Partly through the night, a soft creak jostles you from your dream. Coated in the still present grip of dreams, you have a hard time making out what it is. A thin light reveals itself from your cracked door. Huh. The rest of your room is caked in darkness, looking like the inside of a coal pit. Your head still swimming with visions of shifty cats, epic dream quests, and some unknown place called Kadath, you slink over to the door and close it. The creak repeats itself, but barely registers on your dream-flooded mind, and you move quietly back to your bed. Submerging yourself in sleep once more, you fail to hear the muted breathing, swiping, and tiptoe footsteps. You do peek up when the creak and slit of light return, but when the creak once more repeats itself and kills the latter, your heavy head falls upon your pillow once more, and you think nothing of it.
It’s Thursday morning, and you’re swaddled in a cozy blackness. A thick blur coats your mind, engulfing you in a pleasant oblivion. A ray of infantile consciousness reaches out of the pit, trying to reach an awareness of yourself and circumstance. It doesn’t get far, and once more you’re sunk into that cottony haze of sleep. But instinct pushes forward, sending more attempts to reach reality. Each new attempt brings new shocks of light into your haze, disrupting it all the more. A nature just as deep and ancient as the need to wake pushes back, a bearish grunt expressed in revolt. But just as it is broken everyday, the will of this lumbering presence is thwarted, the pull of life dragging you into the light. Mmph. Muscles twitch to life, new blood flooding arteries and capillaries. Slowly, your mind awakens to your body, the pampering weight of the blankets above making your form known to you. You shake your head, grunting at the harshness of the motion that yanked you into consciousness. You wake to yourself; you’re Anon, and it’s some weekday. Wednesday, or maybe Thursday. You contort your body, changing positions like a dancer, but never recovering the dull peace you exited.
When the discomfort of lying without tiredness can be taken no more, you whip the covers off your body. The cruel talons of the (relatively) cold room dig into your skin, and you whip the covers right back on. You’d forgotten about your morning foe. You poke your thin arm, the most resilient to her wicked clutch, out of the bed and take hold of your shirt and pants. Retracting your arm, the wintry emissaries are soon thawed to the temperature of your beloved cocoon. Delicately, you put them on, trying to keep from disturbing the borders of your silk and cotton paradise, knowing the hateful cold will seep in like a plague at the first opening. Fully clothed, you steel yourself, then take the covers off once more. The chilly bite hurts far less than before. But it’s only a matter of time before your feet succumb to the frosty air, so you quickly garb them in some socks. After a minute, you realize that the room’s not actually that cold, and that you might be a huge pansy. Like all men, you hold onto the hope that you aren’t, and soldier on. Sitting on your bed, you wipe the physical remnants of sleep from your eyes. What time was it? The clock reads 7:30, a good half hour before the time you usually wake up. The familiar morning itch runs through your body, and you obey its command, straightening out your limbs and taking a deep yawn. The urge satisfied, you reflect on what to do next.
Apple Bloom, of course. She’d know what to do; maybe you could catch a quick game with her. Gotta see if she’s up first. You slip on the apple slippers laying at the door, and move out. The whole house is perfectly silent, like fresh, untarnished snow on a field. You cross the hall in tiptoe, not wanting to crack that delicate peace. You grip her doorknob and carefully turn it. The door squeaks when you open it, but not too much. Congratulating yourself on your excellent stealth, you approach her bed. You suck in your breath when you see the girl upon it.
She’s a vision. The phrase blinks across your mind, a chorus that, while fading to the background, remains present for the whole experience to come. She’s just… Wow. You try to think of words, but they just don’t come. She’s lying on her bed, perpendicular to you, with her arms raised above her head. One lies off the side, the forearm rising up and her hand flopped down, almost touching her head. Her other arm is jutting out, with the forearm returning, making an acute angle. Her delicate hand is spread open, resting on her forehead. For once, you see Bloom with her hair down (not counting the time when she was in the pool), and you realize how long it is. The bright red spectacle flows down over her shoulders, reaching, pooling somewhere around her mid-region. As usual, a bright smile covers her face, and her eyes are pressed closed. She radiates happiness, sheer joy perfectly described by her perfect face. One of her legs goes straight down, while the other is bent slightly, the knee barely crossing over the other. Her white socks are long, almost reaching to the knee, but that isn’t the article that captures your attention. Somehow, she got ahold of one of the dress shirts you brought down, and wears it with only the lowest two buttons buttoned. The top portions cover part of her chest, but leave her light cleavage and a good portion of the middle of her torso open. Looking down, you don’t see any underwear in the shadows beneath the low-hanging shirt, and it doesn’t go THAT far down. The sun has risen, bringing a golden light to further remind you of her angelic beauty. Her soft, tan skin almost glows in the kiss of the morning’s light. You notice something else, which causes you to blush and let out an unintentional “unf.” The ray of light revealed the thinness of your shirt, showing the lines and shapes of her thin body within it. You can perfectly trace the outline of her thin body, the curves of her breasts and hips, in the partially-transparent garb. She shifts at your quiet outburst, and you realize you haven’t been looking at her for a short time. You turn to leave, not wanting to be thought a creep if she wakes. You turn on your heel and take a step, the cruel world obliterating your stealth through a loud creak. You halt immediately, listening for any signs that she heard you.
“Mmmmmm. Mm? Anon?” Yep, she heard you. Your mind races, going through plans like fatties go through Cheetos. You hold onto the last thread of stealth, hoping you can make a secretive getaway. You keep on facing the door and take another step. Silence, from both floor and cousin. Okay, you can do this. You take another step, and the scene repeats itself. Creeeeaak.
“Anon?” This time her voice is clearer, devoid of the groggy tempo that held the first question. You turn around slowly, playing it cool. Hopefully she won’t notice the flaring hue of your flushed cheeks.
“Hey, sup, Apple Bloomers, what’s shaking, bacon?” You’ve never hated yourself so much. She’s sat up now, the shirt covering her like a short dress, thankfully out of the light this time. Her arms are positioned as a V, with both hands meeting just in front of her hips. Her legs are splayed outwards, socked feet pointing upwards. Her head cocked, she innocently asks:
“What’r ya doin’ in mah room?” The million dollar question. Honesty or Redirect? You go with the first, saving the question of your shirt for later.
“I was gonna wake you up, see if you wanted to play some cards or a board game or something.” She nods slowly. It isn’t clear if she believed you, or even understood. She is, after all, very sleepy. She yawns, her mouth stretching wide while her eyes tightly shut. Her arms reverse their positions, both extending upwards and away from her, making a V above her now. Her chest also puffs out, and you can see them pretty well under the thin, stretched fabric. Hoo boy. You adjust your pants to better cover an embarrassing response. Her eyes fall back to you, a teary smile on her angelic face.
“Ok,” she replies in a soft voice, sounding almost like a hum. She drags her tired legs out of bed, and falls off, feet landing on the floor. She moves to her dresser at a zombie’s gait, and opens the top drawer. Immediately you spin on your heel, not wanting to be present for this. She’s your cousin, after all.
“I’ll be in my room,” your stammering voice informs her, to which a soft okay replies. Closing the door behind you, you take a deep breath and let it out. Your eyes close, and you repeat the process, opening them at the exhale. Emotions run lower now, and you return to your room to distract yourself with video games. But your door creaks open before you can even get in-game. Bloom floats in, her light form almost gliding across the threshold. She wears your dress shirt, now buttoned fully and with the sleeves rolled up just past her elbow, and pair of tiny shorts. Her feet are bare, and you can hear the almost indiscernable thumps as she treads across your floor. The only major difference between her now and her a minute ago is a red bow in her hair. This is a different one, not much bigger than a bowtie, and is fastened above the place between her ear and left edge of her forehead. Two small ribbons fall below, a slight curl twisting their path alongside the left portion of her jawline, ending at the level of her nose. Her hair is pulled back and hanging down, revealing a curliness you didn’t know of. Appearing more energetic, she grabs your arm and immediately begins pulling you to your door.
“Come on, Anon, I know just the game.” Her pull isn’t strong, but the sheer joy in her gait makes the pull irresistible to you. She bounces as she walks, the tune to a music you don’t hear. Maybe you’ll hear it, one of these days. Though your sluggish resistance to her pull, as the morning incites resistance to all motion, has long since passed, her grip on your arm remains. Down to the living room she leads you, stopping before a large cabinet. Your arm misses her touch as she withdraws it for her search. She plunges her arms into the cabinet, pulls back, then digs in again, as if digging in the dirt for some treasure. Her face lights up, followed by hands gripping a weird looking wooden rectangle. Once more your arm is gripped by a pulling teen hand, until you’ve found yourself at a table with rickety chairs. The chairs are made of the same white-ish vanilla wood as the table, and are placed opposite each other. The table resides by a great brick fireplace, which you long to see roaring in a colder season. Thoughts of a winter trip are whisked away by the low voice of a whispering cousin, asking you if
“You ever heard of Cribbage?” No bells ring.
“Nope.” Eyes bug out in fake horror, and you can’t help but laugh at her feigned disbelief.
“Whattya mean ya haven’t heard a Cribbage? You been livin under a rack or samthing!? Huh!? Huh!?” Your laughter increases at the sudden New York accent in your Bloom’s voice. She laughs with you, though more in victory at having made you laugh. You look down at the table before you, taking in the whole picture. There’s a deck of cards, two pairs of little colored sticks, one red and one blue, and the wooden rectangle. It’s got a line snaking, split into red, blue, and green. It’s filled with holes, cut into five hole-blocks, and numbers denoting each measure of five, all the way to 120, with one hole after that.
“Ok, its real simple: ya gotta get points, which you get through hands and pegging. First, is dealing: you deal six cards to each player” –she does- “and you get to pick four of them to keep. The other goes in the crib, which is an extra hand, and that goes to the dealer. The dealer switches every turn, so it’s even. After you discard into the crib, the not-dealer picks up a portion of the deck, and the dealer takes the card at the top of the remaining pile and puts it on the top. This gets added to all three hands. Then we peg: the non-dealer goes first, putting a card down. Then the dealer puts a card on it, adding it’s total to the first –face cards are worth 10- until you hit 31 or can’t hit that or lower. Here, you get points if you hit fifteen or 31, if you pair them, or if you get a run. Runs are worth the number of cards in them, and everything else is 2 points. Oh! You also get a point if you put down the last card, unless it’s 31. So like, if you stop at 30 and the other person can’t go, you get one point, and then they have to start the next pegging thing. When you’ve played all your cards, you count your hand. Non-dealer goes first, then the dealer, who counts their hand and then the crib. Pretty much the same thing there: 2 points for fifteens and pairs, and runs get as many points as there are cards in them. Oh, and if you have a jack that’s the same suit as the cut card –that’s the card you pull up after dealing- you get one point and if you pull up a jack the dealer gets two points.”
“Do runs have to be of the same suit.” She shakes her head from side to side, tossing the bow ever so slightly, and says
“Nope! You got it?”
“I think so. It sounds pretty complicated.”
“Everythin’ sounds complicated when it gets explained all at once like that. It’ll get easier once you play it.” She beams at you, removing your reservations about the game, or really anything. You get started, and play pretty rough at first. You’re forgetting to take points, throwing points in her crib, and so forth, while she just laughs at you. But soon you start getting the hang of it, finding the patterns in the game, and playing with probabilities. You barely avoid getting skunked in the first game –losing by more than 30 points- and lose by five in the second. It was a fluke anyway, you swear. As you shuffle for the third game, you hear a low thudding coming just outside the room. Big Mac, morose as ever, peeks his head into the room, followed by his hulking body.
He stares silently at the game for a minute, then shakes his head at you. What? You send him a look, half inquisitive, half get-out-of-here-I’m-hanging-with-my-rad-cousin, but it falls flat. To be honest, you didn’t really expect much reaction from the practical mute. Her dull eyes direct themselves Bloom-ways, and he makes an inquest of her desires for a first meal. She gaily affirms her desire for such, and when the almost blank question passes from his eyes to yours, you haltingly mirror Bloom. With paradoxical guile, his image whisks away, the cling-clang of metal locating him in the kitchen. The game continues, with sneaky peeks and clever calculations throughout, culminating in a history-setting record of your success by ten whole points. Your fortune and talent are rewarded doubly when, midst victory dancing, your nostrils are engulfed by the scent of bacon.
Eyes wide with joy and beastly avarice, like an archaic Englishman spotting a new and unconquered territory, you spy a morning feast in the giving arms of your male cousin. Plates and dishes fall upon the table like manna, and you don’t waste a minute shoveling your blessings upon your own plate. With the patience of a dozen saints, you halt your voracious assault just long enough thank God for providence. Then, you set upon the plate-placed victims like Cortez on the Aztecs, and with the same result. The children of vicious hens, the warriors of a tribe of swine and whatever sausage is are razed, washed down with the precious plunder of monstrous cows. This morning, Anon is king of the wild. Finishing, a great sigh of contentment bursts forth, signaling your entrance into heaven. With your trusty sidekick, you march to the kitchen to cleanse your weapons. A fierce scrubbing with rags and towel later, the porcelain shows no trace of the massacre witness, and is placed among its stone brothers for another riskless battle.
By this time, your hat-clad cousin enters the kitchen, elder in arm. You welcome her brightly, sharing your morning joy. She wears surprise, then trades for your own happy expression. Granny is helped to a plate of her own, along with AJ, and they chat happily away at a kitchen table. You return to the open arms of Bloom, ready to give her as many losses as she wishes for. Dropping yourself into a seat, you narrow your eyes and rubs your hands together, asking her
“Ready to lose some more?” She rebuffs you with her tongue, an unanswerable strategy. She deals out the cards, and you set your mind to work. You think and plan, consider and strategize, filling the air with hmms and ah!s. Told to shut up and go on already, you obey the happy order of your cousin, and do so. If you had rebelled, you probably would have won. But such as it is, you don’t, and mock Bloom’s well-known pout. As you begin to deal for the next game, as is the loser’s prerogative, AJ interrupts you.
“Playing some crib, huh?
“Yup,” you mimic Big Mac, but not so overtly as to be insulting.
“Can you deal me in?”
“Uh… Can I?” You pose the query to Bloom, who nods happily.
“Yeah, three players can go. You just give everyone five cards and put one in the crib.” AJ chimes in as she pulls up an equally rickety chair and sits:
“Yeah, and hands and pegging is done clockwise.”
“Nuh-uh! It’s counterclockwise!” A wrinkly arbiter calls from beyond
“No, it’s clockwise, dearie.”
“But that ain’t how ah play with Scootaloo!” AJ chuckles, happily bearing the duty of informing her that
“You an’ her ain’t been doing it right then!” You snicker at the retroactive judgment and begin dealing. The new style of play throws you for a loop, your previous strategies and considerations imperfectly translating to this new form. However, the lessened amount of choice, coming from having five cards instead of six, lower the amount by which you can control the outcome of your hand, and so your cluelessness does not terribly mar your score. As you move through the ensuing games, you’re dimly conscious of a new comfort you’ve entered into. Your shoulders fall back, your breaths come more easily, and your exuberance is less forced and pretended than it had been the past few days. The breakthrough of the previous day, though out of conversation and not likely to re-enter anytime soon, had altered how you were around the Apples. You couldn’t quite describe the changes, or even make yourself fully aware of them. But through it, you noticed the ease at which you could sit and enjoy the game, and the lack of obstructions that kept you from laughing along with them in that careless manner you saw, mostly in Apple Bloom. It was nice. You felt good. After a handful of Cribbage games, then you moved onto other games. Sorry came next, to include Granny and Big Mac. You and Apple Bloom teamed up, a pair against the three other colors, but even your combined brilliances failed to snatch victory. Three failures in, a double vote called for a new game, to which the three older Apples conceded.
Monopoly followed, the living room filling with the warmth of familial community. Big Mac even seemed to step out of his shell a bit, and you heard his triumphant laugh for the first time when he seized both blue properties. Not long afterwards, a stream of ill luck struck you and Granny, leaving you both doubly caught by Boardwalk’s charges. Declaring bankruptcy, the two of you retired, watching the gameplay unfold from the sidelines. No longer terribly put off by her aged appearance, you fell into a pleasant conversation with her. She explained to you the history of Sweet Apple Acres while you sat enraptured. After she finishes, you’re awestruck, suddenly aware of the monumental significance of your great-aunt. Struggling for a similar story, you pull out some notes on the celebrity of the Oranges in Manehattan. Though you do exist at a not-unimpressive place on the Social Register, the boasts ring hollow as you spill them across the air. Your listener gracefully provides a captivated pose, though you don’t see how she could be interested when you aren’t. Then again, Granny seemed to be genuinely interested in you, as noted from your brief contacts. It may have been that her such in interest spread to interest in the specifics of your life for their relation to you, if not due to innate value. With a strength bolstered by your recent growth, you decide to trust in Granny’s goodwill, rather than assuming indifference and pretense, as was your habit.
