First Autumn - Ask Lovely Laughter

by LovelyLaughter

Chapter 3

Dear Blog,

The bell jingled obnoxiously as I stepped into the store. The door closed onto my saddlebag, threatening to drag it off my back. I let out a suppressed exclamation and kicked the door with my hind leg, then dashed forward before it could slam on my tail. The bell clamored again. From the blurred edge of my vision, I saw the pony at the counter set down his water bottle, watching me. For a terrifying moment, my eyeballs betrayed me and flicked over to his face, meeting his eyes. My stomach seized and I immediately looked away. He seemed to smile. “Welcome to Barnyard Bargains!” he chirped. I half-assed a response and ducked into the nearest aisle. Safe from sight, I paused and took a deep breath. Ireallydon’t like eye contact.

Anxiety buzzed around my neck like ruffled fur. I tried to smooth it down to… some avail. Then I began slowly, meticulously, perusing the wares: boxes of bandages, jars of jelly, blankets… blankets, where were the blankets? I contemplated every color of bow, impulsively picking up a black one to match my work shirt. I scanned the tops and bottoms of every shelf, taking time to explore every row. There were spatulas and syrups, boots and barley seeds, colorful aprons and campy baseball hats. Everything was cheap, but of decent quality. Most items, I knew, were bulk from other local businesses, like zap apple jam from the Apple Farm, and candy sticks from Sugarcube Corner. Others were imports that Filthy Rich had brought from his many vacations. No blankets.

I dashed over to the other side of the store, still avoiding eye contact with the cashier. I searched again, up and down, just as meticulously as the first time. Still no sign of a single blanket. The closest thing I found was a decorative throw pillow. I sighed and looked at the ceiling. I could either suck it up and face the terrifying monster of social interaction, or I could try my luck at another store and probably spend more money. And what if the other store doesn’t have them in stock, either? Could I go another night without the blanket? I shivered despite my sweater. Just thinking about it made me want to curl up into a ball. No, I couldn’t just abandon the mission. I had a black hair bow, and I wanted to purchase it. Might as well ask the cashier for assistance while I was at the counter. The path of least interaction, unfortunately for me, wasn’t putting it off. I lowered my head and stared at the bow in my hoof for a good thirty seconds. I calculated the distance to the door.Could I…? After all, it’s just a common bow…No, I couldn’t. I had to be an adult. Besides, I’dstillbe leaving without buying anything.Alright, fine. Deep breaths.

I slowly stepped out from the aisle. He was sitting behind the counter, just as before. He rubbed his hooves together absently. I took another step, but he didn’t look up. “Um… excuse me?” His head popped up. His gaze shot through his glasses and just missed locking mine. I ducked my head instinctively. “Sorry, I was just wondering… I can’t find…. do you have any blankets?”

He smiled, and it was a wide, genuine smile. Almost like he was actually happy to see me.Good customer service, I thought.Really good.I was mildly jealous. He said, “You’re in luck!” And as he said it, he pointed to me and then moved his hoof in a sort of V-shape across his body, like a checkmark in the air. “We don’t have them on the floor yet, but they’re in the back. I don’t think Mr. Rich would mind me selling one early.” He stepped out from behind the counter.

He was massive, standing a full head taller than me (and I’m not short.) His shoulders were twice as broad as mine. If they’d had any muscle, he would’ve been as wide as Big Macintosh. As it was, he had a significant amount of fat. His belly nearly reached his knees. Every corner of his body had a soft roll pulled across it. When he turned, the back of his navy colored shirt was covered in fresh sweat. I frowned.

“What would you do if I was fat?”

“I would leave you.”

He squeezed down the aisle, and I followed him. I was sure he’d barely be able to turn around without bumping into something. But he carried himself swiftly and with confidence. Each step was firmly rooted in the ground. He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and dipped through a door.

The moment he vanished, I realized with a wave of guilt that I’d been holding my breath. I let it out and took a tentative whiff of the air. It smelled like… nothing! No overwhelming body odor, no lingering cat piss, no insane amounts of body spray, all of which I had been expecting from somepony of his size. I don’t know why, but it made me pause. Thinking about it, I’m not sure why I even wrote about his appearance. Why does it matter? Am I being a bitch?

