//------------------------------// // Chapter 6: Make-Believe // Story: The Pony Who Lived Upstairs // by Ringcaat //------------------------------// ANOTHER FRIDAY NIGHT and there I was at home, waiting for my soup to cook and stirring occasionally. My friend Laurie, who'd helped me get hired by the garden center and skedaddled a year later, had just picked up her phone. “Hey, Laurie,” I said. "Ron? Been a while." "Yeah. I guess it has." "You all right?" she asked. Of course, Laurie was the type to ask. Even so, it felt a little strange she was assuming something was wrong just because I called. “Yeah, I'm fine.” I let my voice betray a little happiness. “I was just wondering... you know where all the best produce is, right?" "Uhhhh... I guess so?" "I mean, I know you're a locavore, you're all into eating locally. Locavorishly." Making fun of the word was a little joke between us. "Yeaahh?" she prompted. “Well... so, peaches are a local crop, right? I mean, you eat them, don't you?” There was a little pause, if as she was trying to decide whether she could make fun of me even more. “Yeeaaaahh?” “So... where do you get them?” “If I can, farmers' markets. But a lot of the time they don't have 'em. Usually I'll get 'em from my normal places.” “Where's that?” She named a few stores I could try--a couple small markets and a suggestion to try the organics section at a chain or two. "Look for '100% Organic', not just the word 'organic'. And if the fuzz is still on 'em, so much the better--just wash before you eat 'em. But you know, I think it might still be early for peaches. I think they're a late summer crop.” And it was early June. I wondered if she could hear my face falling. “So I've got to wait another month if I want them fresh? Two months?” “You could probably get, like, Carolina peaches right now. And they'd probably be reasonably fresh. But you know, locavorism isn't just about freshness, Ron. It's about sustainability." "Right," I said, willing to hear a lecture if Laurie felt like giving one. It was nice to hear her voice. "No matter how you transport food, it takes a toll on the environment," she continued. “And then there's pesticides.” "Right, sure.” I could tell she wanted to go on, but my agreeability was making it tough for her. "What do you need 'em for, anyway?" "A friend of mine. She's from a warmer climate and doesn't like the supermarket peaches that much. I was just wondering if we could do any better." "Huh! Well that's interesting. I assume it's no one I know?" "Nah, she's a new friend." "What's her name?" I blushed. "Peach." After a moment, Laurie chuckled nervously. "Reeeally." "Mm-hm." "She's named Peach and she wants better peaches." "Yeah, well. It's more like I want to surprise her with them." "Ahhh. You mean, because of her name? Sort of, a personalized produce kind of thing?" "Basically," I answered, and I knew she could hear my embarrassment. "Well that's cute. Which warm climate is she from, anyway?" Oops. I'd hoped she wouldn't ask. "Equestria." Yeah, that was a long pause. "Well, I guess that explains the name," she finally said. "Yeah," I agreed. More silence. I stirred the soup. "You know, I would make an exception for Equestrian produce," said Laurie. "I would love to taste an Equestrian apple, or a peach, sure. Anything." "But they don't let it through, do they?" "Nope. Nada. Fears of cross-contamination, which, frankly, are totally reasonable. That's another thing you have to worry about when you import most of your produce." "Are they worried about our fruit going magical?" "Maybe. Sure, wouldn't you worry? It sounds like a joke, but who knows what might happen if—" She cut herself off. "Ron, are you sweet on her?" First Noam, and now Laurie. I'd thought that, just maybe, talking about produce would distract her, but... "Not really, no. I just really care about her." "Well that's wonderful. Does she care about you?" "I think so. Yeah, definitely." "That's great, Ron. Am I gonna meet her?" I hadn't even thought of that. "Sure, if you want to. You want to come to my place, or..." "Oh, come to our place. It's bigger, and we can make dinner." Laurie and her boyfriend Jack lived in a townhouse. "You sure Jack'll be okay with it?" He was the one person I knew who'd had the biggest trouble accepting the reality of a fictional world back when it had first hit the news. He cracked jokes about ponies like some people make jokes about God. Uncomfortably. "He's always chill with new friends." "Well, if you say so. Weekends still good for you?" "Yeah. Why don'tcha check with Peach and let me know when you can come. It'll be good to see you again." "Will do. And I think I will wait for summer before getting those peaches." "Okay. And Ron?" "Mm?" "Be careful, all right?" I was about to say sure, but then I wondered why she was asking. "Be careful?" "Yeah. Just in case." "Just in case what?" "I don't know, okay? I'm just a little worried about you. You stop calling, and then suddenly when I hear from you, you're trying to find the best way to a pony's heart?" "Are you worried about cross-contamination?" I joked. "Of course not." "You're worried I might go all magical." "I don't even know what that means." "Neither do I, really.” I stirred the soup. “All right, Laurie. I'll ask Peach if she wants to do dinner and I'll let you know." "...Okay, Ron. Take care, though." "Okay. I will." "Talk to you later." "G'bye." Be careful of what? I wondered. Take care of what? What exactly was she worried would happen to me? ^.