Hand of a Father.
Many questioned my questionable decision to hire Lightning Dust into my small-town cafe, and for good reason: an ex-convict who nearly ended the lives of 5 national heroes wouldn’t paint a good picture for a business thriving off of local support. But as a stallion who’s raised 7 of his own kids and worked as a teacher for 25 years, I have a keen eye for when a youngster needs a slap on the wrist or a kind hand.
And Lightning Dust needed a kind hand more than now.
And if I had the chance to do it all over again, I would in a heartbeat. Would adopt her myself if she wasn’t old enough to be my actual daughter.
And for all of her bravado and abrasiveness, she had a knack for tea and service, coffee and cake: became my best employee right next to my actual daughter. The two became like sisters, Lightning Dust parting her wisdom onto Jasmine while Jasmine reminded Lightning that her prime years hadn’t flown by as she had believed.
But today was different. She served customers with the same rehearsed lines she’d been doing for the past year and a half, and yet, there was certain darkness swirling around her. A dark cloud looming over her head so potent, so unrivaled in its darkness, that many regulars who enjoyed her service requested a different server.
Of course, I refused to give her grief, instead, allowing her to sit the day out and sort her feelings, promising her that the hours would not be deducted from her usual pay. But as the day progressed, so did the ominous cloud, and her mood only got worse.
Both I and Jasmine tried our best to cheer her up, we refused to dig deep into the issue for what was our place to pry into her personal life, but nothing worked. Alas, I found myself striving to not question her on her state of mind, especially as customer after customer would come in right as it seemed the time was opportune.
My patience would be rewarded, however, as once the doors closed and were locked from further commerce from future customers, Lightning remained in her seat as she had the entire day, only getting up to answer the call of nature.
“You think I should talk to her?”
I shook my head, as much of Jasmine’s charm would be wanted in the coming storm, this looked like the job of a father. A father with an open ear and a soft heart, something only I was qualified for.
So, with cups of tea in hand and teapot held in my magic, I approached the table where she sat, hands clasped and gaze burning a hole through the table. As I got closer, however, something caught my ear. A subtle, haunting sob. The sob most would associate with a hurt child. The sob that anyone in spite of their age could fall into.
And just as I was thrown into those years embracing my own children, I placed the teapot and teacups on the table, wrapping my arms around her and bringing her in for a deep hug. Her reaction was immediate, her arms wrapping around me as she sobbed into my shoulder. Years of experience taught me that only silence could comfort them in their moment of stress, in their moment of need, until they unleashed all the emotion they held back for who knows how long. All I could do is pat her on the back.
Whether by nature or nurture, Lightning soon reeled in her emotions enough to pull away, wiping away at the tears and tearstains on her fear. She looked away from me, avoided my gaze, humiliated that someone as rough and tough as she could cry in the presence of someone that wasn’t herself and herself alone.
“I-I-I’m sorry,” She choked, clearly not used to opening up to anyone. “It’s j-j-just…” She trailed off, a layered, labored breath escaping her lips.
Now assure that she was ready for words, I reached over and caressed her back, plucking my glasses off more out of habit more than anything. “It’s alright, Lightning,” I assured her. “Now, want to tell me what has you upset?” I urged her.
She looked at me for a brief moment before looking at the table, an internal battle waged war in her mind as she contemplated talking to me or keeping it to herself. Thankfully, her rational side won the war and she began speaking. “The Wonderbolts contacted me: said they’re ready to cash in the debt I owe them,” She said, crossing her arms beneath her chest as she leaned back.
I suspected that this may happen, her half a decade of imprisonment was only possible for the Wonderbolts made an agreement that she would pay them in another way. Steeling myself for what was to come, I asked. “What do they have in mind?”
She looked at me once more, this time, for much longer, and a pained look enveloping her visage as she did so. “They want me to work for them, as some sort of travel manager where I keep an index of their stuff and whatnot: book hotels, handle visiting costs, and miscellaneous phone-calls from fans.” She said, which certainly came as a shock to my system. “They said I got a week before we get started.” She added.
I simply nodded, pouring her a cup of tea. “I hope that you understand that I harbor no ill will of you leaving.” It may have been a minuscule thing, and one that wouldn’t add much, but my experiences as a father and a teacher made it clear that beginning with trivial trivialities is often the best course of action. “But departing from us is not the source of your discomfort, something else bothers you, and I can see it.”
She nodded, leaning back into the chair. “I’m scared,” She began. “Of not being bullied, just knowing that I’d be in the presence of the people I aspired to be only to spit on everything they stand for.” She massaged her temples. “I guess, perhaps, I suppressed the thought for so long and believed that as long as I pretend that being a Wonderbolt wasn’t my filly dream ever since I knew they were a thing, that I wouldn’t have to face them.” She admitted.
Now adequately acquainted with her grief, with her fears, and with her doubts, I began the next phase: parting my old man wisdom. “I understand how you feel, I’ve faced a great many of my fears over the decades of my life, and each time I feared that I wasn’t up to the task, holding my fears inside and keeping them hidden in myself.” I began, watching her eyes illuminate with each word. “The first step in realizing that I was yet to stand alone against all my trials, tribulations, and fears and opened to those close to me, and you, my friend, have passed that first step.”
A small smile, one almost unnoticeable, cracked her lips. “Do you think… that I’m up to the task?” She asked.
It was now or never, I had to give her the decisive answer she craved but could not give herself, an answer that only an outside perspective could give. An answer only a father could give. I clasped her shoulder, looked her in the eyes, and flashed my signature grin. “Of course you are. Godspeed, my friend, Godspeed.”
Watching as her confidence returned, no longer on its unnecessary vacation, chest billowing out as she stood strong was a sight no stallion could watch without shedding a tear. Thankfully, that tear had already passed before she gave me the death-dealing hug she’s been known to give.
With a confident pat on the back, I was both elated and solemn that I would see such a perfect specimen of a daughter leave me. But as a bird watches its offspring leave the nest, I would greet her with the love, adoration, and support she craved.
She may not be my daughter, and I, her father, but the bond we built was as strong - no, stronger - and she would carry that with her.