How Much is That Pony in the Window?

How Much is That Pony in the Window?
By Notamiracle

A young man briefly pulled his hands from the warmth of his pockets to hurriedly tug his coat collar over his neck, before putting them back. He walked at a smart pace down the wet city sidewalk, his shoulders were hunched and his steps tight and quick, both to keep the fall nip away, and to avoid contact with the other pedestrians that walked with him and against him. He kept his forehead tilted down, raising it slightly to avoid someone coming straight for him, or when he approached a stop light.

He remembered when he had been excited about moving to the city. Following high school graduation and two years at his little town’s community college, he had been anxious to get out of the neighborhood he had spent his whole life in. After throwing himself into a brutal job hunt, and securing a small position at a small business, he had packed everything he had and took the bus to the busy state capitol.

He let out a sigh of misty breath, already tired of the daily grind. He thought he had been clever selling his car and settling for cheap lodging that would put him closer to work. And closer he was; it was only a five minute walk from the apartment to his office. Seven boring blocks of grey concrete, sickening florescent lights from restaurants and clubs, a flash of pink from the corner of his eye…

He glanced over to his left to see what it was that had gotten his attention. He saw a large window of a small café. He could see the blurry images of the patrons inside, the occasional passerby as they made their way across his field of vision, the lights of the vehicles as they drove by, and a little pink creature that had two big blue eyes staring right back at him. It was exactly where his reflection should have been, standing apparently unsupported by anything as it stared at him first in surprise, then in curiosity.

The young man felt a little buzz of curiosity as well. The more he stared, the more he seemed to realize how peculiar this creature seemed. It looked like a small pony, but the expression on its face was so characterized and specific that it seemed to carry a human-like quality to it. It was completely pink, with a decidedly curly tail and mane, reaffirming to him that it was some sort of horse. Completely pink, he realized, except for the three balloons it had over its back leg. He met its eyes again, who he suspected had been looking him over as well.

There was a second’s pause, and then the pink pony’s face broke out in a huge smile, and began to wave enthusiastically to him from its side of the glass. There was another second’s pause as the young man tried to decide just what he thought about all this. But the smile and wave began to have an effect on him. A smile began to appear on his face as he lifted up a small hand and began to wave back. This made the smile on the pony grow even larger, and that made the young man feel even happier. She then opened her mouth (he had concluded that she must be a girl, based on her appearance) and began to move it as if she were introducing herself. Thinking the sound of cars and buses was drowning out her voice, he moved as close as he could to the window, but still couldn’t hear her. He asked her slowly if she could hear him. Apparently guessing what he said, the pink pony shook her head sadly. The young man nodded his mutual disappointment. He had already formed a wild list of questions for the pink pony, wanting to know everything about her. He was thinking about what he should do next when he felt someone behind him brush him slightly as they walked by.

Realizing he was standing in front of a café window on a sidewalk, he took his eyes off the pony and looked around. It was still a cold and wet morning, and the sounds of traffic began to make its way back into his ears. Instinctively, he reached for his phone to check the time, and realized he needed to get to his work quick. He turned back at the confused looking pony, and gave a small sign that he had to go. The pony then silently gasped, pulled a pocket watch and chain out of nowhere and let out an even bigger but equally silent gasp. She then gave one last big smile and wave before zooming out of the window with surprising speed.

Waiting a second to be sure that she was gone, he turned and resumed his walk to his work at a quicker yet more contemplative pace. It seemed as though she had somewhere to be just as much as he did. A job? An appointment? The pink pony was the only thing on his mind for the rest of his walk and for the rest of his day.

***

They next morning, at the same time, the young man walked with his hands in his pockets and with tight, quick steps. But this time, it wasn’t just to get to work. He had to make sure what had happened yesterday wasn’t just a one-time occurrence. Heck, he wanted to be sure that it really happened. He had waited by the window for several minutes after work the day before, hoping she’d come back, but had to give up when she didn’t appear. As he approached the window, he saw her, sitting eyes closed with her head drooped down to her chest, rising and falling slowly in the gentle rhythm of a snore. Her main looked a little untidy. His initial joy was replaced by commiseration. It looked as though she had been sitting there for hours waiting for him.

Approaching her, he tapped on the window, wondering if she would be able to hear it. The second he tapped, she jolted awake, a line of drool snaking its way out of her open mouth and out of sight. After catching her breath, she saw the young man and smiled with wide eyes, jumping around in circles for a time. The man smiled at the sight of her. She then seemed to remember something, placed a hoof in the air as if to tell him to wait a second, then zipped off again with the same superhuman (superpony?) speed. When she appeared, it looked as though she was pantomiming pushing something heavy. She then threw a foreleg in the air in the way that you’d do it over someone’s shoulders, exuberantly gesturing to the man as he was an amazing spectacle.