^ ^.^ ^.^ ^.^ ^.^ ^.^ When I knocked on the door, I heard scrambling. That's one little difference about humans and ponies that you don't think of at first. When they scramble, you can always hear it. It's hard not to make noise with four hooves on the floor, and it was hard for me not to think of it as cute. So I indulged and grinned. “Pepper?” she called from inside. “Yep! You don't mind a surprise visit, do you?” “Nope! One moment!” I knew why she didn't open the door right away—she was turning off the television. When she did open it, she leapt right up on me, just like at the garden center. This time I didn't hesitate to hug her. “How's it going, Peach?” In the moment after I asked, I regretted it. She was smiling, but there were lines under her eyes—she'd been crying. “I'm all right. I've been watching stuff. And surfing the superhighway.” “The information superhighway?” “Yeah, that one.” She lowered herself delicately. “C'mon in.” I saw boxes on the floor, stuffed with packaging. We'd set up the television and the computer together, and she still hadn't thrown out the packaging—just in case she wanted to return them, I guessed. I also saw something else I hadn't expected, covered with electronics. “You went back and got the ottoman!” I observed. “Yeah.” She sat bashfully. “I figured I couldn't ask you to take me there twice, so I got Seaswell to help me.” I pictured this for a moment. “You mean this piece of furniture flew through the sky on a chariot to get here?” “Yep!” she answered proudly. “We weren't able to get it in through the window, though. It was just too awkward, so we had to take the elevator.” It was so strange, thinking about how much trouble this thing I could easily lift had been for two ponies to transport. A typical pony could pull a pretty heavy cart, but couldn't easily carry anything larger than a book... unless they were a pegasus, in which case it was ridiculous how much weight they could haul by air. I'd read a column about pegasus physics that still boggled me. I cleared a space on one side of the ottoman—it was cluttered with odds and ends, including a circuit board. “You could have called me, you know. I wouldn't have minded.” She looked sorry. “Kellydell said her husband would be happy to help, so.” She shrugged. “Oh yeah! Saturday was your big shopping tour with Kellydell, wasn't it?” Instantly, Peach perked up. “Yep! SoHo and the East Village!” “Not Staten Island?” “She said it was too big to cover if we wanted to do anything else. So we're saving that for my next paycheck.” A twinge of apprehension. “You'll be paying me back for the television, though.” “Oh, well yeah! But you said it was okay if it was in installations, right?” “If it has to be... but it's on my Discover card. I'm paying interest.” She frowned. I immediately felt like a miser. “Is interest that important?” she asked. I sighed. “Well, if you want to cover it, it's up to you. But you should watch your money, Peach. Are you planning to go shopping with Kellydell in every neighborhood in New York?” “Well not every neighborhood,” she admitted, looking down at her remote control. “We probably aren't going to bother with Queens. And we're just going to window shop through Madison Avenue.” “Even so, can you really afford it?” “It's not just for stuff,” she said, looking up. “And it's not just for me. It's for Kelly! She needs feedback so she can fine-tune her tours.” It was interesting, I thought, that she'd answered a question about affordability with an statement about helping others. “Fine,” I said, stretching my legs. “How were SoHo and the East Village?” “Fantastic,” she replied. “I loved the atmosphere! Kellydell told me all about how they've changed, the bohemian parts and the gentrified parts, and it was fascinating. We barely have this kind of thing in Equestria!” “What kind of thing? Bohemians and gentrification?” “Yeah, basically! I mean, I guess Manehattan is pretty much—” But her line of thought disturbed her, so she changed tack. “You want to see what I got?” “Of course!” “Then give me a few minutes to dress, and I'll give you a fashion show!” I grinned. “Absolutely.” Peach dashed off to the closet, and I wondered how she was going to change privately in her studio apartment, until I remembered that she wasn't wearing any clothes to begin with. Yet I still felt the need not to watch while she was dressing herself. Ponies were weird! Heh. No, clothes were weird. I glanced at the TV and was startled for a moment. Then I chortled. I chortled again, louder, and Peach couldn't help but notice. “What are you laughing at?” she asked from across the room. “You're watching Mister Rogers!” There he was, on pause, holding up a picture of a French horn for the audience. Sweater and all. “Oh yeah!” She laughed too. “That guy's great. I wish I were his neighbor.” I hadn't intended to look at Peach while she was dressing, but now I had to sneak a peek. I