling smile. Nevertheless, she opened her mouth in a fit of surprised laughter, eyeing me accordingly. "You're a father? That's great." "Aha." I consciously didn't share the amusement. I continued right on. Either I share it with someone now, or I stay silent for evermore. "My daughter; an ace. Sporty and highly athletic. She was proud of it, she devoted her entire life to sports and the strive of success and appreciation. She was a wrestler. She was always in for a good competition, wether it was to the fridge or through the park." I said. "That's how she reminded me of Dashie... Rainbow Dash." She nodded friendlily. "But at the same time, she was a very good p-person. A... a very good... human." I stuttered on. "My little girl was caring. Oh, she was surprisingly sensitive if you ever were on her intimate side, she was always seeking the truth. She never took it well if she was lied to. I hardly ever had the heart to be anything but honest with her. She had complete trust in me, and I always had complete trust in her." I shrugged. "But maybe that's just what we both wished to have, even though we were both perfectly aware that life had different plans for our relationship. But I never lost hope in her ability, her spirit of life, and her extreme pride that would always make her carry on. Even when she was temperamental, I knew that behind this tough facade, there was that highly passionate about her role in this world, no matter how... how nutty some of her ideas seemed." I couldn't help but to giggle as thoughts of her ploy to view Indie 500 from the clouds flooded my mind. What glorious times those were. "My girl, she was my very own girl. She... never... had a great big relationship with the outside world." "Oh? How come?" "No, don't get me wrong there. It wasn't her own choice, mind you. And no, it was not mine either. It... it were instances that lay outside either of our control." She combed back some loose hair behind her ear. "Are you a religious man?" she wondered I had to smirk, and shook my head right away. "No. No, no. Believe me, I am really not religious. Not at all. Hell, not even my parents were." But it was then that I began pondering again, slipping off into the ever-present crevasse of doubt. "Though I have to admit, it does get more difficult with each year to doubt that there is... a certain power above us humans. I can't explain it, but... some things don't really make sense to me anymore." Boy, these were words of wisdom if there ever were. "Was your daughter... was she ha-..." she couldn't bring herself to spit it out at first. "Sorry, I mean, was she handicapped? Why couldn't she interact with the outside world." "Well, you could say that she was... different from others at her age, and very much so. It was a hazard for her to be put there in this world. She could never fit in. And even worse; other people, they would never understand. They could not comprehend what she was, or what her... condition... even was." "Oh dear. I'm sorry about that." she assured. "I understand what you must have gone through. And what your daughter must have gone through." I replied, as softly as possible, "Oh, believe me, Miss. You don't." She tried to make it up right away. "How old is your daughter? Where is she now?" I stayed silent. But not for long. "She is... uhm... not... here anymore. But, yeah, she'd by about seventeen by now. I think." That statement struck her like a rock to the forehead. I could tell she would have gone into another rant of 'I'm sorry' and 'I had no idea'. But she was too stupefied to go that far. I just said, "Don't be." And she nodded. "Life isn't fair." I concluded. "This is what life has taught me. Still, what I do sincerely hope is that my little Dashie is in a much better place now. Maybe, just maybe, life has been kind to her after all." Again, the woman looked at me, with a glance understanding and confused at the same time. "Your little Dashie." No, I slipped! But she didn't seem to mind. Instead, she abandoned her drink after taking one slow, respectful gulp from the glass. She clearly needed the sweet medicine. What she did next confused me a bit, though. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was an over-boiling level of empathy in her, but she slid her hand nearer to my drink and glass, obviously with the intention to grasp my hand, to assure me her support. She smiled slowly. "I'm a psychiatrist." she said. "I would just like to let you know, that if you need me, if you need succour, whether professionally or discretely, you can always contact me." "I...? Really?" "Of course. You can talk about everything with me. I can tell you are having a difficult time, it would only be for your own good. Loosing a close relative is a terrible loss indeed." she explained. "I have a practice in Bayneck, I can give you my number, if you want to." Without awaiting a reply, she unpacked a little sticky note and a pencil, and quickly scribbled a number on it. "Can I?" I asked, and she handed me the pencil. I took it and wrote my own number on the unused tissue next to my dish. I slid it over to her. I said, "That's my number. As the barkeep said, I... live up at Coop Street, 2nd turning. There aren't many houses on that road, anyway." And what I proposed next surprised me quite a bit. It was as if I wasn't quite myself in that moment. "I am not too busy today. How about... how about we take a walk to my house and I... I can explain you the direction to the next big city in peace?" She smiled at my suggestion, but did so with an embarrassed aftertaste. Even I was thinking, 'Why the hell did you invite her over right now?' I wasn't prepared for something like that, and neither was my house. I didn't have anything left to eat for a second person, and the only thong I could possibly enthuse her with was my collection of MLP episodes. After Dashie had gone, I had taken myself some time to watch all the old episodes, just for memory's sake, so that I wouldn't possibly forget. Maybe I had the chance now to do so without estranging with the outside world. However, the woman stayed silent. I don't know what she was thinking or whether she was thinking anything, but it had something to do with my invitation. That, I knew. A penetrating cell phone rang through the bar, snapping Ingrid Tremblay out of her thought process. Without further ado, she snapped her phone open and pressed it against her ear, looking at me for a second with scared eyes and then turning away on her stool quickly. She spoke quickly, with a worrisome tone, yet it was more a whisper or a hiss than a regular conversation. Still, I could understand everything she said, even though I couldn't ear the caller. It sounded all so mysterious. "Fitz, is that you? Fitz? (...) Are you okay? What's going on? Where are you? (...) Why are you calling, Fitz? What's going on? (...) I'm on my way, Fitz. Ian's on his way too. We'll be over in five. (...) Are... you okay, Fitz? Are you injured? (...) Okay. Hang in there, we're on our way." She stuffed the telephone into her bag and hopped off the stool, adjusting her blazer and her hair with juddering movements. With the same juddering movements, she spilled a dollar bill and a couple of coins onto the counter and said, "Thank you, you can keep the change. I need to go it's something urgent." The barkeep was still dumbstruck. "So early already? What a shame, we could have come along just fine." I asked "What has happened?" "A friend, he... seems to be in some trouble, I have to get to him quickly." Yet, she took her time to shake my hand and nod appreciatively. "It has been nice to meet you. I hope we can find a later time to meet up. What do you think?" "I... I think that would be great. Thanks again." "No problem, you're welcome." And with these words, she left the building to get into her car. "Yeah, typical urbanites. Just what I told you. Cannot keep calm and just sit down for a moment." But I didn't listen. I just looked out onto the street to espy her driving past. I didn't see her, though. She seemed very nice, very understanding. A very charming personality. And she even was a fan of My Little Pony to boot. If she would really keep her promise, I thought, maybe I could even tell her one day. Tell her about my life. And tell her about Dashie. Would she understand? Maybe, I don't know. She appeared to be very compassionate, and understanding. Maybe she would believe me, and not just judge me... I was so sunk in thought that I didn't notice how the Constable who was sitting to my right intercepted an urgent call on his shoulder radio. He then gave is 10-4 and jumped up from his pancakes and coffee and strode out to his motorcycle.