The next game begins, and you quickly snag a monopoly on the oranges through lucky rolls and a seemingly innocent land-deal with an unobservant AJ. Apple Bloom moans as you repeatedly plunder her bank account, the die severely out of favor with her. You make it through the minefield of the opposite side of the board, where yellows and reds have all been captured by Apple girls. Grabbing a couple greens, you deftly doge the blues and leap onto the next round. Big Mac lands on Park Place, and is then blessed by a snake eyes onto Boardwalk, the fastest blue monopoly you’ve ever seen. Suddenly, your orange trio is looking less impressive. You trade your brown for a light blue of Apple Bloom’s, and both of you fill the first gauntlet with houses and an agreement not to charge each other. She immediately lands on Connecticut Avenue, and your head swings to the living room window while you whistle loudly in mock innocence. Ignoring AJ’s grumpy stare, you hold your hand out, receive the dice from Apple Bloom, then roll. Landing on a soon-bout railroad, you exclaim in mock shock:
“Oh my goodness, Apple Bloom landed on me? Well gosh darnit, I oughtta have charged you. Oh well, I snooze, I lose!” Nobody is impressed, but you get a suppressed fit of giggles from Apple Bloom, well worth your scumbag cahoots. It continues to be worth it when AJ meets Apple Bloom, and you jump on her like a loan shark. A muttering of unfairness and a couple turns later, you find yourself on Marvin Garden’s, owned and operated by one Miss A. Bloom. You gaze into her eyes, pleading for an expected mercy, when you find yourself laughingly rebuffed. What? But-But. Your pleads and references to allegiance are promptly denied, as you’re told that such only refers to the first side of the board, meaning the browns. She’s right, but she can’t keep you from grumbling. Three passes around go, and you’re king of half the board, owning monopolies on orange, green, light blue, and parts of utilities, red and purple. Unfortunately, your only opponent is Bloom, who owns the rest, expect for a Short Line Railroad that, somehow, had never been landed upon. The trades are frequent and equal, with you straying below one hundred for a moment, then lifting back up. She loses favor with lady luck, and begins a massive unlucky streak, having to sell a good amount of houses. But one final shift leads you to a massive vacation on her properties alone, while she alights on the barebones luxury taxes and light blues, when she isn’t on her own properties. Once you mortgage your first light blue, the end comes quickly, the failures rising in exponents. She sits beside you, on her bare knees. At victories she bounces, and failures she narrows her eyes, like a soldier vowing to succeed at the next battle. And when you finally land on Boardwalk, naught but 10$ in your pockets, she leaps up in the air, swinging her arms in the air. The picture of pure joy seems to levitate, eyes closed and mouth open in a cry of bliss, the beloved cousin defeated at last. Her buoyant, curly hair follows her body just a tad too late. Rising after she’s airborne, and turning mid-air to fall only after her descent is completely. The rosy cascade blankets her shoulders once more, the spotless skin covered by the luscious tangle of long, wavy curls.
The five of you move onto Pirate’s cove, where the aim is fame. You fight with cannons and men (the lowest number determining the number of die rolled in attack) and go first based on sails; you win fame on victory, and lose a turn on loss. Treasure stored in the hull and needing a dedicated turn to turn it into fame, and earning gold to buy the others or to turn it into fame along with treasure. Six different places to travel to hold different rewards for travel and different commodities to buy (all four aspects, then special fighting cards, then Treasure Island, where the burying occurs). Everyone chooses where to go and reveals it at once, fighting somebody if they end up at the same place (except Treasure Island). A legendary NPC pirate also makes the rounds, to be avoided or fought along with others. The game barely moves. The game starts off well for you, nabbing an early lead. AJ beats you and Granny in a battle, but you’re just barely behind her. But as the third turn comes around, Apple Bloom darts up.
“Oh no! Ah was supposed to meet Scootaloo ten minutes ago!” AJ, always helpful, gets up and hustles over to the car, your day suddenly devoid of the two Apple girls. You’d like to pretend you were just as happy as before, but the company of Big Mac and Granny can’t compare to you and your wonderful cousins. Still, Big Mac was your cousin too, and you can’t see any reason to give up trying to enjoy being with them. Family was family, right? Rejecting the thin grip of dysphoria, you take on an active role, pushing AJ and Apple Bloom’s pieces off the board. You act as if the game were always holding three players, and the game continues as normally.
As the game unfolds, you start to glimpse a different side of the two lesser known Apples. Granny does well, building up a powerful ship, as per the instructions; there’s no doubt she could take any fight with you or Big Mac alone, and maybe the both of you. And the way she stares at your ships and the locations to go, she ought to be raiding you left and right. She gazes at both, not with the vacant stare of a lifeless elder, but with a subtle cunning, like a chess master who avoids all boasting but that of their winning move. Yet you never fight her. She always goes to the places neither you nor Big Mac is at, even when she profits less. The only time you meet is at Treasure Island, where there is no fighting. Her score is lagging, and an untrained eye might assume the explanation of a doddering old lady who lucked into a good ship. But you know better. The whole game, she’s been chatting away with you and Big Mac, drawing just the threads of conversation out of him, and eagerly listening to the stories you reveal. She’s not in this to win; she’s in this for the two of you. Sure, she grins gleefully at the united attacks against the NPCs and gaining fame, but her purpose here is not a personal victory. You chuckle to yourself, an interested look of hers failing to discover your realization of her aim. You could see where AJ and Apple Bloom get their charity. A barely deserved first place falls into your hands, due to Big Mac dying at the last minute, and failing to bury his treasure as a result. He shoulda won, you think to yourself.
You set the next game up, this time adding two NPC pirates in, due to the lower number of players. Watching Big Mac, now the only major threat to your victory, warrants another couple insights. He plays simply, in almost a dumb fashion: where he needs to go, he goes. He pays little attention to the revolving NPCs or you, and ends up in a lot of fights as a result. Thing is, he isn’t losing. He wins more than his fair share of fights, and you find yourself avoiding him, not unlike Granny. He doesn’t seem like the brightest guy, and you’re about to chalk it up to luck when you find exceptions. Twice, there’s one thing he needs, but instead he goes to someplace else, ending up in a fight with you or Granny, where he wins both times. You’d think it was clever tactics, working around your expectations, but he then spends all his money on useless stuff. So he either gets lucky, or is using high-cost, high-reward strategies. Another small exception was when, out of cockiness, you ask him where he’s gonna go, so you can attack him (you’ve got a better ship than him at this point). He tells you he’s gonna fight one of the NPCs and asks you to join him; figuring the idea as good, you go there. But he doesn’t. One severe butt-kicking later, half of your treasure is lost, your ship broken, and your lead drops off. Worse yet, AJ returns just as you get your butt handed to you, her first sight of your advanced playing not one you’d like. She laughs and sits beside you, Apple Bloom’s spot, and you turn your thoughts back to Big Mac. As you try to reconcile these exceptions with Big Mac, you come across a middle-ground between what you’ve thought. Maybe he wasn’t doing carefully calculated high-costing strategies, and maybe he wasn’t dumb; maybe he was a clever guy who just wasn’t fully in the game. The explanation seemed to fit with what you know of Big Mac’s reaction to his parents dying, and his somewhat clever feints. It’s not solid, but you decide to keep an eye on Big Mac, if only to solve a mystery. The round concludes with united assault against both NPCs, the boatload of fame resulting from such netting Big Mac a victory, just a sliver ahead of you.
You yawn and stand up, declaring your weariness from games. Man, what time even was it? Geez, 2:00. You’d been playing board games for almost five hours straight. You guess they’re long games, but still. Wow. Granny asks you to help with making lunch today, and you happily accept. AJ follows, but Granny assures her this is a two-person job. Or rather, a one-and-a-half-person job, seeing as she’s just gonna be giving orders. Granny’s eyes follow her as she exits, then shift to you.
“So,” she asks, “what’s for lunch?” You pause, thinking that her question belongs in your mouth, not hers.
“Huh?”
“Well, you’re making lunch, today. I was wondering what you’re gonna make for us.” You’re starting to get it. “You’ve cooked haven’t ya? Even sandwiches are okay, dearie.”
“So I’m gonna come up with something and make it?” She grins and nods once,
“And I’m gonna point out ingredients.”
“Ah. Okay, gimme a second.” You furrow your brow, a technique known to increase mental productivity and efficacy. You’ve made a lot of meals over the years, so you have some preparation for this. Oh! You’ve got it!
“Ok, I’m gonna need like six cans of clams, a cup of oil, minced garlic, a bit of parsley, some green onions, and noodles.” She directs you to them, and you start your work. Water in the pot, set to boil. Mince the garlic and chop the green onions. Dump that into some oil in a pan, and set it to mid-high. Once the garlic starts browning, dump the cans of clams in, water and all. Stir, lightly, then wait for most of the water to boil off. You lean up against the counter and breathe out, the tasks wearing you out due to their number, if not their difficulty. Meanwhile, Granny has sat down on a chair in the kitchen, pleasantly smiling and making light conversation while you work after her directions are made complete. She asks you how you’re doing upstairs, what your plans are for the rest of summer, and how her nephew and niece are doing. You pause at that, holding back a scowl, but you think she notices you discomfort.
“Not getting along, are you?” You sigh, a pained expression on your face. It’s not like she oughtn’t ask this, it wasn’t rude or anything. You just don’t know how to answer it. You look to the clam mix for help, and it’s perfection offers an exit.
“Uh, food’s ready. Would you mind getting them?” She smiles, the understanding look seeming more geared to your avoidance than your question.
“Of course. I think they’re still playing games.” She enters the living room and informs them of the upcoming meal. Immediately they march past you to retrieve plates, glasses, and silverware. The table set, you tell them that the meal is clam pasta; take some noodles, cover it with the mix, and that’s it.
“Sauce seems a bit thin, and more clams than sauce.” AJ remarks, not having seen the meal before.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be; you don’t need a ton, either. A little bit goes a ways.” She nods and helps herself, followed by the rest of you. You clasp hands and say grace, though you’re slightly distracted. At the touch of Granny’s and AJ’s hands, you recall that you’ve been holding Apple Bloom’s hand for the previous dinners. You miss that now. You try to stop yourself, thinking that it’s kind of weird to be missing someone gone for only a couple hours, and besides, you’d have to get used to missing her anyways. That makes you sadder, and you push thoughts of post-vacation summer away. Still. You wish she was here to taste your meal. Maybe it was weird, but you wanted her to tell you it was good. For the moment, however, you’d have to suffice with the compliments of the present Apples.
“Anon, this is really good.”
“Eeyup.”
“Yeah, thanks for making it.” You thank them, genuinely grateful for the compliments. You’d like to think that you’d be able to handle it if you had to cook for a girl, and this was as good an affirmation as any. AJ then asks you, in a tone that betrayed it being on her mind for some time:
“So, what are your plans for summer?”
“Me? Oh, uh, I don’t know. I’m supposed to find a job, so I can be set up for after I graduate.” You add, with distaste: “My dad was gonna set me up at the firm, get me an internship or something. To be honest, I don’t really want to.” Granny appears more attentive at this last bit, more so than the usual interest she displays.
“You don’t like that kinda work?” She asks.
“Not at all. It’s so boring, and seems so purposeless. Like, what’s even the point, you know?” The two ladies at the table nod slowly, the AJ seems to pick up where Granny left off.
“So what kind of work are you looking for?”
“I don’t know, something more physical, hopefully. Ooh!” Your eyes open wide as you recall one pleasant experience from long ago “I wanna work with cars. My best friend, Steven, I told you about him, right? Well, his dad’s a mechanic, and he let me help out a couple times. Oh, that was so much fun! I’ve done a little work on my car, just tune-ups here and there, but man I’d kill to do that for a living.” Your blissful gaze rests above any of the conversationalists, set on a glowing memory.
“Didn’t know you liked cars so much,” mumbles Big Mac.
“Well, it’s not cars so much as what’s in them. All those parts, working together to push tons and tons of metal at huge speeds… I mean, how is that not incredible?” Your mechanical affections subside, and you return to the subject at hand. “So I’ll see if he can get me something like that. If not, I’ll look for something that has to do with machinery, maybe something in engineering. If I can’t get an internship or job like that, then I’ll do the internship with my dad.” You end on a lower note and a mournful face, a wish unspoken. AJ and Granny look at each other with unreadable expressions. Then AJ speaks of her own plans for the summer, working at Sweet Apple Acres. You don’t observe her fixed attention on you, instead listening happily to the sound of her own future. The dinner goes on as such, questions of futures and interests abounding, until you’ve had your fill. You’re excused without dish-duty, and thanked for preparing the meal. Retiring to your room, you fall on your bed, resorting to your good old Gameboy for entertainment. After all the strategizing and heavy conversations about your future, you need some mindless fun.
The bright LED screen transports you into the early evening, sun partly through its descent. The sky still burns yellow on your bed, warming your skin. Sleepiness seeps into you, weighing your body down. Just as your eyes are about to shut from the gravity of your eyelids, your door slams open. Having too little energy to look up at your guest, you settle for listening. Short, light stomps declare the entrance of an angry Apple Bloom. Valuing the sight of her, both in general and for the purpose of consolation, your drag your heavy head to a place where you may see her. Upon engaging the Sisyphean task of upholding your eyelids, you spy her standing before your bed, armed with a grim pout and two fists. Your chest feels crushed at the sight of her pained expression, a tight clenching of your stomach. Your left arm is thrusted out, the opening space below it an invitation to lie with you. She accepts your invitation, sinking into the soft blankets. She squirms into you, left arm resting over your stomach and head nestling into your chest. Her knees bend to keep themselves from falling over the bed, and touch your own legs. Your free arm rises and passes your body, its hand resting on her head, then softly stroking the thick ruffles of crimson. She doesn’t cry, but the stuffy silence tells you all you need to know; she’s not okay. Minutes of your gentle caressing pass before you hazard a soft question:
“What’s wrong?” A short, unhappy grunt precedes her burying her head even further into your chest, slightly shaking her head from left to right. Guess she doesn’t want to say. You share her sigh and let your head fall back, staring at the ceiling above. But your tender touch barely resumes before she tilts her head up, enabling her sad amber eyes to pierce your heart again.
“Diamond Tiara.” You know that name. You’d heard her tell you about that bully from her school at the pool. The evidence of the bullying brings your stomach to a tighter clench, and your hands to slowly formed fists. But your burgeoning desire for comeuppance does not overcome your concern, and with wide eyes you ask her what she’d done.
“She always ruins –*sniff*- everything. Me an’ the other Crusaders were walkin’ around the mall when she came up and started makin’ fun of us. She said that we were losers, and ain’t ever gonna get boyfriends. She said that nobody’d ever love a t-trashy punk, a girl that ain’t half as pretty as her older sister, an some h-hick like me.” Her words catch a few times, and she has to compose herself several times before she continues. “I told her to shut up, but she asked us if any of us had ever been on a date. I didn’t even know we were s’posed to be doing that! Sweetie started trying explain why none of us had ever been asked out, but Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon just laughed at us and walked away.” Immediately you hug her tightly, as if to squeeze out the hurt. You keep silent for a minute, not wanting to speak right away.
“Bloom, you know she was just bein’ mean, right? You girls are beautiful, especially you.” At this, you lift up her chin, forcing her enchanting eyes to look into yours. “I bet you could get any guy in this town, easy as that.” You snap your fingers, illustrating your point.
“Y-you really think so?” The watery eyes fix on you, your next words the foundation of her next mood.
“I absolutely do.” You wonder for a moment, unsure of whether you should leave the testament simple, or explain it. The former has more raw strength, but the latter can better bolster her confidence in the proposition once she’s set upon by doubts. You go the latter route, wanting both to give her reasons to believe you and to verbalize your appreciation for the beauty on your chest. Drawing on every poetic lesson you’ve learned, you set yourself to the task of describing the small goddess.
“I mean, first, your hair is incredible. I’ve never seen a natural crimson like yours, which changes so much by the light it’s under. The darker hues indoors, the brighter rosiness in the light; it’s like the colors of the evening sky, when the sinking sun paints the sky every red it can think of. Your eyes are enchanting, like drops of gold, or two gilded plates too priceless to ever use. Every time I see them, it’s like I’m teetering off the cliff, about to fall headfirst into them. Your skin is the most perfect tan, the kind that all the city girls dream about. You’ve got the cute kind of freckles, the kind that perfectly accent your eyes and cheeks. You’re thin without looking sick, and short without looking like a midget. Trust me Apple Bloom, you are, hands down, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.” You finish your short list with a kiss on her forehead, slightly longer than it needs to be. Her rapt attention is halted when she closes her eyes at your lips’ touch, but her growing blush stays strong. She smiles, but it falters, a streak of unhappiness dashing her attempts to free herself from the bully’s words.
“D-do you really think all that?”
“I do.”
“Then why doesn’t anybody ask me out?” The question throws you; you don’t know enough about the town to give a good answer. Your mind races for an answer from your inadequate knowledge, something to satisfy her insecurity. Then, a thought arises. A question to ask, a wish disguised as a distraction. A wild idea, something every inch of prudence rebels against. But the idea captures you, and before you know it, it falls from your lips.
“Apple Bloom, would you go out with me?” Her eyes are the size of dinner plates, cheeks burning bright red.
“W-what?” Too late to go back now, not that you would. You push on, hoping to either get a yes or make damage control easier. Your tone is easy and light, but your stomach is tight with the fear of rejection. Your heart races, while you try to avoid knowing how much you want this.
“Let me take you out on a date. We’ll go out for dinner and movies, maybe some ice cream or something, and then you can tell Diamond Tiara that you did go on a date. With an incredibly handsome man at that.” She doesn’t chuckle your joke, retaining the same wide-eyed look as before. Burrowing her face once more into the space between your arm and chest, only her eyes are visible, still peeking out at you. You can barely hear her muffled question:
“You really wanna go on a date with me?” You smile and nod your head, feeling an imminent victory. She closes her eyes, and you hear a very suppressed squee. Her eyes open once again, as do her lips, revealing a beautiful smile.
“Ah’ll go get dressed!” And with that, she leaps up and sprints to her room. You’re a little struck, not having thought of when you’d do it, and certainly not thinking it would be immediate. You glance over to the alarm clock. 5:30. Huh, guess this was as good a time as any. You continue sitting on your bed, your mind hesitantly searching for your true motivations for this. Not finding an answer, partially due to your own fear of finding the answer, you stand up and turn your thoughts to those of preparation.
