My Friend Ditzy

by WeirdBeard

Chapter 1- Impact

Chapter 1- Impact

“Tell us the story again, Granpa!”

A pair of adorable little girls gazed up at their elderly grandfather tucking them in. Their eyes were aglow from the excitement of hearing their favorite bedtime story. He wasn’t too enthused of course, as it was already very late.

“You’ve heard that ol’ yarn over a hundred times now! Don’t you want to hear something new?”

The younger granddaughter hugged her stuffed animals tighter. “But it’s such a good story though! Pleeeeeeaaaaaaaaasssseeeeeee!”

The grandfather tried to evade her defense-breaking cuteness, but to no avail. He grinned and shook his head. “Heh, you two are lucky that I’m such a softy now. Alright, I’ll tell you the story again, but then lights out.”

He cleared his throat quietly and sat up to retell his tale. “It all started not very long ago on a crisp April evening, much like tonight. In a small town much like this one. That spring, I met someone who turned my life completely upside down. This is the story of how I met Ditzy Doo.”

---

I’m not old. Just laying that down right now, age is only what you make of it. Reason I bring this up is past reactions. I’m tired of the surprise and questions I get from new acquaintances. That being said, my name is Cecil Evans. I was born literally days before the Great Depression struck. In our small farming family, it thankfully didn’t affect us too much in our patch of Oklahoma. It was the Dust Bowl that crippled us. Needless to say, I knew of hardship at an early age.

My father, emotionless and reserved as he may have been, did everything in his earthly power to sustain us. It proved to be his downfall however, overexerting himself one day and falling prey to a heat stroke that took his life. My mother raised my elder brother and I as best she could along with aid from our nearby extended family. We were humbled, but we grew stronger through the trials.

My brother, Gary, was a hero in every way to me. He not only became my best friend, but he tried so very hard to fill the void of fatherhood in my life. It wasn’t anything major, but it was the small things that made everything so worthwhile. Fishing, camping, working together on the farm. All the while, he always treated me as an equal, never degrading or condescending. It was both my pride and my sorrow when Gary enlisted into the service immediately after Pearl Harbor. His financial support sent to us from the Pacific division eased the burdens Mother and I possessed at home. It was still difficult, but much more manageable.

When VJ Day was declared, we anxiously awaited Gary’s return from the war. Alas, Death was not quite finished with our family. The news was delivered to us on my 16th birthday. He didn’t fall to bullets nor fire nor any means of war. It was disease that took him, a faceless spectre conceived from the jungles of a small island off the Philippines. No triumphant homecoming, no going back to those cherished days. Only a folded flag and a salute from the MPs. My mother’s heart couldn’t handle being broken twice, this time she succumbed to the debt that all pay. The doctors could never explain how she passed on, but I knew it was the immense grief and sorrow she carried. I couldn’t save her.

For most people, this would’ve been a quitting point as well. I’m here to tell you that I’m not most people. Things were different back then and I had been through the refiner’s fire just enough to push me on. I managed the farm until I was deemed by the government as ‘adult’. It was just after this point that another war was on the precipice of commencing. Most my age joined for some sense of patriotism or heroism or just for the fun of it. Frankly, I enlisted because there was nothing left for me at home. Just wishful memories and lingering sorrow.

While the conflicts I took part in are not as high-note as others, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t war. I witnessed more crap to fill several lifetimes; lives lost, barbarians’ cruelty, the hideous side of humanity. Many of my squad members perished, yet I remained for some unseen reason. As some would say, I became married to the military. Opportunities and promotions presented themselves often and I seized each one with gusto. I felt Gary would have done the same thing.

Many years later, while on leave in the Capitol, I met Rose. She was a nurse in the busiest hospital of the district, just as occupied with her career as I was. We bumped into each other at a small diner outside of city limits. Even though we were well into our forties, there was a mutual attraction that was shared. We talked for hours in that podunk restaurant, our individual stories intriguing the other. More and more commons were found thus we started to court. Despite our age, there was a sense of young love. Rose helped me feel so many things I had never experienced before. She was a delicate flower whose care surpassed anyone’s personal barriers (she bragged that I was her greatest accomplishment.) Within a year we married and moved back west to a more quiet life.

Our travels led us to the small town of Montpelier, a new home for both of us. She continued her medical work into the relaxed county hospital. I joined the local police force, which was much too easy-going for my taste, but it served its’ purpose. We settled into a routine and shortly after had a healthy baby boy, Jonathan. The years of his childhood were fairly typical and carefree as every child’s life should be. We had many great memories created as he matured more and more into an adult. Jon moved out to college, Rose and I retired, life continued.

