//------------------------------// // That Smile // Story: The Pinkie Parallel // by SpaceCommie //------------------------------// Dear Diane, I've gotten used to the tests by now. The ones during my checkups, I mean. I have one every Tuesday. Nurse Redheart usually does them. She says that once a week is more than normal, but she wants to be extra careful because I got hurt. I'm okay with that. Ponyville isn't really that big a town, so there's this nice cozy feel to the hospital. Miss Redheart sometimes calls it a glorified clinic, which I don't really get. Anyway, I sit down on one of those weird cushy things you find in examination rooms and wait for Nurse Redheart to come in. There are a couple of hoofpaintings on the wall. They look like something Dinky would have done a few years ago when she was little. Or littler, anyways. Though it feels like she grew up a lot when I was unconcious unconscious. That makes me a little sad. One of them says "THANK YOU MS REDHEART" in big blue letters. There's a red smear in the middle of the paper. I guess it's supposed to be a heart. Nurse Redheart comes in. Her uniform is white and perfect just like it always is. And her smile is like that too. It's a real smile. I've gotten good at telling when somepony means a smile. And when they don't. But she means it, and says, "How is my number one patient today?" I bet she says that to all her patients, but I don't mind, because I know she means it when she says it to me (and Dinky, when I bring her in for her checkup every six months). "I'm good, Miss Redheart," I say. There's another thing I like about Miss Redheart. When she’s talking to me, she looks at my eyes. I mean, not like the way ponies do when I’m talking to them for the first time, when they’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. I hate that. Miss Redheart, though, she watches my eyes like she does with anyone else. I feel normal. It feels good. She asks me if I’ve been feeling alright. “I’m okay,” I say. She says that’s good. “I noticed you looking at my paintings.” I nod, up and down and up and down. “They’re very nice,” I say, because I want to be polite and she must like them if they have them hung up in here. “Maybe I’ll make you one,” I say. It’s a joke, I know hoofpainting is for foals. But she doesn’t laugh, she just smiles at me.I don’t like that smile. It’s that polite smile ponies use when they want to make sure they don’t hurt my feelings. I know what that smile means, even if nopony ever thinks that I do. It means they think I’m being dumb. But Nurse Redheart is a nice mare, so I don’t get mad or anything. I wouldn’t say anything even if I did. I never say anything. So I smile back and don’t tell her I was making a joke. I don’t really know if she would believe me if I did. “Can you tell me where you are, Ditzy?” she asks. Of course I do, but it’s part of the tests, so I say, “The hospital, in Ponyville, in Equestria.” I think maybe I can make up for the hoofpainting thing, so I add, “In the world.” She writes something down on her clipboard and says, “Very good, Derpy,” but she always says that, so I don’t think it worked. “Can you tell me what time it is?” she asks. I know how this part goes, so I say that it’s 12:15 on a Tuesday and then say the date. “Very good, Ditzy,” and then she writes something down again. She tells me to spell “clock” backwards. It takes me a couple seconds, but I figure it out and spell it—K, C, O, L, C. Then she asks me to repeat some random words, then waits a couple minutes and tells me to repeat them again. I forget two or three of them, but Miss Redheart says that’s okay. There’s a bunch of other tests, but they’re all just as easy and you don’t need to hear about them. When I finish, Nurse Redheart tells me my recovery is going very well. She’s said that for a few weeks now. So then she asks me how Dinky’s doing. I say she’s been doing good, especially at school. You met Dinky, right Diane? She’s smart. Not like me. She does really well in school. I’m proud of her. Ponies say that she gets that from her dad, which I guess is good, because she doesn’t get a lot else from him anymore. And then I leave, since I have to go to the post office and sort mail. I like sorting mail. I think I’m pretty good at it.