Tense legs ferry you to your dresser, and you open the few drawers you occupy. Your search is stopped halfway when you remember the clothes you’d packed. Everything was casual, save for one suit you packed, on your mother’s warning that you might be expected to go to church. Shaking your head, your mother exits your thoughts, and you pull out the suit. A solid black coat and pants, made thin and light for the warmer months; the color wasn’t particularly suited for the sun, but still, it’d be bearable. It’d been tailored to suit you, one of the few benefits of the wealthy family you had, and fit perfectly. A clean white shirt, and a plain red tie to add a bit of color. You had to admit, this was definitely your favorite suit. You strip off your T-shirt and jeans, replacing it with the comfortable cloth. Then buttoning all but the lowest, you smooth the shirt and coat down. Hmm. There’s a couple creases on it, probably from being folded and jammed into a suitcase. Well, you’ll go check it out in the mirror; you need one to make sure your tie looks right anyway. After that mishap at your junior prom, you make darn sure that you check your tie every time. Heading down to the bathroom, your eyes linger on Bloom’s door, your mind filled with visions of your future date. You enter the bathroom, greeted with an awful sight. Your jacket and pants are filled with creased lines, jagged and straight. Goodness knows how a simple suitcase ride screwed your suit up so badly, but you look atrocious. You hurry over to AJ’s room, the closest Apple, and ask her where the ironing board is.
“Why y’all needing that? And why are you wearing that suit?”
“Gonna go on a date with Apple Bloom.” Like the question that started all of this, the explanation comes out of your mouth before you think. Her slight frown tells you your honesty might not have been so prudent. You chuckle inwardly, realizing that these people may have been rubbing off on you; you never would’ve been so careless before. But you retain some of your mindfulness, and hastily explain:
“She was getting teased about never going on a date, so I figured this oughtta cheer her up. Besides, I thought it’d be fun to hang with, just me and her.” It’s the truth, if not all of it. AJ’s eyes soften, and she nods.
“Well, that’s real nice of you. I can tell you’ve been getting close to her, and I’m glad she’s got another friend who can help her out every once in a while. Same goes for you.” She smiles, happy at the connection between an Orange and an Apple: “So what’re ya gonna do?”
“Eh, get some dinner, then go see a movie.” You pause: “This town does have a movie theatre, right?” She laughs at you, placing her hand on your shoulder.
“Course we do! This town ain’t that small!”
“Cool, cool. So, about that iron…” She looks down at your suit and purses her lips.
“Yeah, you’re definitely gonna need that. C’mon, I’ll show you where it is.” As she leads you to a closet and produces the tools from within, you realize there’s one more thing you need.
“Hey, can I borrow the truck?” She looks up thoughtfully, then shakes her head.
“That’s Big Mac’s, and you’d have to ask him. But Granny’s got an old Caddy in the garage if you wanna use that.” She grins coyly at you, midway through setting up the ironing board: “Me, Ah’d prefer getting taken out in that one.”
“No sh-way! What kind?”
“1987 Fleetwood Brougham, V8, painted grey with a navy blue interior.” Sounds familiar…
“That’s the one that’s real long, right? Like, a foot longer than most of the others?”
“Sure is. An’ it’s got an Astroroof too.”
“… an Astroroof? Like a sunroof?”
“Yup. I think it’s cause it’s bigger. Or they just wanted a fancier name for it. One a’ the two.” You laugh, then thank her for showing you where the iron and ironing board were. As you turn and head back to your room, she asks you:
“Well, aren’tcha gonna use it?”
“Not unless you want me to strip down to my underwear in front of you,” you retort, sending a red flush into her cheeks.
“Nah, I think I’m good there.” You head into your room, change back into your casual clothes, and sling your formalwear onto your arm. As you’re passing Bloom’s room for the third time, you notice the door slightly ajar. Two female voices converse within, and you head right on, not wanting to eavesdrop. Still, your ears are perked, straining to hear what they’re speaking about. You think you hear the word “handsome,” and grin, choosing to believe you heard right.
Your bare feet tread the carpeted floor along the way to the iron, set up far from your room. Your pace is easy, relaxed, as you’ve learned to make it. But another story is told by your less-voluntary portion: your heart beats to the rapid cadence of power metal, while your lungs suck in air as if it were going out of style. Trying to get ahold of yourself, you attempt to slow down your breaths and heart rate, to a moderate amount of success. But you couldn’t deny it: you were excited. Reaching your tools, your drop the coat onto the ironing board and set to work, working long strokes down the sleeves and body. You move it around, making sure you see it from multiple perspectives, so as not to miss anything. Once it looks sleek and flat, you drape it over your shoulders, savoring the sauna-like heat melting your shoulders and back. The pants rise and fall on the table, followed by the shirt, both receiving the same treatment. Then it’s back to the bathroom, fingers crossed for a better looking image than before. You undress, then pull on the still warm pants and shirt, followed by the coat. Oh yeah, you’re looking good. Next step is the tie. Just as you pull your collar up and place it on your neck, where it hangs down both sides, the door bursts open. It’s Apple Bloom.
Your complaint over the intrusion is stopped in your throat; gulping, you gaze entranced at the stunning model in the doorway. She’s wearing a long, black dress, with red accents over a mesmerizing pattern flowing down both of her sides. The linings on the neckline and cuffs are frilly, like a fancy lingerie, with patterns resembling those on her side. Horizontal black lines, so minute that they look almost like grooves in the material, separate the upper chest from the midsection, and such from her hips. Vertical lines cross down the lower half, extending to the bottom, which lies just below her mid-thigh. The lining of this is the same frilly form as that on the neckline and cuffs, but twice as long, the pattern visible on her delicate knees. She wears a small red coat, ending just beneath her pronounced chest, with sleeves barely reaching past her elbows. Her feet are barefoot and her face unpainted, clearly having yet to receive treatment.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t know you were in here.” She cocks her head. “Why are you in here? Do you wear makeup too?” Her tone says she’s joking, so you refrain from mentioning your punk rock phase.
“Just making sure my suit’s fine, an’ my tie’s done right.” You look her in the eye, exuding seriousness. “You don’t want a badly tied tie; it’d put you in a bind.” She leans back, looking you up and down.
“Riiight. Well, you’ll be happy to know that that suit is indeed fine.” She looks to the mirror, mumbling to herself, “F-I-N-E fine.” You smile and turn to the mirror, catching her reflected gaze. She looks away, her cheeks supplying the rouge. Bringing your attention to your tie, you miss her captured stare, following you throughout the whole process. As you pull the larger end through the knot and tighten it up, her body unfreezes. You shake the knot a few times to test the comfortability, then, satisfied, pull your collar back down over it. The top buttons get buttoned, and you’re ready to go. Stepping back, both you and Apple Bloom check you out in the mirror, and reach a positive conclusion. Her lipstick stays an inch from her face, arm stuck while she holds your image in her eyes.
“Alright, I’ll be hanging out in my room whenever you’re ready.” She blinks out of her open-mouthed watch, then murmurs a rapid
“K.” Just as you’re leaving, you lean back in, looking at her partly made-up face. For the third time in just a handful of minutes, her hand freezes in mid-air as she responds to your attention.
“By the way, you look great,” you flirt in a low voice, and exit before she can react. Ok, let’s go through that checklist: Clothes: check. Compliment: check. Money; you back pocket. Not finding it, you realize your failure to transfer it, and retrieve it from the back pocket of the jeans in your arms and make sure you’ve got cash. You do, and you put it into your current back pocket. Check. Ride? You make it to your room, drop off the clothes you’d just changed out of, and make your way to Granny’s room. The door creaks open, revealing a content-looking matron lazily knitting. She’s in a rocking chair covered in complex patterns, reminding you of the pulpit of a cathedral you’d visited whilst in Europe.
“Granny?” She peers up at you, her kind face looking like one of those old saints you’ve read about. Her gracious smile seems to encompass you. You hadn’t noticed until now just how far she’d been from your idea of her: the image of the hateful, bigoted old lady was so unlike her, you could barely believe you’d expected it at all.
“What can I do for you, dear?”
“I’m taking Apple Bloom out for some food and to see a movie; AJ said you had a car I could borrow?”
“Is that so? Well, that sounds awfully nice.” She continues rocking, ever so slightly, in that ancient wooden chair. “Yes, I do. Barely used it since the accident, all those years ago.” Her eyes glaze over, revisiting that tragedy. You heart aches for your ancestor, wishing something could be done to fill the kind of gap that can’t ever be filled. Her pause ends, though your ache doesn’t:
“Ah guess it could use some lovin’, and you seem like the type to do it. You’ll find the keys with the others, on the rack in the kitchen. Can’t miss ‘em.” You smile gratefully at her.
“Thanks Granny,” you reply, then exit into the hallway. Traveling to the kitchen now, you see a rack with four sets of keys, one pair catching your eye. They’re smaller than the others, and noticeable thinner; but more than these, they look as if they’re covered in gold. It’s chipped or peeled off, obviously never being that thick, but you know that these keys were once encased in a tiny layer of gold. There’s two main keys, one square and one circular, as well as a much smaller, less ornamental one. You don’t remember that much about Cadillacs of this year, but you can tell the last is a gas tank key; the others are for the door and ignition, though you can’t remember which is which. Eh, you’ll figure it out. You drop them in your pocket, then go through your list: clothes, money, and transportation. Yup, all good. Heading back to your room, you remember the thinness of your plan: you don’t know where you’ll eat. It won’t look suave at all if you just drive around without a plan. You turn on your heel, and direct yourself towards AJ’s room. A flash of black and red disappears in a shutting door opposite you, probably Apple Bloom having finished her makeup.
“AJ, I need some help.”
“What’s up?”
“I don’t know where to go to eat, or what movie to watch.” You touches her chin with her pointer finger, and looks up, thinking.
“Let’s see... there’s Hey Burger, Ah know she likes that. Red Lobster, if you’re itchin’ for something real fancy. Oh, and Graze; they’ve got some real nice sandwiches there, especially the Sexy Time.” She narrows her eyes before you raise your eyebrows, apparently expecting that reaction. “It’s a sandwich, that’s it. Move on.”
“Sounds like you got teased about that.”
“For days.” She rolls her eyes, an exasperated sigh telling you who it is.
“Apple Bloom?”
“Gee, how’d ya guess that one? Anyway, only good ones out now are Independence Day 2 and Finding Dory. Ah think there’s a civil war one –not the Captain America kind- and some other ones, but I’d go with one of those two.”
“Finding Dory sounds good. The first one was pretty rad.”
“Yeah, Ah thought so too. Uh…” she pulls out her phone, clicking away: “Ok, show times are 7:30 and 8:45.”
“Ok, thanks.” You don’t mean to rush out of there, but Apple Bloom’s waiting.
”Anon, wait.” For the first time this evening, your heart stills, and leadenly drops into your stomach. You freeze a smile on your face, hoping not to show the worry that flows through your every inch
“Sup?”
”You’re sure this is just for fun? This ain’t you tryin’ to get.. Ah dunno, closer to Apple Bloom, or anything like that?” Ok, her face looks only moderately concerned, slightly apologetic, probably from the accusation. Think, Anon, think. What do you say? Best guess: press on that guilt, give her the same answer
“Yeah, I AM trying to get closer to Apple Bloom. She’s my cousin, and right now, just about the best friend I have. She looked unhappy, and I thought I could repay her, if just a small amount, for everything she’s done for me. She reached out to me, and now I’m reaching out to her.” This first part comes out a little snappy, but it wouldn’t work any other way. “AJ, I’m not trying to court your sister; I’m just being a friend when she needs one. Just like you and Bloom were to me.” This comes out sweeter, a kinder plea, which serves the double function of finishing your explanation on a positive note and assuaging your guilt for playing on AJ’s own. The firm response and the gentle follow up both serve to draw out the apology written in her face. After a moment, she verbalizes the expression
”Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I just get kinda protective about Apple Bloom, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“It’s fine,” you reply, a heavy weight lifted off your chest. You smile with nearly unforced carelessness, then remind her you’ve got to finish getting ready. Leaving, you realize you don’t have anything else to do. Heading back to your room, you try to plan the night out in your head, all the conversation topics and things you could do. Man, these things take a lot more time than you remembered. Or maybe it just feels that way, on account of the short time you have.
Entering your room, the figure on your bed immediately steals your attention. Apple Bloom, a vision in black and red, sits coyly on the edge, swaying legs crossed. A small bow, dipped in the flaming hues of the evening’s light, hung on her hair, just up and to the left of her left eye. Regal curls hung about her lightly bronzed face, framing the Aphrodite within it. Shadows darkened the shining coils and twists, a dim auburn making its way through the ever fading light of day. Her cheeks lightly brushed with rouge, a pair of blazing embers echoing the luscious lips that warm you so. The deep, flaming hues she adopts is perfectly complemented with the paler skin, like luminous sand containing howling bonfires. Her dazzling eyes, the hearth’s furnace that could capture hours of stares, was bordered by thick coal-black lashes, dragging in any observer to be trapped by that entrancing amber. Holy lips opened to reveal priceless pearls, the illimitable value of a Venus’ happiness. And like a camper to his crackling fire, he was loathe to leave it, wishing to stay gazing into that very particular magic for eternity. But twice, now thrice he was called, a giggling glee from a girl who didn’t mind the awe of her star struck admirer. But though your eyes managed to tear free from your reverie, your heart remained ignited, your whole body feeling ablaze.
“Anoon? Earth to Anon?”
“Uh- Hey. Sup?” A coy smile and flirtatiously blinked eyes threaten to enrapture you once more, but you fight it off. “Ready to go?”
“Yup!” Her excitement in jumping off the bed surprises you; the sudden motion and the vibrant energy within was shocking. It was as if a marble statue of Aphrodite were to suddenly wink at you, or take your hand and lead you into some lustful tango. Accommodating yourself to the vigorous life of an animate goddess, you recall the proper treatments, and hold out your arm. Beaming up at you, she takes it, and you’re on your way. Down to the Cadillac you escort her, opening her door as any true gentleman would. After a brief interruption caused by using the wrong key, of course. Two coughs cover up your embarrassed look, and you cross the car and enter the driver’s side. Fitting the key into the ignition, you notice that delightful embrace of the soft leather holding you. Lounging back, you feel the engine hum to life, taking a moment to appreciate the smoothness of the car. Hulking, aged beast that it is, a pseudo-limo, it feels and sounds like a much newer, much tinier car. Your turn aside to your precious partner, both of you immediately grinning like kids finding home on a playground. You shift into reverse, and the purring behemoth slide out the open garage. One more turn, and you accomplish that greatest of American dreams: driving off into the sunset.
On the open road, she prophesies a right-turn five minutes from now, to bring you into the town proper. Trusting her here, as you would anywhere, you affirm her directions and set your plans accordingly. And so you drive, sinking deep into your cushy seat, a veritable lounge chair that found its way into a car. You take a moment to appreciate the smoothness of the ride, only the smooth rumbling of the engine and the dated road filling the air. The thin grip of the wheel, not those fat explosions of cheap material that other cars have, but a smooth circle fitting perfectly in hand. You tilt your seat back, a laid-back position an absolute staple of a knowing driver in a luxury car like this. But your enjoyment of the treasure you drive transitions to the background as your focus shifts to the beloved girl not two feet from you. She stretches out, legs extended, and with her right arm lazily lain on the door’s armrest. Her left arm crosses the armrest in the middle, delicate fingers dangling in the air between yours and hers. Her head tilts slightly downward, eyes sleepily locked on you. Your cheeks almost hurt by how much this girl makes you grin. Slyly, you engage in a devious plot; taking the wheel in your left hand, you drop your right hand onto your armrest, hanging you hand not an inch away from hers. Oops, did I accidently shift it to be a little closer? Oh, did the turn of this car cause my hand to slide a little bit, touching yours? My goodness, did your hand end up sliding between my thumb and fingers? Gosh, are we holding hands? Well, that’s so weird. Well, it really can’t be helped at this point; might as well just keep doing it. She mirrors your mischievous smile, possibly catching onto your ingenious plan. But her hand is in yours, so the uncovering fails to bother you.
Just then, a forgotten question shucks off its status, returning to the front of your mind. The important detail shames you at having missed it into your execution of the plan.
“So, there’s a couple places we can go, and I haven’t really decided. I’ve been hearing good things about Holy Crepes, but I’ve always been a pretty big fan of P. F. Flanks. Red Lobster’s my personal favorite, but Texas Roadhouse is pretty high up
there too. Oh, and I think there’s one place you’ll really enjoy.” Her hard concentration breaks as she asks
“What?” You crinkle your eyes and direct them to hers, smirking heavily:
“Applebees.” She narrows her eyes, sending a light punch into your gut with the hand previously holding yours. Luckily, it returns to yours, the cool fingers weaving through yours, distracting you from the hurt.
“Uhff! Okay, okay, we don’t have to go there.” You chortle through the mild pain in your side. It looks like she’s even chuckling a bit too, though she’d never admit it. Back into deep thought she returns, touching the pointer finger of her right hand to her chin in the same way her older sister does.
“Hmmmmm.” After a steady amount of time, the best Apple nods, coming to a confident decision: Texas Roadhouse.” You nod at her, happy with the decision.
“Texas Roadhouse it is.” In a second, her hand –the right, her left hand is still attached to your right- reaches to the radio, and turns it on. For the second time this week, you’re faced with RaeLynn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T551UQYQU2g. You sigh, trying to keep your cringing grimace from being seen. The low light of the car helps hide it, while the jubilant singing of Apple Bloom and the continual glances at you during the chorus help diminish the distress over having to listen to country. Her hand leaves yours as she does her best to dance in the passenger seat, but the perfect happiness of her short-range dancing is enough to remove any misery that might have resulted.
