Spring Broke

by kudzuhaiku

Chapter 28

With a sigh, Buttermilk allowed the high-pressure water jet to slip back into its dock mounted on the rear of the sink. Cleaning the dishes had settled her mind and now, with the kitchen tidy, she was free to accomplish other things without worry. With a slap of her hoof, she turned off the water and her ears perked at the sound of the faucet lever squeaking. While she stood there, pleased about a job well done, her mind posed a most curious question: how did earth ponies and pegasus ponies wash dishes before the invention of the sink-mounted high-pressure water jet?

Thinking about getting a mouthful of soap, she stuck out her tongue and her ears pinned back in disgust.

Doubt lurked like a distant storm and fearing its return, Buttermilk glanced over in Copperquick’s direction. Esmeralda was smacking him with her carrot, which she gripped in both of her fetlocks, and she cooed at him while he made funny faces. The little filly needed to be put to bed and it appeared as though Copperquick was allowing her to wear herself out. Buttermilk needed to believe that her mother was wrong, but feared that she might be right.

A defiant flame flickered, burning within her breast, and Buttermilk wondered if she was being manipulated again. Somehow, her mother had herded her into going to school and sticking it out: could the same thing be happening with Copperquick? Through some nefarious emotional exploitation, was her mother pairing her with Copperquick?

No, Buttermilk decided, because this was an issue long before Copperquick was present. This was the ‘traditional family values’ she had been raised with, with a foundation of distrust, wariness, and suspicion. A mare had to behave and act a certain way, lest a stallion look elsewhere. Buttermilk found that she didn’t want to live this way, and she wanted to trust in Copperquick’s seeming inherent goodness.

Yet, doubt persisted. Ripple Rusher made a living somehow. She found customers. And there was a tiny herd of fatherless foals that offered proof of careless stallions who cared nothing of the evidence left behind by their philandering. Copperquick himself had been indiscreet—but—he had also owned up to his mistake in the best way possible and that was the difference; reminding herself of this made Buttermilk feel better.

An idea popped into Buttermilk’s mind and she was overcome with giddiness rather than despair.

---

Copperquick’s ears perked at the sound of Buttermilk’s voice because her mood had changed—again. “Mister Orange, I don’t want to hijack your project, but I had an idea on finishing this piece. A lot of negativity has been brought up… I thought maybe we’d end on a more positive note.”

“I’d be glad to hear it,” Seville replied with his rural Manehattan accent now more pronounced because of his obvious fatigue. “I have a lot of good material to work with… maybe some real good material to work with because of your parents. But, uh, I dunno how they’ll feel about that.” The sunny yellow-orange earth pony shrugged and then leaned up against the table.

Esmeralda’s carrot was a bit soggy, but Copperquick didn’t mind too much. Soon, she would be worn out, exhausted, and she would succumb to the peaceful slumber of innocent, worn out foals—or so he hoped. She was already showing signs of slowing, and it was only a matter of time now. Esmeralda had been tired earlier, but then had found her second wind after a bit of shut eye. To wear his daughter down further, he pressed his lips against her neck and blew a powerful raspberry, which set her off.

Over at the table, Buttermilk armed herself with an inkpen.

Thrashing about and kicking, little giggling Esmeralda was a heart-stopping sight to behold, and Copperquick did his best pegasus impression: he flapped his ears like mad, at least until the dreadful cramp in his scalp made him stop. Over at the table, both Buttermilk and Seville were laughing, which made Copperquick feel a little bit better about his eye-watering scalp cramp. Ooh, that smarted! Much to Copperquick’s surprise, Esmeralda too, flapped her ears, but she was slow and clumsy; given time though, she would be as skilled as he, and Copperquick was delighted to see that his daughter had inherited something from him.

“This whole thing started because Copperquick made a bit of a mistake, and that can’t be readily dismissed,” Buttermilk said while she scratched out her words on the paper in front of her. “But it is unfair how society seizes upon these mistakes, these indiscretions, and grants them a cruel sense of permanency. If we see Copperquick as a stallion who made a mistake, and do nothing to look further, we’ll miss so much. The same could be said for many.”

From where she lay on the floor, Esmeralda tried to blow a raspberry, but her efforts produced copious amounts of slobber for the most part, and she tried to wipe her muzzle on her carrot, which was already damp. When things didn’t quite work out as planned, she started to fuss, and Copperquick, fearful of a squall, did his best to comfort her.

“Some might look at Copperquick, see a single father, and then cast whatever judgments come to mind because of that. The same can be said for single mothers, too, because there is a lot of stigma in our society. Doing this is shortsighted. There is so much more to Copper when you look past what many might perceive as a mistake. Since taking up his case, and then taking up his cause, I have been on the other side of society’s snap judgments. I too, have bore the brunt of the worst of it.”

Seville, tired and perhaps a bit sleepy, nodded while Buttermilk’s pen continued scratching.

“Beyond being a single father, Copper is patient, sometimes more so than I am, and I, being a mare, am supposed to be the one that society’s biases favour. I have lost my temper and my calm far more than he has. He’s neither a biter nor a kicker, I’ve never seen him act abusive, and I certainly wouldn’t tolerate him if he did… yet Esmeralda's mother was an abuser and she did lasting harm to her own daughter. Esmeralda’s mother gave up on her when the going got rough, but Copper, when faced with even worse circumstances, he chose to be a father… a dad. I don’t think he has it in him to quit—”

Buttermilk made an abrupt pause that caused Copperquick’s ears to prick while his daughter kicked and fussed.

