Ponies Give Me Hope

by Kuyashii

1 Let It Rain

One warm Saturday afternoon, after snoozing my cell phone’s alarm for what must have been hours, I dragged myself out of bed only to find that my effort had been in vain. There was no doubt about it; my only orange juice carton was empty. A half-hour later, I found myself waiting in line at the grocery store with another jug of orange extra pulpy goodness. That’s when I first noticed it.

There was a little girl in line ahead of me with her hand buried in her mother’s fist, standing idly by while the discussion over her mother's expired reward certificates got real heated. The girl turned toward the shelves of candy, and as she did, a little toy on a keychain caught my eye. She had somehow attached it to the zipper of her windbreaker, and it flipped and flopped as she swayed to the rhythm of a song only she could hear. The toy was a pony—My Little Pony, to be precise. I dropped the orange juice right then and there. The girl shrieked as it exploded, but I was already halfway out of the automatic doors.

I recognized that pony, and I needed to be as far from it as possible.

After sprinting back to my apartment as quickly as my little asthmatic backside could carry me, I spent the next half a day curled up between my couch and the front door. I cradled the empty orange juice carton in both arms, occasionally glancing into it for the same reason that a single search through the refrigerator or cupboard is never enough. The thought that I should get up and make something of my day didn’t occur to me until it was far too late, so after consulting my work schedule to confirm that I did indeed work the following afternoon, I crawled back between my sheets and fell into a restless sleep.

The next afternoon I stumbled in to work bleary-eyed and bushy-haired. Of course, this would have been the day that my boss finally took notice of me. The extent of his efforts to assist with his diagnosis of my “overwhelming depression” only consisted of my first and last warning to shape up or ship out. I’ve never wanted to quit so badly, and I almost did right then and there, but I was worried that I would be disowned by my distant family. I managed to smile for the rest of my shift and stumbled back home to cradle my orange juice carton in the middle of the floor for a few more hours before I hit the hay. The carpet was comfortable, and the next day was the first of my weekend, which meant more time alone to think. I don’t like thinking anymore.

The belltower of the Catholic church up the hill and across the street from my apartment building binged and bonged six times before it got muffled, like it always does when a bird gets caught in the workings. It sounded like it may have tolled another five or so times before the muted ringing rolled off into the night. I managed to crawl my way down the little hall to my bedroom, where I fell asleep in my clothes on top of all the sheets.

I awoke to the sound of sleet smattering the little window over my bed. It somehow made sense that it would really start coming down on this day, of all days; the day I determined to take up jogging again. Adorned with colorful track shoes, green polyester shorts, and a grey hoodie, I stood in the doorway and watched the sleet come down in thicker sheets with each passing minute. It was then or never, or else not until I could muster the courage again. I took off down the road before I could make up my mind.

Two blocks away, I was turning onto the little trail that cuts through the park when I saw her. That same little girl from the grocery store was playing in her backyard just off the path, her windbreaker holding back the elements. The precipitation didn’t seem to bother her; she was engrossed in some little town she had constructed. I almost passed her by without a second glance, but then I saw the toy that she was playing with. Of course, it was the same My Little Pony toy. At least I could blame the downpour for the wetness around my eyes.

I had to stop halfway through the park to catch my breath, so I sat down on the grass in a little wooded glade and sobbed for a couple of minutes while I was at it. Soaked through and freezing cold, with mud sopping through my shorts; I was a spectacular mess. That must have been why she was so unconcerned. Finding a strange man crying his eyes out in an athletic outfit must be rather disarming.

It was the girl, hood up and hands clasped in front of her, holding the pink little pony. She was only a couple feet away, studying me as if to see whether her intrusion was welcomed. I rubbed the tears out of my eyes and simply nodded. I think she understood.

Without a word, she gingerly stepped forward and held the pony out toward me. As soon as I had accepted it, she turned and ran back up the path, slipping in an extra muddy patch as she rounded a corner and veered out of sight. So there I was; with the pony in hand, I found that I didn’t have it in me to cry anymore.

“Well, Pinkie Pie,” I said. “It looks like I can’t just avoid you forever.”

The sleet began to clear up as I tucked the pony into the hood of my jacket for safekeeping. I jogged the rest of the way home in patchy sunlight, arriving at my apartment just before dusk.

Author's Note:

First Edition: November 10th, 2014
Second Edition: December 24th, 2014