Or so I wish. Once again, someone I held most dear was taken from me. It was another ordinary summer morning that I had awoken to. I eased myself from my sleeping wife to prepare her an unexpected breakfast in bed. When I came back with the tray of steaming food, I finally noticed how pale she was. Rose, my sweet Rose, had passed on ‘due to natural causes’ the doctors reasoned. I cradled her lifeless body and for only the second time in my life, I wept.

That was twenty years ago. It’s now the year 2012, I still reside in Montpelier on my own. Yes, I’m an octogenarian outside of a retirement home, sue me. I am perfectly capable and have remained fit even in these years. Jonathan has a family of his own now, a beautiful wife and two healthy daughters. I’m waiting to join my loved ones beyond this mortal life, but I’m still here for my son and granddaughters. Well, for Christmas when they can make it up here. Jon’s job forced him out east, a sizable distance now separates us. We still keep in touch, but it’s usually just checking in every once in awhile.

No use in complaining of course, just getting you up to speed. Our house is a ways out of town, closer to the majestic mountains that surround the population. I’m not an introvert by any means, I just prefer my privacy and I have only ever related truly with my family. These days I supervise the camping region and maintain Rose’s flower patches. It brings me a sense of peace, like she’s sprucing them up right there with me.

The daily grind can hardly be called that for me anymore. I tend to visit the local diner where Rose and I were regulars. Cup of coffee in the morning, check my post box, usual hellos to the town workers, snag a few groceries, and then back to patrol the base region of the mountain near my home. At this point, I would rather keep my patterns and routines going instead of rash change. It’s the best way to retain the memories of my time with Rose and of raising Jonathan.

The sun was setting on another day. One of the most amazing things about living out in this part of the country is the natural beauty. You haven’t seen a true sunset until you witness the wonder of how much the mountains can change it. This evening’s was no exception, the summit sliced into the sun’s brilliant light. It’s this point when so many different results occur. Oranges, reds, and pinks envelop the sky. Pure beauty.. just like my Rose.

I reclined on the porch swing, gently swaying from the light breeze. The sun slowly descended beyond the peaks, it began to get darker and darker. I remained in my position and watched the night sky become alite with the full moon and the brightening stars. After a few hours simply star-gazing and listening to the crickets chirp, I pushed myself up from the swing and stepped inside. A switch of the lights and a meager midnight snack to bed were my finishing actions for the night. I heard a quiet echo of thunder resonate from outside, but I dismissed it as I relaxed into bed.

KRACK!

The sudden cacophony of thunder disturbed my slumber and I awoke in surprise. Not one to delay in finding out what happened, I eased myself from out of the covers to investigate. The house was dark and scarcely visible at all. However, decades had taught me where everything was and I traversed to the front porch. When I opened the door, my initial vision revealed nothing out of the ordinary. It was that my eyes adjusted to the evening light that I saw dissipating storm cloud.

'What the Sam Hill was that?' I asked myself. There have been storms before in the past, but never as loud. It sounded so close, I wondered if lightning had actually struck my home. Just as strange was the speed of that storm cloud disappearing. It was the only one at that time in the whole sky and now it was completely clear again as if nothing had even happened. The forecast hadn’t called for any bad weather, but I trust weathermen quacks only as far as I can throw them.

I glanced over the front yard as reflex and didn’t expect to see anything. However, a glaringly obvious crater now occupied where one of my shrubs previously resided. To be honest, I hated that bush anyway and wasn’t too strung up on it. It was this new addition that threw me off. I clutched the handrail of my porch and descended its’ steps to look closer. The crater was roughly six feet in diameter, maybe just as deep. I knelt down and peered down into the hole. I don’t know what I expected to see in there. Maybe a meteorite, some broken satellite, or even some idiot kids trying to prank me.

I could barely make out a figure at the bottom of the hole from the moonlight. It appeared to be an animal judging from its’ size and covering hair. Reason kicked in before I tried to reach for it. I didn’t have a clue what exactly it was and it could just as easily attack me. Not wanting to risk an unnecessary trip to the hospital in the middle of the night, I went back inside to grab a lantern. Unfortunately my knee was acting up from that brief kneeling. Luckily, I had just refilled my pain meds at the town pharmacy that morning.

I flipped on the kitchen lights and rifled through the days’ purchases. The search was brief and I was soon unscrewing the cap for the pills. After pouring myself a glass of water, I swallowed a couple of the meds along with a small swig. I grasped the counter end and wondered what other materials I should use to handle the situation. Lost in my thoughts, it wasn’t until the door to the kitchen gently pushed open that I realized there was something else in my home now. I turned to face the intruder, but felt my jaw drop in surprise. There, shivering on the hardwood floor, stood a miniature horse. For a half-second I thought of my granddaughters’ current obsession with ponies, but dismissed the idea from the current matter at hand. Yep, there was a pony in my kitchen.