Her face then fell, as if the invisible person beside her had hurt her feelings. Catching on, the man waved his arms to get her attention, then stopped an elder woman walking slowly by and brought her in front of the window. He showed her to the pony with a questioning look on his face. She stared at him blankly for a second, then took a deep breath and let out a big, silent “ooh”. She then turned to her invisible comrade, and seemed to explain the situation to it. At the same time, the old woman the young man had volunteered smacked his hand off her and went on her way, looking a little irritated. This made the man realize that he needed to get going, too. He turned and waved to the pink pony and left. She was waving at him as he walked away, her arm still around whoever she had brought with her.

***

The next few days went on just like this. The young man would get to window just about the same time the pick pony did. They’d wave and smile. Once she brought a tray of cupcakes, complete with a party hat and curly noise-maker. She tried to give him one of the cupcakes, but was unsuccessful, and the cupcake was smeared on her side of the glass. Her normally infectiously cheery attitude was replaced by the sad look of longing: she seemed to want to find another way to communicate since they couldn’t hear each other. The feeling was mutual, and the young man thought for the rest of the day how to better communicate with his new acquaintance.

The following day, as he strode up to his usual spot by the window, the pink pony looked a bit more excited than usual. She had her front hooves behind her back, and had her lips pursed in anticipation and as she shivered with excitement. The young man put his hands on his hips and cocked an eyebrow, feigning expectancy. Unable to hold the surprise any longer, the pink pony whipped from behind her a large white poster board. And written in pink paint, decorated with hearts and smiles, written in plain English was the word “HI”.

The young man’s jaw dropped, genuinely showing surprise. Not only could this pony write, but she could write in English! She seemed to be just as excited as he was baffled. She ran and slapped the poster up against the window, peeking over the little room reserved and waving, as if trying to say “HI, HI, HI” as many times as she could. She continued this until the young man couldn’t see the window as he walked backwards down the sidewalk.

The man took a cab that evening to a hobby store and bought dozens of poster boards and bright paints. The next day, he drew stares as he walked down the sidewalk with the sign in front of him. He beat her to the window this morning (a rare occurrence, they usually arrived together), and patiently waited. She suddenly appeared, out of breath, her eyes bugging out with each pull for oxygen. After getting herself under control, she looked and saw the sign, and read the big, blue “Hello to you!” She looked as though she had accomplished something big. And the young man felt the same sense of success. From absolutely nothing, the two of them had formed communication.

***

For the next month, the young man “spoke” one message at a time with the pink pony, back and forth. He only had so much time to spend in front of the window before work, and his correspondent seemed to have a similarly binding engagement, so they were always short and simple.
“Do you like cupcakes?”
“I love them.”
“Favorite food?”
“Pizza. You?”
“Cupcakes!”
“You love cupcakes?”
“Yes in-deedy!”

That was the only problem; that was already a week gone and they had hardly said anything at all. The young man had been initially thrilled with the new routine and activity the “instant messaging” had brought, but was getting tired of how little he was learning about the pink pony. He had tried getting up earlier than usual so they could have more time to read longer messages, but he was working long hours as it was, and it would begin to affect his performance at work. The reason he had been excited the posters worked was because he wanted to learn everything he could about her. But the circumstances wouldn’t allow enough information to satisfy his wants. He began to feel irritated, maybe more than he should have, at work after the latest less-than-five-word-sentence. He didn’t try to let the pink pony know how he felt, though; it wasn’t her fault he was mad, and she seemed perfectly dedicated and happy with their routine.

***

The young man walked on his way to work, sign-less and expecting a message from the pink pony. He got one, but it wasn’t as he expected. She stood with the sign, eyes wide and wet. She snuffled slightly and her bottom lip quivered. The sign she was hold was shaking slightly, and it seemed as though she was trying as hard as she could not to break down. His eyes drifted slowly down from her face to the simple, undecorated writing on the poster board.

“Everything’s Fine.”

But she couldn’t hold it in. She let the sign fall to the ground, and ran off, crying. The young man was numb, and stood in front of the window so long that when he finally did arrive to work, he was late. He couldn’t imagine someone with such a happy nature being so upset about something. For one awful moment he wracked his brains, trying to think if he had said anything that could have troubled her so, or shown his discontent over his now silly nitpicks over their poster boarding. In the end, he concluded that it must be something that happened from her side of the glass. He was at first angry that she didn’t think to tell him about what it was that was bringing her down, but he quickly pushed it aside. That wasn’t important right now. He had a friend that desperately needed to be cheered up.

