You couldn’t see me. Behind your dark shades and beyond the wide brim of your commander’s hat. Who was there, standing in the front row listening to your speeches? Who cheered the loudest? I was there. All the mares in town fell head over heels for Hitch. But something about that crimson fur and blonde mane drove me wild.
When I heard you speak, I felt avenged. Vindicated. At last, the stallion in power speaking words of truth.
You could not see me, but I believed in you, Sprout.
I was the first to figure you out, Misty. I’m a detective after all, perception skills are my trademark. I knew all along why you followed us around. Why you were so interested in Sparky. Why you stuttered when I asked about your family. Why you hid tears when I asked “what’s for dinner”.
I knew all along—
Why you blushed as I stared down every last inch of your body. Why you smirked as I pat you down for any “suspicious items.”
Do you know how many hooficure designs exist in this world? Izzy knows.
How many colors of hoof polish there are? Izzy knows.
“Where every hooficure is as unique as your cutie mark.” That’s our slogan at Mane Melody. Are there more hooficure designs than cutie marks?
Izzy knows. She takes me to live saxophone music at the Bridlewood tea room, unicycles a few scraps of garbage, and then somehow I know the answer too. I couldn’t give you a number, but I just “know.”
I just keep on painting. And the designs keep coming. When Izzy and I are together.
I’m just gathering intel. On how long I can kiss Izzy on the lips while holding my breath.
As I lie beside her in her bed, I’m gathering intel. On how beautiful unicorn eyes are. How long a unicorn can hold a stare for. I can only imagine the legendary staring contests in Bridlewood.
I’m gathering intel about magic. Like how a unicorn like Izzy turns such simple words like,
“I love you, Misty,”
into something so magical. I’m gathering intel. About love. And maybe if I share what I’ve learned to you, Opaline, your heart will warm at last.
There was one mystery in the sheriff’s office which eluded Zipp. And like any good detective, she took notes.
Whenever she was near Hitch, her heart rate increased by 20 percent. Her pupils dilated. Her speech became fragmented and inarticulate.
Could it be directly caused by Hitch’s presence? Was there a compound in his cologne that made her delirious? Each time she saw Hitch, she tested a different hypothesis. She took him to dinner, to skateboarding, she even dragonsit with Hitch. She took notes; still, no conclusive evidence.
One evening, as she put Hitch’s bouquet of roses in some water, Zipp realized where all the evidence pointed.
Is this love?
No, it was still a mystery. She threw away her notepad and decided that she needed to test more hypotheses.
In his kingdom, he serves me tea. He is king of Bridlewood, and I his sole companion.
He wears no crown, carries no retinue of guards and attracts no mob of admirers. His subjects do not prostrate. They barely speak. Yet they obediently follow his every word, his every idiosyncratic made-up rule of that dancing game he adores.
His character alone commands respect.
Oh if I could be a queen without the guards, the gilded scrolls, the rehearsed laughs. The burden.
“Let me relieve you of your burden.” He pours me a cup.
Stupid Thunder. He’s always so careless. He shouldn’t have given me that coy look during the changing of the guard. Or stared at my rear a little too long as I prostrated before Princess Zipp. Does he not know Her Majesty is watching? Is he really that clueless?
And now we’ve been found out and summoned to the throne room by the Queen.
Thunder, you.
You stupid, careless, clueless little dork.
But back to Her Majesty’s question: “Are you in love?”
“Yes,” I say. “But our commitment to the crown is stronger.”
When I wake up in the morning, the bed will be empty.
You have to be at Ponytropico Beach before sunrise for a promotional photo shoot. I’m signing autographs and reading to the Pippsqueaks from 9 to 11, you have a recording session until 1. Then after a quick lunch, at 1:30 we get dolled up by our separate beauticians and shoot the music video for our Ruby❤Petals collab album. Then I gotta leave by 4 for my livestream, you’ve got your sponsorship shoot at 5.
And then maybe, just maybe…we could squeeze in some time for a date together?
I’m not sweeping the street, Hitch. Do you even know who I am?! I was the heir of a formerly billion dollar corporation. I’m better than this.
Now you’re treating me like some pet. I sweep up pieces of paper off the street, you smile widely at me and say, “Excellent, Sprout.” And then you get your stupid shredded mane in my face—I mean shredded abs—I mean. They’re not shredded. You’re stupid.
You know your smile is stupid, Hitch. Stupid stupid.
Hmph. But I guess I’ll deign to sweep up the street if it makes you smile stupidly like that.
The day you answered my last Question to Ask a Unicorn was the day you stopped being my new friend.
When you first said, “Hi new friend!” that fateful morning, a whirlwind of excitement overcame me. An unquenchable curiosity. I became inspired to be better. I grew more resilient. More confident. More giving. More willing to be vulnerable. Because of you, Izzy.
Yet this morning while we were unicycling old bean cans, yesterday when we went cruising in the Izzymobile, last night when we kissed…I felt exactly the same way.
And it’s like you’re my new friend all over again.