caught her with one sleeve on, beaming with admiring eyes. It was worth it. I looked back at the TV. “You've been watching a lot of his show?” “I found a website with all the episodes,” she said. “Is he any relation to Amy Keating?” “Huh?” That took me a moment. “Oh. No, I'm pretty sure not.” “Ah, too bad. I was hoping. But yeah, I've been marathoning them. I've got to say, I kind of needed it.” Uh oh. “Yeah? How come?” “Eh,” she answered, trying to be nonchalant about whatever had made her cry. “Just stuff on the internet. Stuff made by you guys about ponies. Music videos. Stories about the princesses. Comics. Pictures.” She heaved a breath. “Oh, gosh. Anything bad?” “Not really! I mean, yeah. I don't know if it was bad or good, Pepper. It's just weird. It's all so weird.” “I know. I know. It's weird for us, too.” “I was gonna take it slow! But I got carried away.” She sighed. “Anyway, it's gonna be a lot to sort out, you know? I can only take so much at once.” “Absolutely, take it slow. I can help, if you want. I wasn't part of the fandom, but I might be able to give context.” “I appreciate it,” she said through tears starting to form. “So, anyway, that's when I started watching House of Cards.” Oh god. “That Netflix show about corrupt politicians?” There was a tiny pause. “I guess?” “You guess?” “Is that what it is? Corrupt politicians? So... they're meant to be worse than average?” My stomach tightened. “Yeah. Yes, Peach, our politicians are not that bad. Well okay, some of them are. But... well, look, I haven't seen the show, but I know it plays up the corruption.” “Why?” Her question caught me off guard. “For drama! For... excitement. To tell an exciting story.” “Is that really what drama means to you? You can't have excitement without people betraying and framing each other?” “Peach...” “The main character is so charming, he can win anyone over. But he's the worst of the bunch!” “It's just a TV show, Peach! It's meant to get a reaction. If you don't like how it makes you feel, you shouldn't have kept watching!” I heard her clopping over to me. “But I have to watch, Pepper,” she said softly over my shoulder. “This is what I'm here for. I have to understand.” I turned around. She was wearing a green long-sleeved V-necked shirt, a purple flowing skirt, and a flashy silver sash. The colors and fabrics seemed to work okay together, but the fit wasn't great. I looked her over for a while until she slinked back nervously. “Peach... those aren't pony clothes, are they?” She spoke meekly. “Not exactly. There's only a couple boutiques with pony sizes so far, and one's in Midtown and the other's in Brooklyn. Then there are tailors, but we didn't have time for them, so Kelly helped me find some clothes that fit okay even if they were made for women.” I sighed. “Well, they do look good on you, considering. But do you really need clothes?” “No,” she squeaked. “But I... I want them...” “I'm sorry,” I hastened to say. “No, of course. If you want clothes, you should have them. And for that matter, if you want to watch human beings being our worst to each other on TV, you can do that too.” She adjusted her shirt at the shoulder and pointed to the television. “After a while, I found this guy. Can we watch for a while? You and me?” I'd wanted to hug her, but this was even better. I made space on the ottoman for her and sat down on the floor beside her once she'd settled in. Soon we were safe in Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. We didn't talk at first. I learned over and draped my arm over her, wondering if it was too much. She snuggled into it, so I knew it wasn't. Eventually, Mister Rogers went to a pencil factory. “It's amazing, seeing how you humans make things,” observed Peach. “So many big machines, working all on their own. And yet, you say there's no magic going on.” I reflected. “I wouldn't expect to hear that from you, of all ponies.” “How come?” “You work with electricity. It's right there in your cutie mark. You know what kinds of things it's capable of.” “Yeah, but—” She didn't finish. “But what?” She stirred beside me and took a deep breath. “I'm not so sure electricity isn't magic.” I looked at her. She'd taken off her clothing—all that was left was an electric blue anklet on her hind leg that matched the spark in her cutie mark, which I hadn't seen when she'd had the skirt on. Funny how I'd hardly even noticed her undressing. The girl I'm watching TV with takes off all her clothes, and I don't even look over. Does that mean I'm hopeless, or that I don't think of her as a girl, after all? “Really?” I asked. “I know you know the science behind it. I know some of it myself. Electrons pass from one valence shell to the next because of electromagnetic force. That makes current happen. But does anyone really know why electromagnetism happens?” “Beats me,” I admitted. On the screen before us, pencils all but assembled themselves neatly into boxes. “It's the same force that makes light, I think.” “Yeah, that's what Second Sight said. It propagates in a vacuum. But they call it a fundamental force because no one really knows why it happens. They can say how but they don't know why.” “So you think electromagnetism could be magic?” “I