“As a potential mate, I think—I think that I should take this as proof, as evidence that if he is this devoted to his daughter and staying strong through troubled times, I think I should take this as some assurance that he will do the same for me. Rather than be wary of Copper because of the mistakes that he has made, I should be reassured because of how he works so hard to fix them.”

“This is a good way to counter all of the garbage your mother crammed into your head,” Seville remarked, his words hesitant, cautious, and slow-spoken. “Sometimes the evidence of what we see is better than what we think we know, or something like that. I’m too tired to be all fancy and hifalutin.” Now, Seville sounded even more like a rural hick than he had previously.

“Copperquick’s indiscretion gave him an opportunity to show his best. He is genuinely a good pony and because of Esmeralda, he gets a chance to show this off every single day. This all started off with him seeking help, and somehow, this became a chance for him to help others. He’s out there in the trenches fighting the good fight and trying to counteract all of these damaging stereotypes… some of which I have lodged in my own head.”

Again, Buttermilk paused, but this time, her pen ceased its scratching, and Copperquick was stricken by how she was looking at him right now. It left his mouth dry—thirsty—and filled him with a curious sense of desire that wasn’t entirely physical. The pause did not last and the pen began moving several seconds before she continued with what she had to say.

“When dealing with a pony that might’ve made a mistake of some sort, we can do one of two things. We can dismiss them and cling to our biases, which does nothing for anypony…” Buttermilk’s words trailed off but her pen never slowed. “Or we can choose to look past our initial assumptions and take the opportunity to be better ponies. We might find proof that our parents might’ve been wrong—that the biases and stigmas that we’ve inherited and that we learned from the circumstances that we grew up in do us a disservice. If we cling to what we think we know, we might be robbing ourselves of some of the greatest moments of our lives, or the greatest loves of our lives, or holding ourselves back from becoming the truly great ponies that we have the potential to be. We shouldn’t rush to make assumptions, but we should rush to offer assistance.”

With a sigh, Buttermilk set her pen down upon the table, shook her head, and with her glasses askew she whispered out her final thoughts: “I wish I would have had this epiphany before meeting with Ripple Rusher. I wonder if there was more that I might’ve done. Was I a good enough friend? I don’t know if I can answer that with unflinching honesty. Was I loyal to what our friendship once was?”

Seville too, sighed, and it was a tired, worn out sound. “We might never fix the broken stuff in our heads, but we always have a choice on how we act on it. As I explore the world, I find that some of what I was taught as a foal was just flat out wrong… except for those times when it is exactly as my parents said it would be and those moments hurt the most. Those instances of confirmation are the worst and sometimes, they’re really discouraging.”

“Seville,” Buttermilk said while she turned to look at the earth pony beside her, “you sound like a pony of remarkable education. How?”

“Books.” Seville shrugged. “Speaking of biases, books have them too. There have been more than a few times where being book-smart has failed me. Books are their own special ivory tower and we have to trust that the author has our best interests in mind. Sometimes, they don’t. As I’ve travelled about, I’ve been getting a real-world education, and it’s been rough.”

“Yeah, well, don’t give up.” Buttermilk reached out, patted Seville on the foreleg, and then leaned back in her chair. With her wing, she finally straightened out her glasses, and then she let out a weary huff. “Are we done for the night?”

In response to this question, Seville nodded. “I think so. I have plenty of material to work with. Thank you… for everything. I don’t know if this will ever get published, but I am grateful for the experience.”

“Thank you as well,” Buttermilk replied. “I’m sorry about my parents. Things are strange right now.”

Copperquick, whose face was damp with slobber, lifted his head away from his daughter. “I think it is about time that I put Esme to bed and then I am going to catch up on more reading. I’ll be upstairs.”

“If there is anything that you need, don’t hesitate to ask.” Buttermilk offered up her best reassuring smile for Seville. “I’ll help you get settled on the sofa with some blankets and such and if you want to take a shower or a bath, you can. Once you’re situated, I think I’ll be joining Copperquick for a bit of quiet. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all… you’ve been a wonderful host, ma’am. Thank you for all of your remarkable kindness.” Seville bowed his head and his forelock spilled down into his eyes. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a good sleep. I think I’ll go to bed early.”

“Good night, Seville.” Copperquick looked down at Esmeralda when he heard her yawn, and felt relief. “I hope you sleep well. Buttermilk, I’ll be upstairs.”

“I’ll be up in a bit, Copper. Good luck with Esme.”

And with that, it was time to put his daughter to bed.

Author's Note:

Spoonin' time!

Comments

[Scarheart]

Spoooooon!

[lazyreader19]

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[Boulder]

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No!
Not a soggy carrot!!!!
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[Emtu]

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[Boulder]

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[Boulder]

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[Emtu]

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[PhycoKrusk]

This is something that I think nobody struggles with at all, because as soon as they try, they decide it's too hard and give up. We make mistakes, and immediately they're in the past. Did you make a mistake? Sure. Did you pay the dues you owed for that mistake, whatever they were? Sure.

Then it doesn't matter. Only what you do now matters.

That's what I wish for, at least. Sometimes, holding onto the past is an important and necessary component of defense. Sometimes, it's just a means to control someone else without their consent. When does one become the other?

I don't have an answer for that.

[Hodios]

Hear, hear Beezy!

[AyanamiRei]

Great chapter!

Though now I want to spoon, and I have nobody to spoon with right now T_T

[Tchernobog]

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D'aw! The little cutie.