At the end of her rocking out, you place your forearms on the wheel, and clap with your now-freed hands. She sends another radiant grin your way, and takes a little bow.
“Alright, it’s my turn.” You press the seek button, looking for a better station. Pop, pop, alternative (pop), hard rock, classic rock, pop… what’s this?
“Weeeelcome back to Rewind 92.5, WREE! All oldies, all the time! Next up we’ve got the late, great, king of Dixeland, B-B-Bob Crosssby!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ir1A74UA2YE. Oh, heck yes. Apple Bloom looks at you questioningly, questioning your taste in music.
“Oldies? Really?
“Ain’t nothing wrong with ol’ Bob Crosby,” you respond, between your staggered singing of the half-remembered song.
“You realize this is the kind of thing Granny listens to, right?”
“Well, now it’s the kind of thing Granny and your awesome cousin listens to.” She chuckles just a bit, watching you belt out as much as you can. At the end, she joins you, drawing out the final refrain in her adorable little voice. The two of you continue flipping stations, singing along with whatever songs stayed on. The exquisitely formed car continues gliding into the town proper, open windows accepting the warm air of the incoming summer night. The blackening fields yield to lighted houses, then yielding to the bright signs of stores. Indistinguishable figures zip by, the out-of-focus blurs having no cognizance of the two riders in that beautiful car, and the destiny that connected them. Like a space shuttle, the laughing kids traveled as if through empty space, the immense importance and happiness of both thrusting all else into an inconsequential nothingness. The car streaked along the sparse streets, faint music and wind-combatting hands leaving the window and cutting into that pleasant night air. A final turn brings the two partners into the parking lot of Texas Roadhouse.
You turn the car off, then get out. As she crosses over to you on the way in, she reaches for your hand. Instead of taking it, you cover her shoulder with your arm, then pull her close. Appreciating the intimacy, she leans into you, both arms encircling the middle of your chest. Her face pulls close to your body, and you swear she just smelled you. Good thing you remembered to shower and use deodorant today. Looking down at the girl attached to you, you beam at her, simultaneously grateful that she somehow finds you worth attaching to and proud of being worth such invaluable attention. She looks up at you, matching your ecstatic expression, and the two of you enter into the restaurant. Sat down by a server, you’re asked if she can start you off with anything. Glancing at the menu, you order a Pepsi and some Cheese Fries to start you off. The first is denied, and Coke is offered in its place. You shrug and agree; your date mirrors your drink order, told that she’d be sharing the appetizer. The server disappears into the already quiet restaurant, and the two of you are left alone with your dinner options.
“Whaddya thinking?”
“Well, this Pulled Pork Dinner looks good, but it’s a tad expensive.” You can tell she’s testing the waters, seeing what she can order. It doesn’t bother you; you’ve had to do that a couple times when others offered to buy you food. Also, you got to give her the best answer possible:
“Bloom, don’t worry about the price. I’m loaded.” Not expecting this answer, you’re greeted with a disbelieving look.
“Really?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, my parents are pretty rich, and they’re big fans of the give-the-kids-money-and-they’ll-shut-up approach, so… yeah.” She can tell you’re having trouble focusing on the good fortune over the unfortunate source of it, and tries to displace your attention.
“Well then, I’ll get that. What are you looking at?” She finds no hesitation in your answer.
“Porterhouse T-Bone.” The suddenness of the answer causes her to laugh a bit at your solid response.
“You’re pretty confident in that, huh?”
“It’s a steak. It’s a T-Bone. That’s all there is to it.” The two of you talk idly while the server returns with the appetizer. Minor lapses occur, when one of the parties trails off in their speaking or fails to listen, instead dreamily staring at the other partner, neither of which could be bothered by the compliment. How she came to be so interested in your appearance, and so evidently pleased, was not quite certain to you; you didn’t look bad, but you’d never considered yourself the apple of anyone’s eye. As the thought passes through your head, you make note of it, knowing the pun would be worth pulling out later. Your date, however, was unequivocally the best girl you’ve taken out: the adorable laugh and voice, the majesty of her dress and makeup, the easy and intimate conversation and connection, it was almost too perfect to believe. Her looks and personality, the combination of simple kindness and the elegance of her outfit did not clash, but came together perfectly, reminding one of those carefree, fair princesses in children’s storybooks. The nobility of her outfit and virtuous kindness, which you had not seen stop for one moment, made her seem royal, and deservedly so, not like some usurper king or scheming aristocrat. The memory of her calling you’re her knight, and before that, her noble steed, cross your mind, and you take an immense pleasure in imagining yourself either. To serve her… your thoughts trail off, your eyes once again blissfully stuck on her dignified countenance.
Conversation and ogling halts as the steaming pile of fries, covered in cheese and bacon liberally piled on it. The two of you, more famished than either of you had realized, dug in. The white plate beneath the food is quickly and steadily uncovered, and both parties sit back, satisfied. The conversation resumes as the mostly empty plate is pushed to the side.
“So, what are your plans for the summer?”
“Well, mostly looking for a job that doesn’t suck. Something to do with cars or something. You were there for that, right?” She nods. “Yeah, that’s… really the only thing I have planned. Probably just call on some pals and tear up the town.” A confusing look appears on her priceless face.
“Ah don’t really know what that means…”
“Oh, uh…” You pause, trying to figure out what exactly it is you do. “Just going to clubs and whatnot. Drink, maybe a bit more…” You trail off, not particularly fond of sharing this part of your life with Apple Bloom. “I dunno, whatever people do when they hang out. It’s more about the people than the activity, know what I mean?” She nods her head vigorously.
“Exactly! That’s why hanging out with Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle is always so much fun! Even if we end up in trouble or making a mess, we always enjoy it.” You nod your head, happy that she gets it.
“Yeah, as long as you’re with good friends, just about anything can be fun.”
“So who’re your friends?” Uh. You weren’t prepared for that either.
“Well, I guess there’s Zach and Taylor. They live pretty close to me, and our parents know each other from work. I guess they’re ok...” Apple Bloom raises an eyebrow at this, sensing your hesitance to call them friends. You respond, deciding honesty is the better course in this situation. “I guess the only real friends I had were Katrina and Carl. I’m not super close with them any more though.” Her eyes, wide and open, draw you out, as if telling you to go on.
“I met them both in sophomore year, in the band. I think they were dating at the time, but they weren’t super serious. Anyway, I got real close to both of them, and we’d hang out every day after school, talking about anything: metaphysics, our parents, emotional problems, and so forth. They’d broken up sometime around then, but they were still really good friends. Anyway, we would talk for hours on end, either one-on-one or all three of us.” You laugh, interrupting the story when you recall the next part. “We’d usually walk as we did it, and forget where we were going. Like, one time me and Katrina were getting really into this conversation about cloning, and then this real loud, gruff voice starts screaming at us. Turns out we’d wandered right into a construction site, right as they were going home for the night, without even knowing!” Apple Bloom snickers at the predicament; you continue once her attention’s returned.
“Yeah, stuff like that happened all the time. We’d end up miles from our homes, right when night was falling. Once I interrupted Carl to point out this straight up commando-looking dude marching towards us, all decked out in camo and everything. I still don’t know what it was, cause we just up and ran.” Now Apple Bloom’s looking almost shocked, afraid for past-you’s safety.
“You what?? Anon, that could have been some big ol’ military thing? That guy coulda shot you or sumthin’!” You aren’t catch the concern, instead noticing how her accent grows more pronounced when she gets surprised or emotional about something.
“It’s fine, Bloom. I mean, I’m ok now, right.”
“Ah guess… Watch where you’re going from now on, though!” You laugh, but remain appreciative of her concern.
“Alright, Apple Bloom. I promise.” You hold out your pinkie, offering the unbreakable promise of your youth.
“Cross your heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in your eye?” You stare at her for more than a few second, uncomprehending. It takes you a second to voice your absolute lack of understanding.
“W-What?” She revels in her ownership of a mystery, and the resulting puzzlement, before deciding to reveal her secret.
“It’s a very special promise that my friend Pinkie made up. It’s literally unbreakable.” Wide eyes of credulity and a fervent head nod make you wonder whether she’s being serious or not. Even so, you’ll humor her.
“Ok, I cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a-
“Wait!”
“What?”
“You gotta do the motions!” She repeats the promise, crossing her heart, making wings with her hands, Napoleon Dynamite style, and hits her eye with a palm in accordance with the three vows. Man, this was some pretty serious business.
“Ok, ok. I cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a… cupcake… in my eye.” You go along with the motions as she did them, much to her delight.
“Okay, now that that’s settled, tell me what happened with Carl and Katrina.” Oh yeah; you’d kinda forgotten about them.
“Well, Katrina started flirting with me, more than a little bit. We never really got anywhere, just a couple makeouts, but like, it still made things a bit weird. Then I guess she went back to Carl, cause they started hanging out a lot more. Anyway, we just kinda drifted apart. I still talk to them now and then, but it just isn’t the same.
“Ah- Ah’m sorry, Anon.” Turning to Apple Bloom, the lovely girl restores your spirits, letting you see the warmer side of the memory.
“It’s alright,” you assure her, not really broken up about the memory. “And even though it faded out, I still had some great times with them. I didn’t love them quite as much as you guys.” You pause, distracted by her massive smile at this, “but I did care about them a lot. And for a while, they really cared about me too.” She reaches over to your hand, laid on the table, and grasps it.
“Ah’m sure they did. Y’know, I’m real glad you had some friends back home; I- we were a bit worried you didn’t have any, you know, actual friends.”
“Well, you know how it goes; good friends come and go. But why don’t we talk about something else. Like, your plans for the summer. I’m sure they’re much better than mine.” She laughs, but doesn’t affirm the clear truth.
“Well, we got Apploosa coming up,” she says with excitement. “That’s the big Apple family get-together. Oh my gosh, it’s so much fun! There’s dancing, and singing, and apples!” Her face falls a bit when she thinks of your absence: “Wish you could be there, though…” You smile reassuringly.
“Hey, maybe I could come back down for that. When is it.”
“About two weeks from now.” You nod, touching your finger to your lip. Her eyes notice, tracking the motion. She looks perplexed for a minute, trying to figure out why the motion looks familiar; then triumph, when she does recall.
“Yeah, I think I’ll be able to do that.” She smiles wide, both because of your imitation and future plans.
“Awesome!” Right then the main entrée comes along, great piles of meat placed before shining, eager faces. And again the conversation pauses as the two of you devour your meals. Oh man, this is absolutely delicious. Halfway through and slowing down, you remind yourself to come back here again. Slowing down, you set the rest of your meal aside to be boxed for later. No way was this going to waste. Looking across the table, you find your date slowing down as well. The ravenous feast subsiding, you ask her something that’s been on your mind.
“So, how did the Cutie Mark Crusaders get formed?” She beams, and after wiping off her face with the napkin, begins the retelling. You can just feel the excitement exuding from her, like water off a girl climbing out of the pool.
“It all started back in the sixth grade. Wait.” She stops herself, shaking her head. “No no no, let me start again. Ok, so I told ya about Cutie Marks, right?”
“Yeah, a little picture symbolizing your purpose or dream.” She nods seriously, your definition found acceptable.”
“That’s it. So what we do is go over to Rarity’s –she does all the fashion stuff- and we tell her what our purpose is, what we’re gonna do. Sometimes you get a little image in your head, and you tell describe that for her. Then she’ll make a little badge for you. But it’s usually only the kids that wear those; adults keep em somewhere safe, and get the symbol sewn onto pieces of clothing, possessions, you name it. So that’s important for later.
“In third grade, everyone in my class but me had their own Cutie Mark, and those girls Ah was telling ya about kept pickin’ on me. Wait no, there was one other girl who didn’t have hers. Anyway, we got teased a ton, and it was just awful! Diamond Tiara was having a party celebrating hers, and Ah was gonna try to get one for myself. Rainbow Dash told me that the key was to try as many things as possible as quickly as possible, so Ah did a whole buncha stuff with her and Pinkie, but nothing’ felt right. Ah even tried lying to Rarity, saying Ah got mine in cupcake makin’. Ah think she found me out though, cause she got all squinty an’ asked me to demonstrate. An’, uh,” she looks sheepishly to the side, “that didn’t turn out so good.
“So Ah was just gonna not go, but they were holding the party at Rarity’s! Where Ah was! Ah have no idea how everyone got there without me seein’, but there was a whole mess a people between me an’ the door! Ah tried sneakin’ out, you know, hiding under tables and whatnot, but then AJ,” at the mention of the then-impending obstacle, Apple Bloom glares in the direction of home, “AJ blocks my exit, an pushes me back in! Diamond Tiara an’ Silver Spoon were right there! So Ah told em that Ah did have one, an’ they asked if they could see it; Ah had a Power Rangers badge in my pocket, a little sticker thing, so Ah-“ You hold up a hand, not letting that slide.
“Hold on a sec. You were carrying around a sticker of a Power Rangers badge.” She nods, and tries to continue.
“Yup, so-“
“Apple Bloom, why did you have a sticker of a Power Rangers badge?”
“Cause Power Rangers are awesome!” She shouts, a little too loud. Seeing the stares of the two other patrons, a faint blush makes its way through the already red cheeks. “Now, if you don’t mind me finishin’…
“Ah almost fooled em; those girly girls probably ain’t ever heard of anything cool in their lives. But then that gosh darn Snips came up, all ‘Cool sthticker, Apple Bloom! I didn’t know you liked Power Rangerth!’” she imitates a lisping, nasally voice. “An then they found out! Just when Ah was about to be the laughingstock of Ponyville, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle came to my rescue. They told off Diamond Tiara, and everyone suddenly thought we were cool! We decided right then we were gonna be best friends forever, and made a secret club dedicated to finding our purpose in life.” She ends with a little flourish and a bow.
“That’s awesome, Apple Bloom! Man, I can see why you’re such good friends with them.” She nods proudly,
“Yup! The best part is, they were transferring into my school the next Monday, so we all gotta sit next to each other! We still haven’t found out what we’re all supposed to do,” she frowns slightly, obviously not unaffected by the failure. “But you know what? Ah’ve had some a the best times of my life with those girls, and Ah’m gonna have even more fun in the future!”
“Sounds like your group’s a success then.”
“That’s how Ah’m seeing it. Ah used to be real bothered, not knowing what Ah’m gonna do, or if Ah even have that special talent.” Her gaze grimly focuses on the table, but only temporarily. She looks up towards you, filled with determination: “But we’re gonna find it!”
“Well, I don’t think you gotta worry too much about not finding your special thing, Apple Bloom. Most of the people I know don’t have a clue what they’re gonna do, or what they wanna be.” Your server comes and clears your table, except for a couple boxes for your leftovers. You make use of them, then check your watch: 6:45. You still had another forty-five minutes to be at the theatre, thirty if you count bein’ there early.
“Hey, we still got some time. Wanna get some ice cream?” She pats her stomach, making a displeased face at the thought of more food.
“Right now, Ah’m stuffed. But how about after the movie?”
“Yeah, sounds good. But we still got, like, half an hour to kill. What do you wanna do?”
“Well, there’s a little arcade by the theatre? Ah hear that’s pretty fun.” It sounds pretty fun to you.
“That sounds good to me.” You set down some money in the black leather foldy-thingy the server left you, the bill and a handsome tip, and head out. She’s a few steps ahead of you, so you call out:
“Hey, what’re you doing?” She whips around, looking confused. “You just gonna walk out of here without your escort?” You get up next to the giggling girl and offer your arm. Taking on a posh accent, she says
“Oh, why thank you, good sir. I can’t imagine how I could’ve forgotten! What ever would I do without you?”
“Oh good heavens I haven’t the slightest idea, my dear!” The two of you look at each other, and break out in simultaneous noblewoman laughs:
“Oh ho ho ho ho! Oh ho ho ho! Oh hohohohohohoo!” Seeing the patrons and associates staring at you, you pick up the pace:
“Come on, let’s get out of here before they throw us out.” She giggles again, and the two of you powerwalk over to the gray sedan. Strapping yourself into the seats, you drive out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Your date leans heavily on her left armrest, golden eyes settled firmly on you. Her body faces you, the small red coat slightly open, framing her chest in a way that makes your own tighten. Noticing the rapt, undeserved attention centered on your face, you lean back a little more and jut your chin out a tad, like the cool kids do. Yeah, I don’t think this is working. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to be aware of your failure, or perhaps she just doesn’t care. Glimmering eyes still shinning, the melodious notes of her southern voice request stories.
“Ah wanna hear more about the city, Anon. Tell me what you do for fun. Like, if we were there right now, what we be doing?” Man. You know what, enough about you. You mean, you love yourself and all, but it feels like a huge chunk of this trip has been wasted on every detail of your life. You’re willing to spend so much time focusing on yourself for the sake of entertaining her, but you’ve gone pretty far past your preferences. There’s a girl, a vision wreathed in the colors of a roaring fire, beside you; no way are you gonna saturate this date with chatter about you when you could focus on here.
“Apple Bloom, I feel like I’ve been constantly telling everyone about myself this whole week. How about you tell me more about you, instead?” Her eyes seem slightly regretful, partially due to her failure to achieve another story and to her worry that she’s made you uncomfortable. She purses her lips, and hesitantly agrees.
“Fine, but what am Ah gonna talk about?” You shrug your shoulders, gaze darting off the road and onto the radiance in the passenger seat, then back.