It’s grey coat was riddled with burrs and dirt, streaks of what appeared to be char marks decorated it as well. The mane and tail were a peculiar color of blonde, also in disarray. Another oddity about this creature was what seemed like a pair of wings on its’ back. However, this pony was nowhere near intimidating. It stared back at me with a similar look of confusion which puzzled me even more. I looked back at the prescription I had just taken and chuckled. “Man, the doc must have given me some good extra strength.”

The night was about to get even stranger. This newfound pony widened its’ eyes and bewilderedly asked, “You speak Equestrian?”

The Red Sox winning the World Series was surprising. How America now had an African American president was surprising. This was borderline insane. I rubbed my eyes and refocused on the sapient pony. Did it really just talk? Its’ voice was strangely feminine, another weird detail I noticed in this backwards evening. “Well, it appears that the doc gave me the wrong prescription. Looks like I’m hallucinating, you’ll have to excuse me,” I flatly joked, waving off this whole night.

“I’m sorry for coming into your house, but it’s really cold outside and I don’t know where I am. Can you please help me?” the pony asked with fear in her eyes. She trotted closer to where I stood and gave me a pleading look.

Allow me to be frank with you. The hour was late, I may or may not have been having a severe reaction to the medication, and there was a talking pony in my kitchen. All sense and logic was out the window. “Listen, pony, this isn’t exactly normal. Animals don’t usually speak, thunderstorms don’t appear and reappear, and my care cup is running on empty. I’m gonna sleep these pills off before Elvis Priestley wanders in here and starts singing the Canadian anthem, good night.”

The pony quickly placed itself between me and the hallway. Its’ golden eyes, once again weird details for a weird night, were tearing up in desperation and exhaustion. “Can I at least stay the night here?”

A hallucination wants to use my home as shelter? Sure, why not. “Whatever you want, pony. You can use the couch, just don’t eat the cushions, heh,” I joked and maneuvered my way around her to my bedroom.

I think it wanted to say something else to me, but it instead sighed and trotted over to the sofa. I retreated back into my bed and settled under the covers. I lay awake for several minutes before curiosity and a twinge of guilt got the best of me. I grabbed a blanket and pillow and returned to the living room where the pony was now trying to relax.

It didn’t bear the normal features of an actual horse, instead very personified. I figured it’d be safe to call it a she, all points lead to that assumption. She looked up at me curiously when I set the blanket over her. “Ya’know, even if this is from the meds or just a weird dream, it’d be pretty rude for me not to be more hospitable. Let me know if you need anything else. Good night,” I said and patted her back.

She smiled slightly at the gesture. I was about to walk away when she asked me another question. “What’s your name?”

“Cecil. Cecil Evans.”

“Cecil..” she replied, sounding it out like it was an alien word. “Thank you, Cecil. My name’s Ditzy Doo.”

I grinned a little. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ditzy. Sleep well.”

Ditzy nodded and placed her head onto the pillow. “Good night.”

---

A/N: Heartwarming instead of gut-busting comedy?! Yeah, definitely a change from my usual material. I was working on Chapter 5 for ‘Shut Up’, but this idea kept interrupting my train of thought. I’ll try alternating between the two (I’m weird like that) and getcha fine readers the goods you’re looking for. Thanks so much for reading, please comment!

Comments

[iSmartMan]

Wow, lotta potential here. Awesome narrative style, and I'm guessing there's something extra to the tale we don't know yet if this guy is telling his grandkids about it so casually, as though it happened years before. Can't wait to see what happens next.

[The Rogue Wolf]

Hm. Pony on Earth... but rather than the traditional angsty teen playing host, it's an 80-something grandfather?

Interesting enough to track.

[emanwe]

Well this is certainly breaking a few of the conventions of the pony-ends-up-on-earth trope rather early, and in a good way I think.
I'm interested to see where you go with it.

[BBB]

er... cecil evans? no offense but isnt that the guy from saw who robbed the clinic? besides the weird simalarity in name the story is good. i am going to see if it gets better. (tracking)

[Alalic]

I really like where this is going. Keep up the good work!

[Halosnake]

More?

[WeirdBeard]

411690

Wait, really? I honestly have never watched the Saw series, that's news to me. In truth, I slightly dedicated the name to my recently deceased grandfather (last name different for respect and because 'Hugie' (pronounced 'HUE GHEE') doesn't flow too well (I'm still proud to have the name of course.))

I really appreciate the feedback, thanks to all of you. More is on the way, but nothing too foreboding. The story as a whole will be relatively short and things will make a bit more sense in the next chapter.

YOU ROCK!

[Kenneth Chase]

Interesting story you got here, hope you make Chapter 2.