Of Mail and Wings

by Wiz Ahmad

Talking with John

As the afternoon rolled in, I turned up the volume in Whiz's touch screen headunit, playing a radio playlist of some tropical house to soothe my head and body from all the vigorous mental and physical routines that I'd been put through in a span of a good seven hours. But in the back of my head, I knew I was one step closer to making my childhood dreams come true – fighting the bad guys and flying through the skies at high speed.

I really wanted to just lay down in a tropical-themed spa somewhere, chill out, and then have a pizza. But that would have to wait. My job return remained number one priority now. As I passed the road that led down to home, my cell phone rang. I pulled over and picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Brian." Josh's voice came out shallow but had a hint of relief in it, as if he'd been just won a epic battle. "Glad to have people like you around. Many of these teens and young adults could barely follow any instructions, and three even got fired recently. There's still room, and I've admitted you back into the office at your local location. The only thing is that a part of your new job will be delivering mail out of town for two days of the week in the morning. Currently we have one senior member who does it, but he's hinted at retiring – twice already. Can you do it?"

"Uh..." was all that came out of my mouth. All of my pilot training sessions began half an hour after the crack of dawn and didn't end until three o'clock. Before I could assemble the words in my head and push them out through my lips, John interjected.

"Come meet me at four-thirty," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "We'll talk job ranking and hours and more, alright, Brian?"

"Sounds good," I replied with a smile. "Thank you, Mr. John."

I took off back onto the road, spun the car around, and headed down the side road. But instead of parking in the old lot, I decided to park it in the safety of my garage.

Only one problem. My garage was a mess. Inside I had stored a lot of my old stuff – childhood toys, Whiz's old parts, tools, and some home improvement equipment. I hadn't used them in months. Gazing up at the sky briefly (a technique I often used to help me think deeply), an idea sprung up in my head.

"Hi Fleetfoot!" I called upon entering, but she didn't answer. I kicked off my shoes and stepped into the living room. There she was on the sofa, playing the simulator games just as I'd left her many hours ago. Only this time, she was playing at a much higher level and also a different simulator.

My brain was stumped. How did she get through all those difficult levels so fast? Pegasi must have much more complicated and well-engineered brains than I'd originally thought.

I walked over and sat down. "Hey," I whispered, and she twitched in response.

"Oh... hi, Brian," said Fleetfoot, rather awkwardly. "Welcome home. These games are quite interesting! I've gone through one already, and this one seems to be even better!"

"Good to know," I replied quickly. "Say... do you mind pausing for a moment?" I really need to clean up the garage so I can put my car in."

"Aw!" Fleetfoot's pout was beyond cute, and I lowered my shoulders and smiled. "All right, just finish up this stage, ok?"

"Okay!" she responded quickly, returning to maneuvering the F-15 through some thick clouds with her joystick.

I had about half an hour before I had to be at the post office to talk with John, so I figured I might as well bide some time while I waited for Fleetfoot to finish playing. Besides, it'd give me some time to plan further ahead. I slapped some cheese and pastrami between slices of raisin bread and poured a glass of juice, then sat down at the table.

Fleetfoot kept her eyes locked on the screen, paying close attention to every detail and adjusting her movement as needed. The accuracy of her hoof on the joystick was almost impeccable. Watching her play made me even more convinced of the "crazy" plan I had in mind – to make her replace Selena on the team of pilots. Of course she wouldn't pilot the jet, but she would be part of the aerial routines and guide the other pilots on courses, and other aviation stuff like that.

Fleetfoot finished the level, I finished eating, and we headed outside to the garage.

"Oh," Fleetfoot muttered as I heaved up the garage door. Inside were stacks of paint cans, tools strewn over a woodworking bench, a pile of tangled cables, paint roller trays all over the floor, a vacuum, and balls upon balls of dust and dirt.

I took a rag and wiped down the vacuum, plugged it in, and sucked up all the dust off the floor, while Fleetfoot got to work on the scattered items. She wiped down paint cans and placed them back on the shelves, rinsed out the paint roller trays and stacked them neatly – even using the power of flight to hover and place all the tools neatly in place on a rack.

"For someone who lives by himself, you sure have a lot of stuff," Fleetfoot noted as we took turns using rags to clean up the last of the dirt.

I sighed, feeling a pang of guilt – but it was true. I did have too much stuff, and I needed to sort it out. Many were given as gifts or hand-downs from family and friends. But accumulating it to the point of needing to organize a whole garage was more than enough of a sign that some items had to go.

Having organized the garage, Fleetfoot and I closed and locked it up. Fleetfoot dashed back inside and I headed off to the post office.

I literally threw myself through the door right as the clock struck four-thirty one. John was patiently waiting for me, though his tapping fingers suggested otherwise.

"Good afternoon, Mr. John," I said respectfully as I sat down in the chair opposite to him in the office.

"It's quite a pleasure to have you back," he replied with a soft smile, shaking hands with me. "Now, how exactly can we work this schedule out? You're at flight camp from daybreak until three, right?"

"That is correct, sir," I responded with a nod.

"So, I can put you on the afternoon shift, from five to ten. Can you handle that?"

"Um..." I gave a slight pause. If I was on my own, I could easily hand this no problem. But I wasn't alone. I had Fleetfoot to take care of, which meant spending time with her and assisting in her acclimatization of this new world she'd fallen into. Just like a mother with her child.

What comes around, goes around.

At the same time, more hours meant more money, which Whiz's maintenance and Fleetfoot's care was screaming for.

"Could it be possible to work only up until nine instead?"

John leaned back in his chair and thought it over. "Well, there's often some last-hour work that has to be done, and many aren't up to the task. But I'll rearrange some of the workers to suit your needs."

"Thank you, thanks very much," I responded, pulling a grateful smile so wide it was almost childish. We continued talking for a short while about my previous work experience, salary raises, and packaging improvements, before I signed a couple documents and waved him goodbye.

As I hopped back in my Subaru and drove to the bank, I thought about the changes that had occurred in my life and how important Fleetfoot really was to me. She wasn't just a cute pegasus pony – she was an adorable bundle of joy and happiness that had elevated the caring and dedication side of me to another level.

Author's Note:

I really should've given this chapter a better title but I didn't know what else to put in tbh. Anyways enjoy.

Comments

[Bronycommander]

As fleetfoot is a Pegasus it dosn't surprise me that she's a Master in flying games. Must be cute to see her playing videogames. As the wonderbolts are basicily the air force of equestria, i'm sure she would get along with the other Pilots. Except they remind her of her friends and she becomes sad

[Wiz Ahmad]

UPDATE - correct character tags are now in! I'm only the second person ever on this site to have a Gabby character tag!!