“Fluttershy, do you really think the Princess is gonna want to read this?”
I look up from my paper to see Fluttershy staring at me across the table, concerned. I glance away again, suddenly embarrassed. “I mean, it just feels so…” I gesture weakly, “…sappy.”
Fluttershy smiles. “Oh, she’ll love it,” she says encouragingly, “She likes the sappy ones best. She can tell it’s from the heart.”
“If you say so,” I murmur, unconvinced.
Fluttershy turns back to watch Mom and Angel. Mom is lying on the rug in the living room, trying to cuddle with him, but he’s struggling to get away.
I smile and turn back to my stack of papers. I’m a little surprised at how big it’s gotten, but Fluttershy said I should tell the Princess everything. I pick up my pencil and start again.
Beyond that, Princess Celestia, I don’t think there’s a whole lot to say. That night, we all sat on the couches in the living room and talked into the wee hours of the morning. Mom spent most of the evening cuddling with Angel; she didn’t say a word the entire time, but she did make little noises when she had something to contribute. I told Fluttershy what had happened after she fell—how hard Dad and I had looked for her, and how we'd ultimately failed.
I have to stop to brush away a tear.
She told us her story, too. Her fall had been broken by, of all things, a cloud of butterflies, which brought her down to the ground safely. She made friends with all the animals, and, when night came on, they led her to an old, abandoned shack. It was filthy and a little scary, but it was dry and warm. With the animals’ help, she slowly turned it into a cozy cottage. We realized later that’s probably the reason we never found her: the animals had taken her far away from where she’d landed—and far away from where we’d been looking for her.
Fluttershy told us it took her years to build up enough strength to fly back up to Cloudsdale, and, when she finally made it, she realized she had forgotten where we lived or how to get there, and she was too afraid to ask anyone for directions. She stood alone on a street corner crying, hoping that someone would notice her and ask her how they could help, but no one did. That night, she flew back home and cried herself to sleep.
After that, the urge to look for us got weaker and weaker. We would be mad at her, she thought, for leaving us alone for so long. She'd given up hope entirely of seeing us ever again, until I slipped my letter under her door.
I hear Fluttershy laugh, and I look up. Angel has finally wormed his way out of Mom’s grasp, and he’s made a break for it. Mom is chasing him around the living room like a little filly, snapping playfully at him. He darts under the sofa, and Mom crashes into it. She collapses into a heap, her body shaking with silent laughter. I smile and turn back to my writing.
Since that night, things have been so different. Mom is getting better every day. I still catch her staring out the window every so often, but she is up, and is slowly starting to do chores again. Once or twice a week, I come home to a simple homemade meal, Mom beaming quietly from the kitchen. She still doesn't talk, but that's okay—it's nice just to see her alive again.
I hear Fluttershy scoot her chair back. I look up to see her trotting over to Mom. She helps Mom untangle herself and sit on the couch, then reaches underneath it to grab Angel. She sits next to Mom with Angel on her lap, petting him. He’s glaring daggers at Mom, but she doesn’t notice. I smile.
Fluttershy visits at least twice a week, and brings up Angel almost as often. He hates the trip, but we all love to see Mom light up so much that we don't really care. . Most of the time when Fluttershy visits, we don’t do a whole lot—we just sit around and talk. Sometimes, though, we go out and do things, and, often as not, Fluttershy takes us back to Ponyville. To be honest, I don’t really care what we do; I just love being with her. Being a family again.
I pause. I tap the pencil on the table several times before I trust myself to continue.
I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.
I sigh happily, and, after a pause, continue.
Fluttershy’s probably already told you about a lot of our visits to Ponyville—like that time Fluttershy invited us down for cider season (SO GOOD), or when she convinced me to go with her to see some motivational speaker (for “moral support,” of course). She even convinced me to come down and help out when it was Ponyville’s turn to send water up to Cloudsdale (It was kinda fun to see one of those tornadoes up close!).
I stare out the window for a long moment. I have to swallow several times before I can continue.
One visit I don’t think she told you about happened just a few weeks ago. It was a nice day, and we didn’t have anything planned, so the four of us went to go see Dad. It was so peaceful up on that hill, with the breeze blowing through the trees and the smell of flowers in the air. It was the first time Fluttershy had visited him, and I hadn’t been back since the funeral. We’d told Fluttershy about him that first night, of course, but I don’t think it really sank in until she saw his name on the headstone. When she saw it, she collapsed in the grass and started crying. One by one, we lay down beside her, and all of us cried together. After we had used up out all our tears, we talked about him for a long time. We all miss him so much, but together we’re gonna be okay.
Right as we were leaving, Skittle pulled a bouquet of roses out of her bag—red roses, the kind that they give racers in the winner’s circle. I think he would have liked that.
I hear steps on the front porch, then someone putting a key in the lock. Mom jumps off the couch, dashes to the door and yanks it open. Skittle jumps, but she smiles, gives Mom a hug and trots in. “How’d the interview go?” I ask.
She smiles brightly. “I think it went really well—but we still have to see what they think, of course.” She gives Fluttershy a big hug before going back to our bedroom. I sharpen my pencil and start writing again.
Speaking of Skittle, she’s moved back home. She's applying to the Weather Patrol right now, but for a different division. She wants to join the PR department, and, with that motormouth of hers, I can't think of a better job for her.
I pause and start tapping my pencil on the table, thinking. Skittle comes out of the bedroom and starts going through the cupboards in the kitchen. I turn back to my papers.
As for me, well… I never actually graduated high school after I started working at the factory, so I've dropped a shift and gone back to school in the evenings. I only used up two of my three applications to the Weather Patrol, so I'm going to apply again as soon as I graduate. I've been working with the weather for so long, they can't turn me down this time.
Skittle takes out a glass and fills it with milk from the fridge. As she carries it back into the living room, she gives me a friendly nudge. “So, lover girl, have you heard from Dewey recently?” I roll my eyes.
Believe it or not, I've also found a very special somepony. His name is Dewey Decimal, and he works in the Cloudsdale Library. He's smart, and so sweet and kind, Princess. He hates it when I call him "Dewey" though—thinks it's a dumb name—but he's so cute when he's mad I do it anyway. If you'd like, I can send another letter telling you how we met.
I pause for a second, then start writing again.
Now, you're probably wondering, Princess, why I’ve sent you my life story. Fluttershy told me that you once asked her to send back lessons on friendship, and I thought I'd contribute what I could.
I stare at the paper for a long time, biting my lip. I have no idea what to write now.
I hear a giggle, and I look up. Fluttershy and Skittle are laughing at something, and Mom is smiling along. Something about seeing them together just makes me glow inside.
My eyes widen, and I turn back to the paper, writing quickly.
There's something special about family. Even though you might not get along all the time, there's a bond there that means more than anything.
I pause to wipe away a tear.
I've been without a family for almost a decade now, and, now that I have it back, I literally would not trade it for the world.
I smile.
If that's not magic, nothing is.
Your faithful subject,
April Showers
I hear Skittle laugh again. “Come on, April, get over here!” she calls.
I smile at her. I put down my pencil with a snap and stand up to join my family—Skittle, my mother, and my sister Fluttershy.