“I don’t know, anything. Something you did, something you like to do…” You head moves up and down as you throw out ideas, knowing anything about her will be worth hearing. She faces forward, turning her body back to the windshield. The warm light of the interior lights, located just below and in front of the seat, gives the thinking figure a faint glow. The light is brighter towards the source, the girl’s outline growing fainter as it runs to her head, but illuminating the spotless legs. They almost looked white, or a lightly browned silver in the soft glow . The smooth legs were crossed, kicking ever so slightly as she thought of a story. A grinding rumble tears you away from your cousin’s lithe, perfect legs. As the boring road jerks itself into view, you sullenly accept the necessity of staring at the black and yellow picture, rather than the much lovelier image of Apple Bloom. As you inwardly lament your ocular setback, your ears run into their own fortune.
“Ah got it!” You feel excited, the impending story somehow sending your heart beating faster. You blame it on the night; dates always brought out the romantic in you. That’s pretty much half of their purpose anyway. Still, you can’t suppress that small part of you that holds the undefeatable truth: you are captivated by this girl.
“What is it?”
“Well, I’ll tell you what Ah did today.”
“Sure, I’d love to hear it.” Your focus drifts of her for a moment, as you remark to yourself the influence the Apples have had on you. That sentence would never sincerely come from you before; what are these people doing to you?
“Alright, so I was supposed to meet Scootaloo at her house, right around 12:00…”
This game’s harder than you thought it’d be. You stare intensely at the board, trying to remember all the rules. To be honest, you were kinda preoccupied at the time Anon was explaining the rules. To be fair, it was by his voice, but you couldn’t be blamed for that, could ya? Every once in a while that tone a his would hit this level; you couldn’t really explain it, but it just caught you all up. All you could do was just nod along, hoping those entrancing notes would continue. Still, you were left without a clue what you where supposed ta be doin’. Now where do Ah put my ship this time? Huh. Come on, Anon, why’d ya hafta pull out the one game in our cupboard that Ah haven’t played before? About to tug on your cousin’s shirt for help, you notice the clock behind him: “1:10.” Wait, weren’t you s’posed to be… Oh no!
“Oh no! Ah was supposed to meet Scootaloo ten minutes ago!” Your big sister immediately jumps up, running into the kitchen. You’re in close pursuit, your thoughts all devoted to worry. What if she left without you? What if you were a bad friend? You shake your head, feeling you’re the small ribbons of your bow tickle your face. No, you’re not gonna fall into that trap again. You’ve wigged out too many times over nothing to not learn anything. A firm nod of determination forces the last specters of anxiety from the front of your mind, and you jump into the waiting car.
“Hold on,” the heavier voice of AJ comes, your hands automatically clinging to the armrests of the Big Mac’s truck. You can hear her foot on the gas pedal before the engine roars, followed by the car swerving out of the garage and into the dirt road leading up to the house. The sudden motion, even though you’re used to it by now, still elicits a small “eep!” from you. As the kicked up dirt forms low clouds in the rearview mirror, a small bit of your heart sinks upon seeing the shrinking house. You didn’t say goodbye to Anon. Just a small thing, sure. But you wish you had.
Minutes later, speed limits sacrificed by your older sister’s sympathy for your goals, the truck coughs a dying breath in front of Scoot’s house.
“Are ya sure you got everything?” your sister says, always looking out for you. You can’t help but laugh at her sticking to the presently needless tradition.
“Ah don’t need anything, so yeah, Ah think I’m fine.” Your sister tries to force a frown outta that smile. Even she knows she can be a bit silly at times.
“Well alrighty then. You have fun now, y’hear?”
“Wait a minute!” You think for a minute, then stop your request short: “Nevermind. See ya, sis!” Turning away from your older sister’s confusion, you hop up the stone steps to the house. The screen door dangles from a couple screws, all located at the top left. You pull it out of the way, using a nearby plant to keep it from swinging back at you. Ignoring the numerous treasure’s your friend’s family has accumulated, you enter into the living room. Hairy legs protrude from the couch, a few grey wisps over a sparkling dome appearing just over its armrests.
“Hi, Mr. Dash!” A vague grunting tumbles over the blue leather, potentially an answer. “Is Scootaloo here?” Another ominous wheeze floats over to your ears, definitely an answer, definitely not English. Just when your fears of a failed hang-out return, AJ’s friend makes her way through a clogged hallway, pizza box in hand. Tossing it near the trash, she notices you fidgeting by her father’s couch.
“Hey Apple Bloom,” the tomboyish voice yawns, hand outstretched and ready to tussle your hair. You duck out of the way; not this time, Dashie! Her hand retracts automatically, the owner’s failure to notice showing the motion to be unconscious. “You looking for Scoots?”
“Yeah, is she here?” You timidly ask, hoping she is.
“Nope.” NO! “She said to tell you she’s at your, uh… secret place. Oh, and Sweetie was able to make it too.” YES.
“Cool, thanks Dash.” You dodge the treasures stacked up as high as you, and leap through the remains of the sliding glass door. Moments later the crunch of your shoes on broken glass and concrete gives way to the soft thumping of grass. Making sure not to tread on any of the brightly covered flowers popping out of the colorful property, you run into the forest beyond.
This was already going better than you’d thought it would; you were sure Sweetie wouldn’t be able to make it. As your legs propel you over a log in the path, you grin at the momentary feeling of weightlessness. You’d ran through these woods often, though rarely without your friend. Running had always been a tremendous joy for you, the feel of your legs pumping and springing forward holding a particular kind of freedom that could always be relied upon. It was no secret that you felt cooped up by this town, sometimes in your own home; Scootaloo felt the same way. And so the two of you had decided to run together, through fields and forests, anywhere that bore the possibility of holding something new. The forest had almost been mapped out in your heads, the time to cover old ground rushing towards you. But that didn’t bother you too much; for one, you’d loved every minute you’d flown through the thick leaves, and the forest was so big that old ground might feel new. But there was something else the wood had brought you.
About two years ago, the two of you had found a small clearing, not five minutes out from the house. It wasn’t big, just a rough circle of thin trees with a diameter of about 30 feet. The trees thickened around the perimeter, making it somewhat hard to get into; they were hard to get by, and thick bushes lied around it, further isolating that circle. As it wasn’t so thick (the forest was pretty full, anyway), one’s path would naturally get routed around it, unless some adventurous spirit called them to brave the branches and bushes. So far, only you and Scootaloo had been called by that urge to conquer ever inch of the wild, and you’d never found a trace of another in that area. But the spot was so much more than that natural perimeter. The trees surrounding it didn’t have intruding branches, leaving the area ceiling-less. So in that wide area, the sun shone unhindered, one of the few places in the forest where such a wide area of uninterrupted light could be found. Scootaloo swore it was man-made, though you weren’t so sure. Maybe nature, or God, set aside this little place, just for the two of you. Well, make that three. After you’d found it, it become the spot for your secret clubhouse.
Rejecting the notion of any outside help, the three of you had spent countless days working on this area. One entrance had been opened, the trees and foliage around it trimmed and cut, leaving a short entrance for the short residents. A blanket had been covered with glue and tape (Sweetie Belle and Scoots couldn’t decide which was superior), and then bushels of leaves dropped on it, followed by similar coats. This was hung on the trees on either side of the entrance, creating a surprisingly effective secret entrance. A couple tents had been pitched, then fused together, a nylon Frankenstein rising from the grass. This two had been systematically covered with leaves and refuse from bushes, so as not to alert any outsider’s to its presence. Within, furtive meetings were led, mysterious crushes announced, and classified Cutie Mark escapades executed.
One remnant from the last of these remained, a large garden constantly added to. A pump was brought in, along with a large container; with it, you could siphon water from the nearby stream and bring it back into the container. There was a hose too, and with the pressure brought in by the pump, you could spray the plants, if only for a couple minutes. The idea was all yours, and you were darn proud of it; watering with cans took way too long, and needed like, a hundred trips to the river and back. So you’d gotten just a little mechanical advice from Big Mac, who totally didn’t expect anything, and fixed it up yourself.
Your mind turns back to the lush forest around you, and open your mouth in wonder at the sight created. Moving into the thicker part of the forest, the light had taken on a strange tone, one that never ceased to amaze you. Staring up at the scattered canvas of greens and browns, with just enough light flowing through the gaps, the world had taken on a kind of mid-day twilight. The dense foliage and greenery around you did not look like some plain forest in the day, but such as touched by that particular magic of dusk or dawn. It was a darkness filling your vision, but not the coal-black or shadowy kind; rather, it was a very restrained filter, the point before the eyes had to squint. Only this particular sight was prolonged, being caused by the partial blocking of the potent sun by the mild roof of leaves, rather than a failing sun falling.
This must be what the explorers felt like, those who’d lived their whole life in one place and found another fundamentally different. For no matter how many times you’d seen this strange half-light, you found yourself the recipient of a mysterious burst of energy. You were taught early on the wonder of the Earth, the beauty of God’s creation. And it was a lesson that stuck; everywhere you went you searched for that unique property that made a place special, and very rarely you failed to find it. You always feel kind of silly and old-fashioned when you told people it, but you couldn’t bare not to share this needless secret: life was incredible. It was unclear why the beauty of this place, or any place for that matter, was made private, something unusual to notice, even by those who lived there. What could you do but try to share it, to uncover the beauty inherent in everywhere God worked?
But today, your thoughts were not on philosophy. Today, you were a girl running in paradise, and there was nothing you’d rather be. Invigorated by the perfection surrounding you, your legs accelerated, moving forward by leaps and bounds. You couldn’t help but to laugh gaily as you did so, running your hand across the outstretched leaves that lined the walkway. A tall, fallen log had set itself in your way, and like every time, you grinned as you prepared to clear it. Two feet away, you take one slower step, crouching down with it; then extend! You push the ground with all the might in your legs, and spring over the obstructer with practiced ease. You raise your arms in triumph, letting out a small “woo” through your heavy breathing. Not long after you see a landmark declaring the end of your journey.You could hear the spray in the distance, confirming the base’s close proximity to you.
Not too long after, the entrance appeared in its distance, your eye trained to catch the trees near it. You run up to it, and duck under the heavy curtain. There you see your two best friends in the whole wide world. Sweetie Belle is setting up a tall mirror, which looks as if it folds in half. Near to her, leaning against one of the tent walls, is a thick roll of shiny material, looking somewhat like aluminum foil, except it’s almost three feet long and six inches thick. Your gaze wonderingly lingers on it, then passes to the other girl. Scootaloo stands casually over the thick flora coating most of the inner perimeter. Her back is to you, her head turned to the left, as she speaks with Sweetie. The weak deluge is missing the plants entirely, falling instead on the trees behind. Immediately you rush over to the nozzle of the jury-rigged container, and turn off the water.
“Come on, Scootaloo! You’re gonna waste all the water!” You chide her, remembering the struggle of bringing the water up from the stream.
“Oh. Sorry.” She responds, also recalling the need to be careful. She drops the house on the ground. “So Sweetie Belle had a different idea for today than we did.” You turn over to Sweetie, who’s successfully set up the mirror, just tall enough for each of you to see yourself in.
“Ah’m guessing it has something to do with that mirror.”
“Not exactly,” Scootaloo replies, pointing to the large roll of the reflective material. Closer to it now, you can see your reflection more clearly. It’s a lot closer to a mirror than foil, your semi-sharp features visible on the surface of it, though somewhat warped due to the curvature of the roll.
“Nope! That’s just because we need a little more homey feelings around here. Also, we could see if our Cutie marks are in make-up, or fashion!” Her voice squeaks, not unlike yours, on that last syllable. Scootaloo looks at you with both a grimace and eyes hoping you feel the same. You return the look; makeup and fashion are fine and all that, but it ain’t really your thing. Ah mean, for special occasions, yeah, but you aren’t aiming to make it a common thing.
“Alright, so what were you thinking?”
“Well, instead of seeing if we could get our Cutie Marks in, uh, long-distance hiking,” her displeasure at the prospect is nearly palpable, “we could try dancing!” Scoots is skeptical, but you’ll hear her out. You were hankering for some exercise, something to do with your constant energy, but this seemed as good an option as hiking.
“Ah’m listenin’.”
“Ok, well, I found this weird stuff in Rarity’s room today,” she explains, moving over to the roll. The sound it makes is metallic, confirming its similarity to aluminum. Gesturing inside the tent, she lugs it in, followed by the other two Crusaders. “I thought, hey, we could wrap the inner walls of the tent with this, make, like, a mirror room, and then have a dance party!” That sounds awesome!
“That sounds awesome!” You shout, jumping up in excitement. Once you saw a music video for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and there was this one part where a guy got in a box that had its insides covered in mirrors, and he danced around with those airplane traffic directing flashlight things. The memory sparked immediately, and that was all you needed. You turn to Scootaloo, who still looks unimpressed.
“Come on, isn’t it a little dark in here for that?” She does have a point. Not a bunch of light makes it through the tent walls; and even with the battery operated lamps you brought in, it’s still kinda dim. But Sweetie Belle has no such qualms.
“Yeah, but that’s what makes it so great! Rarity took me to one of those dancing clubs for high schoolers up in Manhattan, and it was just as dark there.” Your mind veers off the debate while you wonder if Anon goes to those clubs. Maybe you could visit him sometime, and do that… Your finger drops off your lips, where it’d made its perch, and you tune back into your friends.
“I say we should take a vote,” declares the firm Sweetie, dead set on the dancing.
“Uh, ok…” comes the sullen agreement, the purple-haired youth far less sure of her victory than her marshmallowy opponent. She looks over at you, the only undecided party of the three. Her face is pleading as much as the face of a punky rebel can “Come on, AB, don’t you think that long-distance hiking is more likely to be your purpose than dancing? Think of all the runs we’ve had.” You were leaning pretty heavily towards dancing, but Scootaloo kind of has a point there. Hiking was something you really liked, and even though you liked dancing, you never felt like it was your thing.
“Uh…” You look to Sweetie, ready to hear the other side.
“Maybe she’s right, but I gotta bring this back today, before Rarity finds out its missing. And we can do that hiking thing any time. Besides, this could be my Cutie Mark, even if it isn’t yours.” An excellent rebuttal; you take the arguments as a means to unleash your inner desire to imitate Anthony Kiedis.
“Sorry Scootaloo. Gotta vote for dancing.” Sweetie Belle jumps up, performing the very rare mid-air, double fist bump combo.
“Yesss!” Scootaloo shrugs, not as opposed to the idea of dancing as Sweetie Belle and you had thought.
“Fine. We’ll do the hiking thing next week.” Sweetie Belle’s cheerful façade falters for a moment as she realizes she hasn’t yet escaped the hike. But when she spies the mirror wallpaper, she grins again, happily anticipating the next few hours. Right as she and Scootaloo are about to unwrap it, she jerks her head up.
“Hey!” She looks over at Scootaloo. “Don’t you have a disco light in your room?” Scootaloo nods, a huge grin forming on her face once she realizes Sweetie’s plan.
“Yeah, I do. Here, let me go get it. Apple Bloom, can you get this for me?” You sure can. Scootaloo jogs out of the tent while you head over to Sweetie. The two of you discuss plans to coat the inside of the tent. The end plan is to just tape the end to one side of the tent’s door, then walk around the large, octagonal tent, taping the tops and bottoms to the walls and floors. That way, it’ll be solid, so you can just take off the tape and wrap it back up, instead of cutting it up. As you start the work, Sweetie Belle furtively asks you
“So, is Anon still here?” Your heart beats a little bit faster as you answer.
“Uh, yeah, he’s still here.” You’re suspicious of her eyes. They’re crinkled and squinty, while a thin smile spreads across her face, like she’s poking fun of something.
“Oooooh,” she says, like it’s a juicy bit of gossip. Though considering how little time you spent around gossipers and juicy stuff, this was probably up there by your group’s standards. ”So, didja kiss him yet?” Your eyes widen, not expecting that question. You lean back, feeling your face burn. Sweetie Belle still has that conspiratorial look to her, unfazed by the horrified face of her best friend. “Did you kiss him yet? Or are you waiting for later?” So, when you heard that Anon would be visiting, you may have been a little bit excited to be living with an older boy from the city. And when he arrived, looking careless and exhausted from the train, you may have been just a teensy bit infatuated with him. The laid-back pose, the sunglasses; he was everything Rainbow Dash had taught you about coolness. And then, after he’d been injured and you’d tended to his lips… well, let’s just say that sharing your feelings with Sweetie Belle was a heat of the moment thing. And boy, was there a lot of heat.
“Uh, you know, Ah’m not even sure if Ah’m gonna.” you answer your friend hesitantly, no longer feeling the passion of that moment. Sweetie looks stricken, and moves in close.
“But, you said you were gonna…” Yeah… there may have been a small plan to kiss him involved. In fact, there may have been a solid hour of plotting together with Sweetie and Scootaloo after walking in on Anon walking out of the shower. Sources state that that definitely might have been a factor. “You’d better get on it fast, before Scoots does.” your friend warns you, forming a pit in your stomach.
Scootaloo had mirrored your fierce desire, having been flirting with him since square one. She was up for helping you “get closer” –as had been the code word- since you’d started talking about him, but after seeing him, had become a fierce competitor. The thought of her kissing Anon, arms wrapped around each tightly, his hands slowly moving to- You shake your head, trying to get the thought out. Expectant eyes greet you as you exit the frightful fantasy, obligating you to answer. The inescapable "yes" of your desire to win Anon floats through your head, but you’re not ready to give into it just yet. You mean, what could you do? This wasn’t exactly an area you’d had a lot of expertise in.
“But Ah’ve got no idea what to do!