don't think so. I mean, it's in everything. If it's magic, does that mean everything's magic?” “That'd definitely be confusing.” “Exactly. No... electromagnetism isn't magic. But I think maybe when we use it for our own machines, we're doing magic.” I withdrew my arm, unconsciously stroking her coat as I did. She didn't seem to mind. “How so? I mean, we're just using little effects and building them into something bigger.” “You say that like it's nothing. Isn't that what thinking is? Isn't that what imagination is?” “I don't get it. What if it is?” I felt Peach's hoof on my shoulder. “Magic is about imagination,” she told me. This was getting heavy enough that I wanted to pause the show. I would have, except it was at that moment the little red trolley started chugging, and we were drawn off into the land of make-believe. The timing was too perfect to stop watching. “It is?” She pushed my shoulder a little. “Don't you know that?” I took her ankle in my hand. “No. I didn't.” “Magic is about what you want to happen! It's about taking your imagination and making it real.” “So... when you levitate something, it's because what you imagine is for that thing to be off the ground?” “Sure, basically.” I smiled. “That's an awfully specific thing to be imagining all the time!” With a blue glow, the fingers of my hand opened up, freeing her ankle. I could have resisted, but didn't choose to. “I'm not that good at levitation, you know,” said Peach. “My real magical talent is shaping things.” Well, this was getting exciting. “Shaping things?” “Yeah. Like metal. Or silicone. Making things flow the right way. And I'm a lot better with small stuff than anything big.” The way she said that made me shiver—for a moment, I wondered if I was getting turned on. “Like circuit boards.” “For example. But I can do art! I can draw a picture on a grain of rice. I used to sell those back home!” I grinned. “I'd love to see that.” She got up. “Let's do it. I've got rice in the cupboard.” I went straight to the cupboards. When I saw a blue aura opening one of them, I reached up and pushed it shut on a lark. “Hey!” Her magic fought me, but my muscles won. I glanced down to see Peach looking miffed. “Sorry. I just wanted to see if I could!” Her expression broke. “You don't fight a unicorn's magic!” she laughed. “I wasn't really fighting,” I explained. “Just testing.” There was a pregnant silence. Then Peach widened her stance and tried again to open the cupboard. I sprang for it, but she managed to squeeze the box of rice through the crack. We both laughed awkwardly, not at the same time. Triumphantly, Peach strode forward and placed a grain of rice on a cutting board. “Well, don't fight this. What picture do you want?” I glanced at the television. “How about King Friday and Queen Sara, in their castle?” “Perfect.” I watched Peach Spark in awe as she labored, deep in concentration. Her horn glowed, as did and the grain of rice. I I saw her magic swirl, but the grain didn't seem to move. “Kings and queens,” she muttered. “That's the sort of thing you like to make believe about, isn't it?” “Mm, I guess. We have them in a lot of our fairy tales.” As she worked, I could see tiny flecks of orange appearing amid the blue. “But you have them in real life too, don't you?” “Some countries, yeah. But not the kind you get in stories.” Only then did I realize what she was probably driving at, and I regretted what I'd said. “Princesses are even better, right?” she asked, still concentrating on the grain of rice. I was silent at first. “Yeah,” I whispered. She looked at the television for a moment, where King Friday was telling Daniel the tiger that because clocks were no longer allowed in the Neighborhood of Make-Believe, he would have to find a new home. Then she resumed her work silently. “I wish I knew what you were thinking,” I admitted. “Just wondering if you guys are jealous of our princesses,” she replied. I wasn't sure what to say. “I guess a lot of people dream of benevolent monarchs. I mean, monarchs with absolute power, not like the ones today. But it's risky. I mean, we used to have kings and queens like that, but if they aren't benevolent—if they're even just badly advised, it can spell disaster.” She only glanced up for half a second. “Nowadays,” I went on, “if someone has absolute power, we call them a dictator. And we try to take it from them.” “That's interesting,” said Peach. “You wish you were better people, huh?” I shrugged. “Who doesn't?” She created one last little orange spark, then looked up. “Done.” Her magic retrieved a big magnifying glass from one of her shelves, which she floated over to me. I took a look at the grain of rice. It was etched with a line drawing, all right. The faces were crude, but there were the king and queen, and there were the lines of their tower, with the familiar “XIII” beneath. It was amazing how fine those lines had to be. “Wow.” “You like it? I ought to know what they look like by now, I've seen like a dozen episodes.” I sat up and looked at her in bewilderment. “That's some talent! I can't get my head around how you keep track of all those tiny lines.” “That's what I'm talking about, Pepper! I wanted the rice to look like that, so I just