***

The young man took the little knowledge he gathered about the pink pony and went to work. He remembered the balloons on her flank, the bouncy dancing she would often fall back on, her love of cupcakes, the day she tried to give him one, and formulated his operation. He woke up earlier than usual (an arduous task) and got everything ready. The usual pedestrians that had gotten used to him and his strange signs were once again given something to be puzzled about as he made his way down the street. He made it to the window, with about a minute left before the pony usually came. He stood and waited, unable to keep the smile of his face as his entire insides tingling and squirmed with exhilaration.

She didn’t show up. The usual time came, and then a minute passed. And then another. And then five. And then another ten on top of that.

The young man felt like he was slowly deflating. He had been so excited to do something nice for the pink pony. He couldn’t stand not knowing where she was, what she was doing, what kind of awful thing would dare try to put a damper on her kindred spirit. And it was all because for some, stupid reason he was only able to see her for a whopping two minutes a day. The poster board in his hand shook, and he looked down at his shoes as a single tear ran down his cheek, over his lips, and fell off his chin onto the concrete below.

Then, just like the first time he saw her, he saw a flash of pink. It looked quickly and saw her walking slowly by, as if she was taking her time getting to wherever she needed to go. Her eyes were closed, and her nose was all but scrapping where the ground should’ve been for her.

The young man rapped hard on the window, and the pony jumped a little, looking at him with a queer eye, as though she had forgotten all about him. Regaining some of his earlier anxious energy, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of bright, paper confetti. He threw it in the air as he reached down and poured from a glass bottle a plastic cup of sparkling apple cider, and placed it on the lip of the window for her. Again reaching down, he used a cheap gas station lighter to light a pink candle on a huge chocolate cupcake and held it up to her. Then, remembering the sign, he lifted up over his upper body until he was peeking at her from over it.
“It’s a Cheer-You-Up Party!”

She stood for a good minute, frozen as if struck by a magic spell. Then slowly, like ice melting off a blade of grass, the life began to come back to her. Her mouth quivered as it slowly rose into a small, shaky smile. A hoof absentmindedly brushed away a tear that slowly tickled her cheek. The love and appreciation on her face was so plain and so obvious that she might have put it on a poster board herself.

The young man felt victorious, and it was the only word that really captured it. He felt like he was melting inside. He bounced on the balls of his feet and laughed in sharp releases. He had to believe that this is precisely what it must feel like to be his joyous friend. All the annoyances, all the bothers that had been digging into his skin about how slow their method of speech was were gone in that minute. He didn’t care if it took him a year to learn about the pink pony’s world, her job, hobbies, likes, dislikes, or even her name. This moment showed that there was a real power to it, and he would keep it forever up just to keep this friendship alive.

Suddenly, the pony jumped up. She seemed so overcome with gratitude that she forgot that there was something separating the two of them, and ran at the window with her forelegs outstretched like she was going to give him a hug. But when her hard hooves hit the window, the image of the pink pony fell to pieces like broken glass, leaving the young man with his own shocked reflection in the coffee shop window.

He let the items in his hands drop. His vision blurred and swam, as new tears formed. Tears of missed opportunities. Tears of disappointment and anger. Tears about how the pink pony out there must be feeling awful, terrible, about breaking her side of the window, who he couldn’t go to and comfort by saying it wasn’t really a big deal and that he didn’t really mind even though he did, he did mind a lot. Tears of how he didn’t understand any of it and how unfair it all was.

Stumbling around, at first in directionless circles, he was struck by an epiphany and ran to the other nearby windows, searching in them for any trace to the pink pony, or a clue, or for the staring people inside to tell him which way to go.

He felt hands on his shoulder, and a woman’s voice telling him to calm down, it’ll all be ok, but he brushed the hands off, pushed his way through the small crowd that had gathered around and ran towards his apartment, because it will not all be ok.

Tripping through the door, he kicked the open paint bottles near his writing table, spraying the opposite wall blue. He viciously wiped his face, breathing hard, and sat on his bed with his head in his hands. When he finally calmed down, in the relative quiet of his private space, he realized something that confused him and at first didn’t make sense. He tried to find another explanation, another reason for this new emotion he was feeling as plain as day.
Beneath all the sadness and ache in losing his friend, the young man found a strong feeling of peace and happiness. In his mind, he didn’t have a lot to be happy about at the moment. But then, the image of the pink pony as she wiped the tear from her face came to mind, and he realized where it was coming from.

Even though he didn’t know anything about the pony, he had still managed to become her friend. He had made a special connection with someone who he didn’t really know…or did he? He might not now her as someone who’s around her all the time might know her, but he knew her spirit. He knew she loved to smile and wave, eat cupcakes, and above all, do absolutely anything to make a new friend. He concluded, with a content smile, that he had known the important things.

With the same smile, he stood up and began to clean the mess he had made with the paint. He was already going to be in trouble with his boss for missing work, and didn’t want his land lord mad at him, too. The thought then occurred to him as he cleaned that maybe one of the other large cupcakes he had bought for the pink pony would work on them…