“Ah mean, what if he thinks Ah’m weird, or doesn’t wanna hang out with me?” You protest, your courage failing.
>But while you were faltering, Sweetie stood straight before you, an iron will in her gaze.
“Apple Bloom, you are AWESOME.” her voice cracks on the last word, as she closes her eyes to accent its importance, “He isn’t gonna think you’re weird, or not wanna hang out with you. Heck, if anything Rarity taught me is true, he’ll probably wanna hang out with you more.” Her pep talk is slightly hindered by her very high-pitched voice, but the words are appreciated. “You want to kiss Anon, right?” You’re tempted to say no, the dramatization of a chance desire feeling out of place. The thought of Anon’s lips return to your mind, a rose-colored memory bringing out a happy smile from you. But still, this wasn’t the hyped up, heart-bursting crush your friend wanted to make it. Nevertheless, you did care for Anon; the fact that he lived inside such an awful tragedy broke your heart. And the fact that he could still be so strong throughout it, so kind and caring to you and everyone else. A soft sigh breaks through your smile: no doubt about it, your cousin was really something. Even though it wasn’t as consuming as your friends made it out to be, it definitely felt like more than an attraction to a cute boy. There was this weight to it; you’re not really sure how to describe it. But you’ve wanted to kiss boys before, and this was definitely deeper than that. This was Anon, not some boy. The cool kid from the city, the kind cousin who’d shared his heart, the silly boy who’d given you piggyback rides.
Your attention falls from the rosy dreams, and problem of your feelings. What did you feel for Anon. There was a little bit of push from the other girls to make it into a crush. Heck, even a little bit from yourself; it just felt better to put a label on it, and it was fun to make something of it.
>So you assumed it was just a little crush, not entirely wanting to deal with the unknown. Still, treating it like this felt… you don’t know. Just kinda wrong.
>Problem was, you didn’t know if it was because you didn’t like him that much -Ah mean, it’s only been a couple days- or because you cared about him more than any of your other crushes. You groan inwardly, and put your attention of the uncomfortable topic and back on Sweetie’s query. That was definitely something you could be sure of: you wanted to kiss him. Heck, maybe it’d even clear things up for you. Despite worrying about your deep affection appearing as the latest turn of a capricious heart, you affirm your friend.
“Yeah, Ah do.”
“Well then go get it! He’d be lucky to have you do it.” You grin at your friend, genuinely appreciating the cheers. You bring her into a hug, thanking her for the support, and promising
“Sure. Soon as I get the chance. Now can we get this mirror stuff going?”
“Oh yeah.” Her position, two fists pumped and in front of her, fades as she goes from encourager to worker. Together the two of you steadily roll out the shiny wrap, taping it as you go. It falls just short of the top of the tent walls, but it suffices. Just as you’re about to finish up, you hear a rustling and a crank of the hose. You’re guessing Scootaloo’s back. The two of you turn towards the door of the tent, while some water hits the side of the tent, then falls off as the pressure decreases.
“Guys, it’s Anon!” The third musketeer’s voice comes from outside the tent, sounding giddy. What in tarnation- did she bring him here?? You trade shocked, then excited looks with Sweetie Belle, then come bounding out of the tent. You’re met with Scootaloo and only Scootaloo. She’s posing, turned to the side, while holding up one arm and flexing it; the other arm is busy holding the hose… right between her legs. The green tube went under her legs, and twelve inches protrude from just beneath her groin, gripped by a small hand. Spurts of water push out, the sign of a mostly empty water container. You and your innocent friend stare transfixed at the sight, now grunting and flexing in different positions, the impromptu phallus swinging around her thighs. The presence of water on your shoes breaks the daze, and you run up and start smacking her on the back.
“CONSARNIT SCOOTALOO, THAT AIN’T FUNNY!” you screech, while your purple-haired friend laughs off your open-handed blows. Sweetie Belle disagrees, laughing at your fury, until you give her the death glare.
“Come on Apple Bloom, it was a joke.” You lay off the assault, instead turning away from both of them. You tilt your nose into the air, mustering all your vocal might to produce a loud:
“Hmph!”
“You can’t stay mad at me forever, babe.” The voice of Scootaloo says, moving closer to you. You feel something on the back of your leg, something wet. You look down, seeing the metal head of the hose brush past the inner, upper portion of your thigh just as Scootaloo presses into your back.
“Ah!” you shout, getting a whole lotta air as you leap away from your friend. The other girls erupt in laughter, while you try to hide your crimson face. After a bit of howling and cringing pass, you feel the hand of Scootaloo touch your shoulder.
“Apple Bloom?”
“What?” you sullenly reply.
“Do you forgive me?” You look at her, not answering. A slight glare makes her take one step back. She raises her eyebrows, and offers a new question. “What if I told you I had a peace offering?”
“Ah’m listening.” Her right arm appears from behind her, a fist clutching a dozen glowsticks, with at least twice as many glowstick bracelets and necklaces dangling from her forearm. Yup, you forgive her. Grinning, you nod and walk towards the opening, your friend at your side. A small punch helps to push away the stubborn dregs of your animosity, and the two of you enter into your private dance hall. Sweetie bell in on a step latter, disco ball in hand. The multi-colored light has a thin rope tied to its base, the other end of the rope being hooked onto the tallest part of the tent. Successful, she clicks the switch on the side, igniting the pendulous ball with bright spheres of color. The bright spears fly in every direction of the tent, reflected by every wall. The spinning of the disco and the swinging of the ropes creates a perfect chaos in the reflecting lights. Scoots doesn’t wait a minute before doling out the glowsticks, and the three of you get down.
Scootaloo starts off with her signature: the chicken dance. Hands ball up and are wedged into her armpits, the elbows flapping up and down, while she violently throws her head forward and back. Through the thick music Sweetie Belle has put on, loud bawcks can be heard. That being a good place as any, you and your non-dancing bff join the wildly gesticulating girl, throwing up kicks and jumping around as the beat demands. You’re the first to break out of the classic, going freestyle. Many lessons learned from repeated viewings of Napoleon Dynamite and the dancing sequences of Hot Rod, you limber up and mimic the skilled dancers. You spread your legs out, then wave your arms in wide arcs: palms lands face down on the side of your legs, then fly up and clap above your head, then repeat to the tune. Sweetie Belle, always a fan of pantomimes, engages in The Shopping Cart. She bounces up and down to the music, both hands forward and curled, as if holding a shopping cart. She looks from side to side as she slowly walks forward, then looks surprised and mimes taking something off a shelf before returning to the usual dance. Following her lead, Scootaloo hunches over and grips an imaginary walker. She squints heavily and constantly grunts, ever few seconds moving the imaginary walker an inch or two forward, then taking a tiny step. A perfect rendition of The Old Man.
You aren’t gonna be left out, so you run between your friends, and try The Sprinkler. You stand on one leg, the other bent back with the knee pointing down and your hand gripping the heel, like that one stretch in gym class. You place your other hand on the back of your head and push it forward and down at the same time that you move your knee up and forward, all the while trying to rotate your body clockwise. You get one or two good iterations there before you lose your balance and fall down. Not a small amount of dirt has clung to you as you rise and hear laughing behind you, the tomboyish voice of Scootaloo claiming ability. She makes it a good three iterations before she too falls. Sweetie Belle abstains wholly, not aiming for the somewhat filthy clothes of you and your friend. A three-person wave is attempted, then halted due to being kind of lame.
You and your friends party in the most radical club in town, possibly the state, not worrying about the possibility of other finding you. You spring up and down in buoyant maneuvers, loving the expression of the happiness and excitement so natural to you. As you leap across the floor, twirling as you do it, you take a moment to sigh with happiness. You’ve got your two best friends in the most awesome secret base ever, and Sweetie made it into a dance party not even the middle school dance could keep up with. Sweetie and Scootaloo were the best friends you could ask for, you thought to yourself, as you went up and pulled them into a hug. The hug was returned, followed by an impromptu triple can-can. A couple hours of dancing pass, the three of you trying every move you could remember and teaching it if you were capable enough.
Finally, you collapsed onto the dirty ground, not caring about the state of your clothes. Scootaloo falls to the ground right beside you, placing her hands on top of her head to provide some elevation. Just as you mimic her, Sweetie Belle lays down on top of you and your purple-haired pal, citing some worry about not getting close dirty.
“Well, why’d you wear them if you knew we were coming to the secret base,” Scootaloo says. Sweetie turns over to you, possible expecting some support.
“Uh… she kinda has a point there.” Sweetie looks up to the ceiling, answering.
“I told you guys, me and Rarity are going out tonight. She’d want me to wear something nice, and this means I don’t have to change into something later.” Remembering her appointment, she looks at the small, crystal watch on her left wrist, which reads 4:00. “Oh geez! Guys we gotta go!” She jumps off the pinned bodies of you and Scootaloo, who immediately follow. With haste, the three of you remove the tape from the mirrored walls and roll it back up. Looks fine. Mostly fine. There’s a couple sticky spots where the tape was, but Rarity wouldn’t notice, right? Yeah, probably not. Scootaloo turns off the disco ball but leaves it:
“I think this is a pretty awesome thing to have here. We should just leave it.”
“Ah was thinking the same thing.” Sweetie Belle interrupts the appreciative looks at the Crusader’s new light fixture. She’s trying to pick up the silver roll, but having trouble.
“Come on guys, we gotta go!” The two of you fly over to help your friend, eager to ease the load. Six hands on it, the three of you head out the tent flaps and the secret entrance. Back in the forest, you hustle back to the established walking path, heading home.
“How we looking, Sweetie?”
“Huh?” she responds, not understanding your question.
“Are you gonna be late?”
“Oh.” She looks at her watch again, then turns, smiling, to you. “No, I think we’re good. I guess I’d thought it’d take longer to pack up.” You nod your head, glad that she won’t be late. A song subtly enters your mind, your step unconsciously matching its cadence. Feeling that light comfort and ease that comes from good friends, you feel free to open your mouth and let the words out. As you happily sing, the other girls end up joining you, familiar also: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ggzxInyzVE. The three of you bounce up and down the walking path as your voices reach the heavens, a smile on every face. Coming closer to the landmark declaring your journey half over, a fourth voice crosses your ears. The three of you stop singing, turning to each other with questions of “who’s that?” and “did you hear that?” A moment of silence later brings the return:
“Yes, ma’am. Right this way ma’am.” The three of you continue vacillating between staring at each other, dumbstruck and searching for the owner. Not a moment later, two older men emerge from the path ten yards up. They’re balding, each with pencil mustaches, fancy suits and giant girly backpacks. Their eyes look mostly shut, and their heads are tilted up. As they near you, one casts a haughty eye down at you, saying in unison with the other:
“How do you do?” Sweetie Belle stares open-mouthed, not sure how to respond to characters you’d only see in the dream. Scootaloo mutters a quiet
“What the fuck…” and you mirror the greeting.
“Fine, thanks. How are ya?” Absurd as this is, you knew to be polite. Especially on fancy occasions or to fancy people, since it was more important to them. The two gentlemen nod at your question, then turn back to the trail behind them. The mystery is solved by the presence of your only enemies, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. They’re dressed similar to Sweetie Belle, pink and purple costumes to match the huge backpacks on their manservants. The frilly girls move up to your group, sneers growing like the distaste in your stomach. This wasn’t going to end pleasantly. It never did.
“Well well well, if it isn’t the Cutie Mark Losers.” Diamond Tiara says, stepping into your personal space. You sigh, wishing she wasn’t here to ruin your day.
“Hello, Diamond Tiara.” Sweetie Belle just looks off to the side, while Scootaloo tries to stifle a glare, partly successful.
“So what are you doing in my woods?” At this, the growing anger of Scootaloo comes out in a bitter correctiuon.
“These woods aren’t yours. Your dad doesn’t own everything, you know.” She’s met with a bigger sneer than the one Diamond had begun with, her face distorting with contempt.
“Well, he might as well. And who knows, maybe he’ll buy it for me some time?” You can’t help but respond to the ridiculous idea.
“Why would he give ya a forest? That’s kind of a dumb gift, if ya ask me.”
“No-one’s asking you,” Silver Spoon interjects, trying to mimic her friend’s tone and sneer. You glare at her, your limited patience with these bullies running out already. Silver narrows her eyes and takes a step towards you before Diamond Tiara stops her.
“Hold on Silver, you don’t want to get to close to these girls. You’ll get their stink on you.” Her cohort wears a cruel grin, then backs up.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Scootaloo growls, her hands leaving the roll and clenching.
“Why, you. I mean, look at you. You’re absolutely disgusting!”
“Revolting!” Silver affirms, nodding her head.
“No wonder you losers are always alone with each other. Nobody would want to be your friend.” Diamond goes on, searching for sensitive spots. A flash of fear and increased rage on Scootaloo’s face tells her she’s found it. “And you can just give up on getting a boyfriend; nobody’d ever want a trashy punk like you, that hick, and a girl that isn’t a tenth as pretty as her older sister.”
“Shut up!” you shout, your anger matching Scootaloo’s. “That ain’t true!” Though she aimed to prod Scootaloo, Diamond Tiara is pleased to find an outburst from another. A dersisive smirk coats her face as she taunts you.
“Oh really? Has any of you ever been on a date?” You’re speechless, not knowing how to respond, apart from giving in.
“Yeah, I thought so.” With two girls almost in tears, and one almost baring her teeth in fury, she orders her servants to keep moving. Pleased at the victories, but slightly afraid of Scootaloo, she and Silver Spoon walk away with their heads held high, but don’t continue their scorn. You take one hand off your cargo and place it on Scootaloo’s shoulder, hoping to keep her from pursuing them. Her beastly visage looks at you, the tears in your eyes bringing her back. Sweetie’s looking at the path beyond the girls, hair covering her eyes and obscuring her mood.
“Come on guys. Let’s just go.” She mutters, a blank lowness to her voice, rather than the usual energy and exuberance that could be found in it. The three of your look down, trying to ignore the continued jeers of the hateful girls echoing through your heads. You trudge on, ruminating on the ruination of what could have been a perfect day. Spurts of conversation come occasionally, each of you trying to spark some happiness back in the group. But each attempted ignition ends in failure: The day was too good, and thus the fall too far to be resolved by any light conversation. It wasn’t for lack of trying; nobody wanted to stay in that darkened mood. But the continued experience of those two girls, the cruelty taken for years and years weighed heavy on all shoulder. Heads bowed, even your own bow feeling as though it drooped, the Cutie Mark Crusaders made their way into the home Scootaloo. No sooner than you’d returned to the house than Rarity entered through the other side. Spotting Sweetie Belle, she immediately grew worried over her clothing.
“My goodness, Sweetie Belle! What happened to your clothing?” Fashion wasn’t the first thing on the dull-eyed girls mind, and so she murmured some automatic explanation of outside play. She seems still concerned, but her eyes fall on the other dejected girls. With all sincerity, she replies “Well, I hope you had fun. Now, let’s get you home and changed.” Sweetie mumbles an affirmation, and grimly smiles at you and Scootaloo as she waves goodbye and follows Rarity. But the older girl pauses, seeing the roll Scootaloo is leaning against the wall.
“Is that my…” Her brow furrows, spying the minor theft. But when she looks down at Sweetie, whose gaze is firmly stuck on the wall opposite Rarity. You see a slight grimace, but she says nothing more; she simply walks over, tucks it under her arm, and continues walking out. You had to give it to Rarity; in the past, she’d probably have thought only of the state of Sweetie’s clothes and her material, perhaps even give a lecture on the importance of cleanliness and not messing with her things. Though it didn’t seem it, you could see that she noticed the Crusader’s unhappiness, and was trying to cheer Sweetie Belle up with the sister-date. She didn’t always know how to act around Sweetie, being somewhat tasked with both sisterly and motherly roles, not fully reconcilable; but you could see she tried. You hope Sweetie noticed, and hoped that she would be cheered up.
Watching the regal gait of the older girl and her formal attire, you think back to your sorry state. Getting dirty rarely bothered you; in fact, it was a sign of a successful day in the woods. To go into that magical paradise and not come out carrying some of it with you was silly, a sign of restraint in one of the few places where perfect freedom can be found. But your usual position wasn’t held now. Somehow the badge of successive, of utilization that freedom to play like a child, had become a sign of shame. The words of your opponents return to your mind: nobody would ever want you, nobody would ever date you… A bolt of shock runs you through, as the memory of your guest returns. None of your family would mind if you came home looking like that; you were Apple Bloom, and that was just what you did.
But there was another member of your household, a new family member. You didn’t know what he’d think. The jeers of the oppressors haunt your mind, conjoined with horrible fantasies of a disgusted-looking Anon. You bolt past Scootaloo, working through the filled household until you find the shower. AJ would be here any minute, but you can’t risk coming home like this. Even if you were you fly directly to the shower, he might see you. And though you would feel free on any other day to walk proudly with your grimy exterior, the guest and the bullies convince you to take another course of action. You immediately strip and turn the nozzle. Holding back a shriek as the cold water slaps your bare body, you grasp the soap with a nervous swipe.
The shower takes too long, your motions doubled in an attempt to be as clean as possible. When you finally finish, having taken no pleasure from the usually comfortable experience of a shower, you hear the voice of AJ downstairs. Judging by the answer, you deduce that she’s talking to Rainbow Dash. You say a quiet prayer of thanks; that marks a lessened probability of wait-induced irritability, and you’re too fragile right now to bear a lecture. Drying off, you slip back into your clothes, looking at yourself in the mirror. You look alright. Certainly better than you did before. Anxiously, you hop down the stairs to see AJ and her close friend deep in conversation. Your sister turns to you and smiles, apparently in good spirits:
“Hey Apple Bloom. Ready to go?” You nod slowly.