made what was in my head real. That's magic for you! And that's what your big machines do, too. You want pencils? They make pencils for you. You want paper clips or pants or radios or pretzels or roller skates? They'll make those, too. And you say a machine that can do all that isn't magic?” I put down the magnifying glass. “Is it magic if I take one of those pencils and draw a picture?” She stared at me. “Seriously, Sparky. Is that magic?” She sighed. “I don't know. Maybe it is, in some small way.” A piece of me still couldn't believe I was having this conversation with a unicorn. “You don't really know what magic is, do you?” Peach spread her forelegs. “I used to! But things have changed.” Licking my lip, I picked up the cutting board with the carved grain of rice and set it on the counter. “Keep it,” said Peach. “It's yours! A gift from me to you.” I grinned. “Really? Thanks. I'll think of you whenever I see it.” “You want to watch another episode?” asked Peach, swishing her tail at the television. I glanced at the clock. “I should actually be going. It's late, and I didn't mean to stay too long.” “Awww. When will I see you again?” It felt odd, but good. She'd never asked that before while we were together—we'd both just trusted to notes and fate. Fortunately, I had a good answer. “Well, as it happens, I told my friend Laurie about you. She's interested in having us over for dinner. She and her boyfriend Jack will host, and she's a good cook. Are you interested?” Peach brightened and stood taller. “Of course! It would be great to meet your friends.” “I was thinking a week from Sunday?” A little frown. “I hope we'll get together again before that.” My heart melted. “Then let's count on it.” I wanted to suggest something for us to do, something more exciting than just another evening in. Bowling? Instantly I pictured a pony with a bowling bowl stuck over its hoof, looking put out. But then I remembered the Bowling Dolls from Season Two and realized that ponies actually did go bowling. Still, would that be the kind of thing Peach would enjoy? Or would it seem like I was trying too hard? It seemed like Peach was also struggling for something to suggest. Were we making this too hard? Should we just keep visiting each other in the evenings after work, or whenever we both had the day off? Given how much there still was to learn about each other, would that be enough to keep things fresh? I was spared. From the television floated the unpolished but reassuring notes of Mister Rogers' opening theme song: “It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood; a beautiful day for a neighbor!” Before the first verse was done, I was half-singing along, gesturing to Peach and hamming it up: “Would you be mine? Could you be mine?” She grinned and chuckled. Sitting down and stretching tall, she sang: “It's a neighborly day in this beautywood; a neighborly day for a beauty! Would you be mine? Could you be mine?” Now I was grinning too. “I've always wanted to have a neighbor just like you.” I held out my hand gracefully. “I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood... with you!” She hesitated at first, but then plopped her hoof into my hand. “So let's make the most of this beautiful day!” I lowered myself slowly to one knee. “Since we're together... we might as well say...” We looked into each others' faces, trying to mutually fight off the giggles as we sang together: “Would you be mine? Could you be mine? Won't you be... my neighbor?” I released her hoof and straightened up. “Won't you please?” She gazed up plaintively at me. “Won't you please?” I met her eyes as we finished together: “Please won't you be... my neighbor?” Somehow, that had made everything all right. I couldn't remember what I'd been fretting over before. “I'll see you, Sparky.” “See you soon, Pepper.” Neither of us could get the smiles off our faces. It was a good note to leave on, so I went for the door. I gave her a little wave as I left. “Enjoy the show!” “Oh I will,” she replied. As I took to the hallway, I marveled at what had just happened. What had all that been? Had that been a pinch of whatever magic made Equestrians occasionally break out in song? Did ponies bring it with them? No—I preferred to think it had just been a particularly inspired, particularly harmonious moment between the two of us. But what did it mean? Were we in a romance now? I'd knelt on the floor and taken her hoof in my hand—how could that be anything but romance? And yet, we hadn't been singing about that kind of relationship at all—just about being neighbors. The truth was, just being neighbors with a real life pony was exciting enough. As I returned to my apartment, my mind turned to a fantasy. The president stood before Princess Celestia, awkwardly singing “It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood” to her while she waited patiently on a pillow. And when he was finished, she nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Absolutely, Mr. President. The ponies of Equestria would love to be your neighbors.” “Then we have a deal,” said the president, offering his hand. “We have a deal,” said Celestia, shaking it. It was a fantasy I would revisit many times that night.