He re-emerged, holding a folded blanket wrapped in a ribbon. He smiled that genuine smile again and made his way back to the register. I followed him, forcing myself to focus on his face rather than his body. A tough ask, when you’re avoiding eye contact. He got up behind the counter and set the blanket on top. It was teal, and the ribbon was blue. I leaned over and brushed it with my nose. It smelled new, just out of the box. The wool was incredibly soft and thick. “Thank you,” I said.

“No problem,” he replied, gesticulating again. His gestures, like his steps, were firm but quick. No lumbering around. He had energy and strength underneath his skin. He was enthusiastic. It was unusual. I kind of liked it.

I pulled out my bag of bits and set them on the counter. “How much?”

“Fifteen bits,” he said. Thank Celestia, it would’ve been at least twenty-five bits at Sofas and Quills. Maybe 30, for a nice one. I counted out the bits and pushed them over. Naturally, I overshot and they fell all over his register.

“Oh shit,” I blurted. I ducked around the counter and started hastily picking them off the floor. He lifted a front hoof and froze, unsure of what to do with the strange scarlet pegasus scrambling beneath him. I grabbed bit by bit as fast as I could. “Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” I repeated over and over, accidentally brushing his hooves.

“It’s okay! It’s cool, don’t worry,” he insisted. “I’ll get it.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ve got most of them.”

“Please, don’t worry about it.”

“No, no, it was my fault. I-ow!” I bumped my head on the counter, scattering the coins again. “FUCK! Fucking fuck fuck fuckety fucking-”

He laughed and stepped back. “I’ll help you.” He started pushing coins to me while I rubbed my newly lumpy head.

“Thanks,” I groaned. “Maybe you’re right, I need help.” I scooped up all the coins and, at his offer, I piled them into his open hoof.

“That’s okay,” he said, setting them on the counter. Then he held his hoof out for me. “May I?” His forelock sported a tattoo of a blue awareness ribbon. I set my hoof in his. With a grunt of effort, he lifted me off the ground. “I’ve got you.”

“Is it fifteen bits?” I fretted, counting out the coins on the counter. He watched me patiently while I re-counted, grouping them in three clumps of five. “Are you sure? Is that right?”

“It’s okay!” he repeated. Was that irritation I heard? Did I do something wrong? My face grew hot. I fluttered back to the other side of the counter, rubbing my head absently.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“It’s fine,” he insisted again.

“I just don’t want your drawer to be short-”

He held up a hoof, that smile never wavering. “Don’t worry about it. I saw you count out the change in the first place, anyways. Sixteen bits.”

“SIXTEEN?”

He busted out laughing. It was booming, but oddly high pitched. Light but strong. Contagious. “I’m messing with you! Fifteen bits.”

I put my hoof over my heart. “Oh Celestia, you scared me.”

“Sorry!” he chuckled, “couldn’t help it.” I couldn’t help but laugh along.

In that moment, he glowed. His yellow fur was the same color of his aura. Not that I actually saw an aura, but I felt it, and it felt like the color yellow. Joy. Pure, light laughter and honest to goodness joy. I saw it on his cheeks. I felt it lifting his shoulders. It was the same kind of magic that captures a comedy club audience, but unaltered, unpolluted, coming from one single pony. It filled my back and lifted my shoulders too. I laughed my giggly, snorty laugh. My head hurt, but laughter made it better.

Then he straightened out, and I met the bluest eyes. They were deep and bright, like a flower or a technicolor ocean. And within them… black. Death and darkness, sadness and depression, and a loss. Covered for a moment by the joy, but not forgotten. Guilt, too. Perhaps the guilt of feeling joy. A feeling like it’s been a long time since he laughed.

I stopped laughing and averted my gaze.

That’s why I don’t make eye contact.

~Lovely Laughter

Author's Note:

Editing by Piquo Pie and @star-killer89