“Yeah. Let me just say g’bye to Scootaloo.” You turn back to the hallway, walking over to your fellow crusader’s room. She’s nose-deep into one her comics, sitting in a great bean bag chair next to a massive pile of Batman’s adventures. A twig falls from her still grimy head as she pulls up, smiling faintly.
“So, my sis is here.”
“Yeah, I heard.” You match her sad smile, trying to pull some encouragement out of the situation.
“Sorry our trip got all crappy at the end.”
“Yeah, they really fucked it up. But before that, it was pretty radical.” You feel a little better when you think of the day before that meeting.
“Totally. We should see if we can snag Rarity’s stuff again.” She sighs, but looks more content than before.
“Well, I’ll see ya. Still on for tubing tomorrow?” A big grin, revolting against the pall previously held, rolls across her face.
“Oh, hell yeah!” You laugh at little at her excitement, yours rising to match hers. At least two crusaders were beginning to shrug off the heavy weight. Closing the door behind you, you begin to feel happy. Thinking about tomorrow, and the adventures (hopefully to include Anon), helps lift your spirits. Unfortunately, it isn’t quite enough to dispel it entirely, but it is held off a bit. Heading down to Applejack, holding up a happy visage for her. You don’t want her to worry about something she can’t fix. She sends a goodbye in Rainbow’s direction, then the two of you hop in the idling truck.
“Boy, you missed a good meal and a lot of fun.” AJ says happily, obviously having had a pretty good day at home.
“What’d ya have?”
“Anon made this clam-spaghetti thing. Honestly, I had my doubts, but it was actually pretty good.” Surprise paints itself across your face, your understanding of Anon not including cooking skill.
“He can cook?”
“He sure can.” She looks at you and smiles conspiratorially, not unlike the look Sweetie had given you earlier. “Maybe if you ask him real nicely, he’ll make something for you.” The wink goes unnoticed, your mind filled with thoughts of Anon cooking for you. You try to hide a guilty grin out the window, the eyes resting on the house in the distance. Coming closer, you can see the individual glows of each window, and try to guess which one shines on Anon. The heavy feeling of your day and the continual conversation and thoughts of Anon drive you up to his room once the car parks. Amid the grinding noise of the truck’s wheels over the gravel, you small body creates its own crunch as you hop out before the car’s stopped. And without thinking, you find yourself at the door of your cousin, Anon Orange.
“Is that it?” you whine, your Captain Falcon flying off the screen. “You left out all the best parts!”
“No Ah didn’t. Ah told you about my secret base didn’t I?” Apple Bloom returns. You nod, understanding that secret bases are indeed the coolest thing in the world.
“Ok, yeah, that was rad. But I wanna hear who you have a crush on.” The question burned in your mind ever since she mentioned the subject of the discussion, then skipped to the dance party. It just felt important.
“Ah don’t have one. Not really.” Her commitment to the first statement wanes with the second, a hint you pick up on.
“Not really, huh? Then why did you say you and your friends discussed crushes?” She falters, leaving her Pichu open to your Falcon Punch. You didn’t get the answer you wanted, but hey, you won. She looks away from you, then notices the clock on the wall.
“Oh hey, look at the time, we better get goin’.” You want to want to press forward, but she quickly diverts your train of thought. Her small hand, a little warm from handling her joystick, grabs yours. You’re led towards the exit, reduced to the singular function of following the pull of that soft touch. Captain Falcon and Pichu pulse in place as their operators disappear behind the opaque door of their home. The air outside is barely chilly, only a faint breeze reminding you that this is indeed night. Though you feel you don’t need your coat, Apple Bloom reports a different feeling by pressing close into you. Pushing for off for a moment, you pull of your black coat, then place it over her shoulders. And though it’s still a little dark, you can make out the crimson crescent on her face. You pull up your sleeves, folding them in at the elbow; the temperature permits it, and you prefer that look anyway. Not a minute passes before she’s at your side again, merging her space with yours. Apparently your coat didn’t do quite the trick. Her right arm attaches itself to the small of your back, your own left responding by coating her shoulders.
The distance to the theater was about a block away, the distance feeling far too short for you. But you pushed thoughts and musing of brevity from your mind, resolving instead to enjoy this walk with her. It almost felt too good, like you shouldn’t be so happy to hold your Apple Bloom on a simple walk like this. But any guilt you had over your potentially excessive joy was melted when Sweetie raises her left hand and weaves her fingers through the hand laying over her shoulder. She does it naturally, as if it would be odd for her hand to be anywhere else. Over these days, you’ve felt this sense of belonging unparalleled to your own home; Apple Bloom gave you similar sense of belonging, like your rightful place was next to her.
Together, you walked into the movie theatre. The clerk gave you a wink as you bought the tickets, informing you that you can get a great view in the upper left seats. Flustered, you thanked him and tucked the tickets in your pockets. Realizing that you’re going to need them in a minute, you take them back out, not noticing Apple Bloom’s concentrated look, which began at the clerk’s advice. Before that, you need some popcorn. Turning to her wide golden suns, you ask her if she wants anything. She wants some soda, and some candy, as reported by the meek voice. Your own voice translates the message to the deadeyed vendor. Her orders carried out, you and your date step over to the ticket collector, sick gains in hand. Fumbling with your mad loot, you manage to hand him the tickets. He waves you by, and the two of you proceed. She steps ahead of you, eagerly pulling you along. As you pass by the middle section, you tug Apple Bloom back.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“Well, the guy said the best seats were up here.” She responds, biting her lip and looking directly at you. You can’t help but laugh at her innocence.
“Bloom, he thought we were dating. You only sit up there if you’re planning on making out.” You pull her into the middle seats, noticing her pout. “Trust me, Apple Bloom, those seats are the same as these. She mumbles something, but you don’t hear it. To ease her small pout, you lift up the arm-rest divider, then bring your right arm over her hand and around her neck, pulling it close. There’s a little bit of fear that you’re over-reaching, but the way she snuggles into you help to put your pessimism at ease. Neither of you breaks out of the close connection through the entire movie.
You don’t pay too much attention to the movie. It was nice to see Dory and Marlin again; not so much Nemo, though. It’s kind of repetitive thought. You get déjà vu like, five times. Still, it was a pretty good movie overall. The jump scares were definitely appreciative, since they sent Apple Bloom dive into your chest, squeezing you tightly. She looked pretty into it, as far as you could tell. Still, there were a couple of times that she’d take her eyes off the screen and look at you for a minute, usually after the jump-scare-hugs. Your eyes met hers and smiled, hugging her tightly and looking back at the screen. You were glad you came, the date feeling like it was a good plan. And as far as you could tell, she was feeling better than she was when your gaming had been interrupted so long ago.
The credits roll, and an attempt to stand up is met with your date pulling you right back down.
“Sup?” Blonde, wide eyes can still be made out in the blackened room.
“There might be something after,” comes the voice in the dark, to which you assent to the wait. All it really meant was that the embrace could continue. And so she remains close in your arms for a few more minutes, the ravings of an orchestra accompanying a scroll of unknown names. After a lovely minutes, a small ounce of movie is revealed, then the screen goes completely dark. You turn to the girl sitting half in the chair beside yours and half in your lap, her face so close to yours. Her face is almost blank, except for a curious intensity in her eyes, heavily focused on yours. Some sentence concerning leaving freezes in your throat, then dissipates as you fall into her eyes. The intense look continues for a moment, before her eyes fall to your lips, and yours to hers. Just as the realization that you’re moving forward hits, you sit up quickly, still flustered. What are you thinking? This wasn’t what you came here to do!
Outside of your attention, three looks cycle through Apple Bloom’s face: disappointment, determination, and then the sweet, happy look that is most often found. You look down to see her blithe expression, not looking as disappointed or uncomfortable as you’d thought. It’s almost as if it didn’t happen to her, a position you found ideal, though perhaps not particularly comfortable. She got up and dusted herself off, and throws out the trash with you. Her hand reaches yours again, and a happy look accompanies a genuine thanks:
“Thanks for taking me here, Anon. I had a lot of fun.” Ok, she seems happy to you; you’ll go with that. You walk with her, pushing down the feeling of remorse, pretending you didn’t just miss out. And as you enter into the still comfortable night air, nothing could be further from your understanding than the devious plot behind her soft eyes. Heading to the care, she gives into the grin, that kind of grin one has to have whenever one makes a brilliant plan, just when you aren’t looking. You step into the luxury car, seeing your date enter from the other side, all cunning hidden behind an honest happiness. The key turns, and the car wakens, ready to transport an Apple and an Orange safely home.
Back in the caddy, you and Apple Bloom relax in your seats, which are practically lounge chairs. Though it’s only about 9:30, the roads are mostly empty. Probably has something to do with this town being so small. That works for you; that sweeping black road stretching beyond sight is far lovelier than some kaleidoscope of differently colored boxes, all honking in their angry lateness. A relaxed happiness enters into your body as you gaze into the infinite gravel rushing to meet your bumper. Your dad has a Cadillac, one you were allowed to drive a long time ago. It was a bit older, but handled and felt similarly to this one. Whenever you could find the time and permission, you’d fill it up with gas and just drive. It didn’t matter where you went, just that you were going. The current ride had a similar tone, only it had less to do with escaping, and more to do with wanting this moment to last. Your head turns, the lax figure of a happy Bloom entering view. A hope flutters in your chest, the wish for her gentle comfort to mirror yours, with no desire beyond this moment.
Your hands lightly grip the thin wheel, moving on autopilot as you turn to strange streets and unknown neighborhoods. Idly, the right moves over to the radio and turns the knob. Music fills the car, and a smile fills Bloom’s face. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZ8wVKPUN_g. Once a few verses pass, the song is remembered, and you can’t help but mirror Bloom’s expression. It’d been a long time since you’d heard these guys, way too long. Apple Bloom turns to you, her excitement making every word seem to bounce off her lips and into your blessed ears.
“Hey, so ya do ever listen to a single album or song or whatever while doing something, and than everytime you do that thing or listen to that song, it reminds ya of the other thing?” After thinking for a few seconds, the meaning becomes clear, and memory retrieves examples.
“Yeah. Like, I listened to a bunch of RHCP back in middle school, and now the band always reminds me of 7th grade.”
“Yeah yeah,” she nods her head, bouncing as much as one can bounce in a car, “that’s it. So, Ah got that for this album, ‘specially this song.” Your look at her with interest, a bit excited to hear another story from her. “Alright, so waay back in sixth grade, Big Mac was trying to paint our fence all by himself -Ah think AJ was feeling sick or something- and he was just making this huge mess a things. Like, he was tryin’ ta go real fast, but there were a ton of missed spots, paint all over the nearby bushes and ground, and he still wasn’t anywhere near finishing. So Ah went up and told him that he was doin’ an awful job, even though AJ was tellin’ me to leave him alone. He looked real mad for a second, then just sat down and laughed.” She laughs too, transported to that happy moment.
“He tells me that he guesses he ain’t doin’t it right, an’ Ah offer to help. Still takes us like two days –that fence is huuuge-“ here she spreads her arms wide and opens her eyes as much as possible to stress the size, “but the whole time we were listening to Third Eye Blind.” She closes her eyes to better take in the faded scene. “Ah can still remember sittin’ by the wall, eating some of the apples that fell off the tree. This song was on then, an it’s the one Ah most remember.”
“That sounds pretty amazing,” you respond, gleaning some joy just by bearing near the fount of such.
“It really was,” comes the voice of your beaming cousin, eyes still glazed in reverie. You take a moment to appreciate it, understanding that these moments with your beautiful date are limited. Gosh, she looks beautiful right now; her gaze is tuned to some spot in the distant night sky. Her lips are curved, not in the delight that is so often found in her, but in a subtler way, a result of nostalgia’s soft bite. Turning back to the road, a potential destination rises in your memory, and you bring it to Apple Bloom.
“Hey, did you still want ice cream?” She looks at you thoughtfully, then shakes her head.
“Nah, let’s get that some other time. Ah’m pretty sure they’re closed by now anyway.” She’s probably right. But now that the topic of ends are at hand, you can’t help but as the only question that follows.
“So what do you wanna do now? We could go home,” your tempo slows almost to a crawl at this option, then immediately speeds up as you try to shift attention to the preferred one, “or we could just drive around for a bit. You don’t have a bedtime during the summer, do you?”
“Ah do, but Ah don’t think it’ll matter tonight, just as long as we don’t come home around one in the morning, or something.” Your heart soars as the eventual green light, jumping to the conclusion that she’ll want to keep the night going. She continues looking thoughtful, then flashes the sly look from before.
“Sure,” she says to the latter option. “Sounds fun. But there’s something Ah wanna do before we go home.”
“Oh? What’s that?” The sly smile only grows when she responds.
“It’s a secret.” You’re at a total loss here. You push the mystery out of mind for a moment, due to a lack of leads. If the trail gets hot, you’ll try to follow it later.
“Well, alright then.” The song changes to some weird indie song, so you turn the dial some more. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfOdWSiyWoc.
“Oh! Oh! Ah was just talking about this song today!”
“Really?”
“Yeah! It’s like, the best song ever!” You can’t dispute her there: these guys have some pretty dope songs. Both you and Apple Bloom do your best to dance within seatbelts, with very limited success. A whole lot of bouncing and mangled attempts to sing along to the word salad lyrics ferry you through the end of the city proper and into some unlighted farm road. The lack of light alarms you a bit, and start looking for a place to turn around.
“Hold on, I think I got myself lost.” To your surprise, Apple Bloom corrects you.
“No, you’re fine. This is on the way to that thing.” Ok, now you’re totally lost.
“Bloom, what even…” She looks to you, a faint pleading in her eye.
“Trust me, Anon.”
“You sure you’re not pulling my leg?”
“Ah’m sure.” You squint a little, as is apropos her, then shrug. Attention back on the road, the next song comes up. The first notes of some Creed song bleed from the speakers, eliciting a groan and change from you. Next up is some classical station, playing some morose melody: https://youtu.be/oL_HFnnywEU?t=7m17s. An idea pops inside your head, something you’d do while driving around the city and suburbs at night. You’d done it with friends sometimes, even convinced a couple girls to cut loose and do it. You switch the boring music off, then replace the silence with your own tone.
“Hey Bloomers.” There’s no need to move, her gazed is already focused on you.
“Yes?”
“You wanna know how to be a cool kid?” She chuckles a bit, then nods earnestly.
“Ah was actually hoping you’d teach me.” You roll your window down, the tepid air flowing into your car. Then, confirming that your cruise control is on, you unbuckle your seat belt and lean forward. Your right hand grips the top of the wheel alone, the left holding the edge of the window. Then. You stand up as much as you can, pushing your head and most of your torso out the window. Then, making sure your car is headed straight, you tilt your head back and howl.
“Awoooooo!” You can hear her cracking up down in the cab. Twisting a little bit, your bring your left hand over the roof and bang on it. “Come on, get on up here!” More laughter, then a sunrise of red, made into a deep crimson by the darkness, rising up the passenger side. Soon you can make out her sunny face, illuminated by the light from the cab. You turn to the road, making sure you’re still going straight, then look back at your date. Her hair is flying back, no doubt messing up a lot of work, but she doesn’t seem to care at all. Showing her pearly whites to you first, she follows your lead.
“Awooooooooooo!” Her hands having a freedom yours lack, she raises them high. Starting to get worried about your driving, you sit back down, but still find the time to poke your head out. She continues sitting of the edge of the window, one leg folded on her seat and the other extending in the lighted matt below. After a couple more, she comes back to the cab, still convulsing with giggles. You put on the most serious face you can –not very, given your high spirits- and inform her with eyebrows raised:
“That’s how you do it.” The light staccato of her continued laughter warms your heart, then gradually fades into a beaming crescent stretching her cheeks. Suddenly, as her look lazily touches the road, she turns to you with near-alarm.
“Slow down, slow down!” You check your speed with newfound alertness, scared of having driven too fast. But nope, you’re still going just above the speed limit. Still, your foot eases off the gas and switches to the brake. Apple Bloom scans the road with stern fervor, as if something were to pop out of the thick walls of grain any second. It’d escaped your notice, but the entire field of vision swelled with the ripe stalks. Not that you could be blamed or anything; the rest of your vision contained a 1987 Cadillac Brougham and Apple Bloom. How could you be expected to notice anything besides? A few long moments pass, the expectation of a soon-found prize giving why to inquisitiveness over your now crawling car.
“What is it?” Not even a twitch of her head accompanies her slow reply.
“Almost there…” Her strict vigilance prevents her from receiving the confusion your raised eyebrow sends. But it doesn’t really matter, as the shrug of your shoulders suggest. Another minute of slow driving finally yield a response.
“Stop!” It’s a little patch along the side of the road, a dirt rectangle carved out of the field. Well, it doesn’t really answer any questions, but at least it promises to.
“There?” You ask, and she confirms your destination. The caddy’s parked in the spot and turned off, taking up about a quarter of it. Opening the door, you get out of the car and look around. Still nothing. Apple Bloom opened her door at the same time, then paused. Checking to make sure you weren’t looking, she turns the radio on and at full blast. A little present for when you turn the car back then. After she sets up the prank, she exits the car too, then crosses over to your baffled person. The only answer is a coy look and a hand grabbing yours. Leading you to the wall of dark grain, she steps into it, bringing you with her. The pre-wheat leaning in does a good job of hiding it, but there’s a small walkway of dirt and crushed greenery, just large enough to walk through with minimal obstruction. As you’re led, you recall the movie Signs, and how it’d scare you right now if it was a scary movie. But soon enough, another small clearing meets your eye. It’s another dirt square, about ten yards on all sides. In the middle is what looks like a picnic bench, one of those things you see at parks. There’s two rectangles for sitting sandwiching a larger one, all made of plastic and connected but metal bars underneath.
“Ok, I still don’t get it.”
“Ah tried stargazing with the CMC, but it ended up in a two-hour game of tag in the field. An’ since they didn’t wanna do it again, Ah never really got the chance.” A step closer brings her body into contact with yours, her big eyes asking you to believe the unbelievable. “So Ah figured you could help me out with that.”
“With stargazing.”
“Yup.” You can see her wrestling with her lips, trying to keep a straight face. And naturally, you don’t believe her for a second. But her chest is ever-so-slightly pressed into yours, and you’re completely fine with stargazing with her, so you play your part.
“Okay,” you say, barely stifling a laugh. “Let’s go see if you’re an astronomer.” Her chest departs from yours when she swings over to your side and grabs your arm. Walking alongside her, you reach the table and fall back on it, dangling your legs from the edge. Eh, not as comfy as you want. You scooch yourself up, bringing most of your legs onto the surface. She mirrors you, lying closely to you. Your arms touch, but that’s far too little contact for you. Time for the moves. Thankful that Orion’s out, you draw on your sparse knowledge of astronomy;
“So, I actually know some constellations. Thing is, it’s kind of hard to point at something and have someone else see it, since they might see you pointing at something else. I can’t exactly remember why, but I think it has something to do with the angle of perception. Anyway, it doesn’t really work unless you’re looking straight down the person’s arm. So here, let me just-“ You let the sentence fade into the air as you move a bit closer, moving her arm under her neck. She lifts her head, allowing the intimate touch, and you pull her closer. Now your elbow is just beyond her neck, so when you point to the sky, your forearm touches her face.
“See, now when I point to something, you’re more likely to see what I’m trying to show.” Two can play this game of unpassable lies. She turns to you, her nose grazing the side of your cheek. Unable to turn your head towards her without kissing her, your eye falls into a corner to see her. The conspiratorial humor is written across her face, apparently having caught onto your deceit. Oh no. Whatever will you do?
“So, there’s Orion over there,” you point out the only constellation everybody knows and she feigns being impressed. Luckily, you’ve got four other things. Across the sky, you make out the bigger dipper, pointing that out. “Ok, and see those last to stars of the cup part?”
“Yeah.”
“Well they point to the north star, which is riiight over here.” She actually looks interested now. “And to the right of that, just below it, kind of like a reflection of the Big Dipper, is Medusa. I mean Cassiopeia. It’s the one that looks like a sideways ‘M.’” You always mess that one up. You scan the sky for a planet; they’re usually pretty easy to spot, since they’re a lot brighter and don’t twinkle. But you’re not finding one. Hmm. You turn to Apple Bloom, moving your head back so you can look at each other without more than the tips of your noses touching. She actually looks impressed right now; thank you, beginner’s astronomy.
A moment passes, and her face grows somber, like they did in the theatre. The moon’s risen, unnoticed, bathing her face in milky white. The pale light reflects off her skin, the dark red of the shadowed lips threatening to captivate you once more. Your attention moves to your eyes, unmoved from you. A single subject distract from those eyes, almost worrying you. What was she thinking? The thought would never have been put forth, but now it seems almost undeniable that she’s captivated. Her open eyes blink occasionally, held open, as if to not miss you for a moment. What was she seeing in this moment? What captivated her? A dozen self-judgment break the meeting of gazes, your head cast downwards, almost shamefully. Your confusion at what appeared to be a high estimation is broken when her soft hand lifts your chin. She’s moved just a bit closer to you, her nose now alongside yours. Her face is kind, giving strength to you, as it had done so often this week. Lips so close to each other, you can hardly restrain yourself. When this date had become so real, you didn’t know. But one could only stare so long into the perfect eyes of a perfect girl; you lean forward, closing the little distance between you and Apple Bloom.
Your lips meet, a soft melody playing in your chest. Her rouged kiss touches lightly on yours, a sudden lightness emerging. Though little attention is given to the whole, your body releases the small bit of tension held. A feeling of freedom, like stepping outside into fresh wind after a day of hermiting. The kiss lasts only a few moments, small, soft motions of two pairs of lips caressing each other. Still, every texture and taste of her lips is imprinted in neurons never to go unused long. It wasn’t the great, sloppy kiss you’d imagined several times tonight, but it was enough. And while you looked at her, a bashful rue rosifying your cheeks, a battery of butterflies grew in your stomach. Ease runs through you, the feeling of belongingness coming into great, spectacular fruition.
On the other end, Apple Bloom can’t hide the explosive glee within her. She’s kissed you. She’s kissed you, and it didn’t disappoint. True, it wasn’t the longer kiss she’d spent not a small amount of time planning, but it answered her question. And judging from the skittish wonder on your suddenly shy face, she’d made you happy. Her elation was multiplied by her ability to give you that happiness that grew with your smile. And boy, your lips tasted good. She hadn’t kissed a boy since that awkward, half-accident at sixth grade prom; and that barely counted anyway. Doing the simple math, more kisses were found beneficial, and so she moved in again. You find yourself peppered with the little kisses, some on your mouth, some on your cheeks, some meant for the former but landing anywhere from your nose to your chin.
Laughter erupts from you at the onslaught, to which Apple Bloom soon becomes a part of. You hadn’t thought that she might not know what kissing is, and assume that nothing went further than these little pecks. And that was perfectly fine; your affection for your lovable cousin, though deep, wasn’t the heavy hunger you’d felt for other girls. The lighthearted delight you experienced as you laid down your own amorous assault was just what you needed. Save all that serious stuff, you wanted kisses and laughter, and seeing Apple Bloom with both made you want the same for her.
She squees in her ecstatic bliss, almost tackling you from the side. Her arms grab your sides in a hug, her face pressed into your chest. Your coat her with your own, the two of you almost rolling as she looks up and starts laying kisses on your chin, neck, any skin within her lips’ reach. Some of these end of being more ticklish than anything else, and you may exude a couple “eeps” as you twist and turn your head in half-hearted attempts escape. The affectionate play continues for a couple minutes more before she lays off, now on top of you. You look up, meeting the crinkled gaze of the buoyant girl.
“So Ah kind of have a crush on you,” she cheerfully discloses, face propped up by palms on her cheeks. You can feel her trembling as your stomach convulses by your chuckles.
“You know, I think I might have one on you too.” The almost meek smile gives way once more to the full beaming of the satisfied girl. Her eyes almost shut in pleasure, the night going better than any of her plans. The well-groomed head rests on your chest, outlines by the pale moon. Her face is darkened by the contre jour lighting, but the reflected light still illuminates the glimmering eyes. As you stare into her, a piece of that minor solemnity from earlier comes into you. It’s clear that your happy look is fading, for her own falters.
“What’s wrong?” Nothing’s wrong. Everything's right. A sad smile crosses your face, then you speak without thinking. Man, that just keeps happening with this girl.
“I love you Apple Bloom.” Sensing that you’re feeling tenderer than the carefree bliss of the past fifteen minutes, she mirrors your own soft smile. Before she can respond a gush of words burst forth, born from your realization of your own buoyancy. You hadn't realized you could be happy like this. Like Apple Bloom. “No, I mean it. Like, I was a huge fuckin’ mess before I came here. I still kind of am. But you made me feel like I was part of a family.” She’s hesitant to interrupt, but really wants the clarification:
“Me, or all of us?”
“All you guys, but you especially.” Your hand reaches to cup her cheek; she leans into it, much to your joy. “Apple Bloom, you’ve been the best thing that happened to me in a long time. These past few days have felt like…” you struggle to find the words. “Christmas. Every Christmas. I don’t know- I’ve just been really happy, and that’s mostly because of you, and…” your words fall off again, and you fall back on the only phrase that could come close to conveying your feelings: “I love you.”
She moves upwards a bit, so that her head is close to being over yours. You’re still lying on the table with her on top of you, even her legs stacked on yours. Her left forearm lies just to that side of your head, propping her up while she plays with the hair above your forehead. Confusion crosses her face as she struggles for the words to respond.
“You know we love you too, right?” Looking into your big eyes, the most tender and fragile she’s seen you, even counting your confession. Understanding that importance of this moment, that it might be remembered for years to come, she chooses her words carefully. “All of us. AJ, Granny, even Big Mac, though he don’t show it.” As she names her kin, her eyes roam above you, gone to some memory proving each. But then she looks back at you, while her hand begins stroking your cheek.
“Especially me. Like, when you came off that train. An’ when you confided in me. It’s just- You- Uh…” Despite her best efforts, she falls to the same inability to articulate her heart. She’d never spoken to anyone like this, someone who’s kin, but unlike her regular family; someone she feels so familiar with and to, but is still so unknown. A helpless, then exasperated look seizes her expression as she looks down on you. And like you, she comes to the only message she has left, the one that can’t be misinterpreted. Her lips fall on yours, this time staying for a minute before another shower comes. More than a few seconds later, you climb out of your daze and see her with the same expression, along with the hope that you got the message. You did. Moving your head up, you return a small affirmative kiss, then fall back down.
She lets her own head fall on your chest, a contented sigh leaving her lovely red lips. There you lay for a while, echoing that wish from the drive up here: that this moment wouldn’t end. Some of her soft curls tumble over to your neck and face, most dark except for the occasional shine of brilliant crimson in the moonlight. You push them off to the side, then lay your hands on the girl atop you. You can feel her weight on your body, rising and falling with your breaths. Somewhere her legs fall over yours, each ending up on the outside of yours. Her right arm is at your side, while her left arm remains close to you head, still idly playing with your locks. Your left arm moves down beside hers, your hand touching hers, then mixing fingers. Now and then a soft coo is heard from the content girl. Your eyes start to close, your mind fading out in the perfect night air. But you realize the need to get home, and more yet, to not fall asleep in the middle of somebody’s field. You nudge Apple Bloom, who looks up to you with tired eyes. Unable to help it, your lips rise to meet hers once more, the small kiss eliciting a sleepy smile. Goodness, you love that.
“Hey, we should probably get going.”
“Hmph.” She pouts, banging her fist very softly on the table.
“I know, I know. But this doesn’t have to be the last time.” She looks satisfied as that, and commences getting up. Crawling off of you, she hops off the table. Her hand extends as she waits for you to do the same. You take her up on her offer, and allow her to lead you through that almost invisible trail back to the car. Tired but not exhausted, you walk through the bluster of the skinny plants. A small skip ends up in your step, but she definitely doesn’t notice. She giggles, at something else probably, and you emerge into the moonlit patch of dirt. It takes a minute to go your separate ways to your respective doors; your hands seem unwilling to part. Eventually, you do, and get into the car. Still struck by your brilliant night, you absent-mindedly turn on the car. The radio was still on and at max volume, striking you with a roaring https://youtu.be/L0bcRCCg01I?t=4m24s.
“Ahhhhhfuck!” you cry, thrashing your hands around the knobs in a struggle to turn it off. Dexterity compromised by panic, it takes a couple seconds longer than it should. Finally Holst’s onslaught is silenced, and you sit back, now fully alert. Looking over to Apple Bloom, she’s got her ears covered and is laughing at you.
“What? Why?” you ask in your confusion. She stops laughing long enough to explain:
“Ah had to make sure you were awake for the drive home. Y’know, for safety reasons. An’ it looks like you’re awake!” You narrow your eyes and grumble at her, even though you couldn’t possibly be mad at her.
“Grumble grumble grumble.” Then, putting the car in reverse, you leave the small dirt patch and start heading home. Turning the radio back on, but at a much lower level, the song actually sounds pretty cool, for an orchestra thing. Kinda sounds like Star Wars, now that you think about it. Apple Bloom, wakened also by the thunderous brass, is chatting happily about that one time Granny took her to a concert. It isn’t the most gripping story you’ve heard, but the speaker and the sweet voice that delivers it is enough to keep your ears on her.
Through the comfortable ride of the high-class sedan, buzzing thoughts send your mind away from your date’s storytelling. What happens now? Aren’t you still gonna leave? Immediately, you kick the thought out with the fierce staunchness of a military dad. Boarding up your mind like an apocalypse prepper’s house, you resolve not to let that question enter again. Nothing can be done about it. Nothing can change it. No point to letting it ruin the little time you have left. As your knuckles whitely grip the wheel, the change of the song accompanies the change of your thoughts: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nz0b4STz1lo. But little jollity is brought to you when you consider the future before you. As if reading your mind, the slightly concerned face of Apple Bloom gives voice to your thoughts.
“So what are we gonna do now?”
“Well, we probably shouldn’t tell AJ.” Her finger rises to her lip as she muses:
“Ah don’t know… She had a little something with Braeburn not too long ago. Now that Ah think about it, she does seem a bit exited for Apploosa, which is when they see each other. But Ah don’t know.” You raise your eyebrow as she goes on: “An’ Granny didn’t seem to have a problem with it.” You feel like you should have an issue with this, but if it gives you any kind of approval, you’ll go with it.
“So maybe just kinda hint at it, see what she feels? And if she’s hyper against it, we can just keep it on the down low?”
“Yeah. An’ anyway, Ah’m pretty sure she won’t mind us being all close with each other. That’s what kind do around here.” You nod, happy to have some chance of permission and some intimacy acceptable. But there was another problem that opened up here. What exactly is it that you want to have accepted? Turning to Apple Bloom, you go with the transparent option, not wanting that secrecy that happens in most relationships to happen here. Hesitantly, you ask:
“So… what are we?” She looks at you seriously, remembering the answer found in your lips.
“Ah think we’re two people that like each other a whole lot, and kinda need each other. We don’t have to make a big ol’ relationship out of this. Besides, Ah’m pretty sure both of us have pretty different idea of what that’d mean.” You agree, but it’s still kinda vague.
“Ok, but where does that leave us?”
“Ah think we just keep doing what wer’e doin’, only with more cuddles and kisses.” She says this slowly, still holding a trace of fear. But it’s needless: that sound just right for you. Besides, that’s about all you can do in this short time you have together. And who’d say no to vacations with secret kissing? The positives slightly mitigate the horror of your Orange future, but not so much that you’ll allow it’s trespass. Pushing it out of your mind once again, you answer Apple Bloom.
“I think I’d like that.” She holds out her hand, which you take with your free one. Suddenly, she almost throws herself out of her seat to give you a kiss on the cheek. Then, settling back in, she watches in amusement as you grin like an idiot. The rest of your ride goes like such: two hands clasped inside that sublime moment, hearts deeply connected. Jollity brought, she casually changes the stations with her right hand. Landing on the pop station, a live version of one of your old favorites comes up. And judging by the sudden excitement in the passenger seat, she’s a fan of it too: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_6f95WzDQaM.
Late night pop brings your car home in a sweet haze, hands never parted. Dashboard Confessional returns for an encore, followed by The Airborne Toxic Event crooning about something happening at midnight. The grinding of gravel ends the fading notes of Coldplay’s Yellow. Quietly as you can, you exit and close the doors. The gravel crunches beneath you, the unavoidable alarm hated with fervor. But all lights remain off, and you enter the unlocked door with no other auditory obstacles. Moving quiet as a mouse, the kitchen passes you and your ninja cousin, the oven clock informing you of the proximity of midnight. Guess the drive and the kissing took longer than you’d thought.
Sneaking into the bathroom, you brush your teeth together. You wash off the numerous red kiss marks, suddenly thankful nobody was up, and that lights were off. Though light, the mere number of kiss marks is ludicrous, appearing as if you’d been set upon by the sum of the Bacchante. Both of you suppress those excited giggles, home only to new lovers who haven’t yet accustomed to the most unimaginable of joys. She turns to exit, and you spin her around, kissing her on the mouth. Worried and excited about the danger of being caught, she pulls away without wanting to. Suppressing a jubilant smile, she disappears into the dark of the hallway.
After entering your own room and changing into pajamas, your missing of Apple Bloom is dashed when she enters your room. She wears her own night gown, a beautiful golden dress going to her knees, with an inch of white lining and spaghetti straps. Her tanned legs bear no shoes at the bottom, the long figures grabbing your attention. Most of her makeup’s been removed, but her lips still remain rosy, and the lashes long. Her posture reveals no sleepiness, despite the late hour. Instead, she leans back on your door, flashing a furtive smile, as though realizing for the first time that she’s a girl in a boy’s room.
“What, we still have prayers,” she nonchalantly explains, at your questioning expression.
“Ah, I forgot,” you respond, thinking that she probably could have (and would have) done this on her own. Happy for the opportunity, you kneel down next to your bed, and she does the same, not a foot apart. You recite the now-learned askance, then look at Bloom.
“So.”
“So.” She repeats happily.
“High-Low?”
“Ah think that’s pretty obvious.”
“Still wanna hear it, though.” She lets out a single laugh, wanting the same from you.
“Alright, so my low’s the thing with Diamond Tiara,” she says without a hint of sadness, the bullying far negated. “An’ my high was finding out what your lips taste like.” Your heart feels like it doubles in speed, and you wonder how you’re gonna sleep tonight. Her lips entrance your gaze once more, the luscious curves beckoning a wanting boy. She nudges, urging your return.
“My high was seeing how sad you were today.” You place your hand on her jawline, just to the right of her chin, and stroke her cheek gently. “My high was seeing how happy you were tonight.” And with that, you remind her what your lips taste like. Somehow resisting another bout of kissing, she gives you her kiss one last time, and exits your room. And as you lay on the bed with thoughts of Apple Bloom, your Apple Bloom, you finally feel at home.