Her.
Pinkie Pie is having a party tonight.
It’s Pinkie Pie’s party.
Its a Pinkie Party.
Eep.
Its not like I don’t like Pinkie Pie. Oh no, I do. Very, very much. She’s such a kind and caring friend. She is great at making ponies smile, and, she’s just so wonderful at taking care of Gummy.
The problem isn’t the party. I really like Pinkie’s parties. The problem is that I know you are going to be there. You haven’t missed one of her parties yet and I would be very surprised if you missed this one.
I try not to think about you too much. Its hard. We’ve been friends for so long. Seven years, eight months and fifteen days (not that I’ve been counting.) We’ve been best friends since Flight School.
Flight School.
Flight School was when I noticed you. Or, maybe it was when you noticed me? I don’t really remember how it happened. I was always shy. I am still a little shy now, but, it was worse before. I’m not sure if I liked you back then. Maybe I did? Maybe I didn’t? That isn’t very important. What is important is that, Flight School was where and when we became best friends (your words).
I liked that.
I really liked spending time with you.
Of course, back then, you also used to spend your time with her.
Gilda.
You two were inseparable. You were cool. She was cooler. At least, that’s what you used to tell me whenever I got a chance to see you without her. You tried so hard to impress her. I couldn’t see in her what you did, but, I suppose that’s what makes you ‘you’ and me ‘me’. You wanted her to like you. I wanted you to like me and Gilda just got in the way of that.
But, it’s seven years, eight months and fifteen days later and Gilda’s gone. Now, it’s just you and me…
You, me, and another her.
There’s always a her in your life, isn’t there? If it wasn’t Gilda then, it’s her now. And how can quiet, timid, little me possibly compete with her? She’s more like you than I’ll ever be. You even said so yourself.
“Fluttershy,” You said once, while we were having tea with Angel and Mr. Bear.
I really only remember the date because it was the first time that you said ‘yes’ when I asked if you’d like to join us. I also remember how happy I was when you did. And, I was very happy. I was so happy that I told Angel, and all the chickens. I couldn’t help myself. I even told Rarity, who smiled when she heard. She was excited for me. For us.
So, there we were. You sat across from me, and you were smiling that charming grin of yours and I was pouring you a cup of coffee (because I remembered how you said tea just ‘wasn’t cool enough’ for you). I was so nervous my hoof kept slipping and I almost spilled. But, I didn’t.
And then you finished your thought.
“You can keep a secret, right?” You asked.
I nodded. I was so nervous. I thought that maybe, just maybe, this might have been what I was waiting to hear you say for so long. Its kind of silly to think like that now. But, then, it made me feel so warm and fuzzy inside to imagine. I was waiting. I must have looked so silly, leaning forwards and closing my eyes so tight. Just waiting for you to say those words…
And then you told me all about her.
You must have gone on for twenty minutes (twenty two minutes actually… not that I was counting). You talked about all the things you saw in her. They were all the same things that I see in you. She’s so strong.. She’s so brave. She’s such a good friend.
You’re all those things, too.
You kept using words and phrases like ‘Cool’ and ‘Awesome’ and, once, you said the word ‘Pretty.’ I knew what it was. I’d heard this from you before.
You used to talk about Gilda like that.
I suppose, that is to say, I can understand what there is to find so attractive about her. She is a very pretty mare. Her mane is always well kept and her body is rather fit. She has those freckles on her face that you said were ‘So cute’, and, she does scrunch up her face when she’s upset (Though, I don’t think I’d call that ‘hot’ myself).
But, its more than her looks though. Isn’t it?
She’s strong, but, she’s also sensitive, too. Very, very sensitive. She really, really, cares about ponies. There was that time, a few years ago, when she tried to buck the entire apple orchard at Sweet Apple Acres by herself after poor Big Mac’s accident (I still don’t know how a colt could hurt himself like that. The poor thing). She was stubborn. She wouldn’t let anypony else help even after Twilight asked her.
Stubbornness is something you both have in common.
She’s so caring.
I like to think that I’m caring. I mean, well, sometimes ponies say that about me. Rarity mostly. But, I guess it’s different when its with me than it is with her?
I have my animals. I have Angel, and all my other critters and I care so much for them. They’re my family. She has her own family too. She has Big Macintosh, and Applebloom, and Granny Smith. They’re all such nice, friendly ponies.
Ponies, not animals...
Pinkie Pie’s party is in an hour.
I really hope I see you there. I mean, I’m quite sure you will be. I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t. But, it would be nice to see you tonight. Even if we can talk about your new flight routine, or, oh, maybe if you could tell me about how fast you made the gorge? That would be nice.
There’s a dress in my closet. Its not special, or exceptionally beautiful, but, its quite nice. Rarity made it for me once. She wanted me to wear it that day when I asked you to tea (‘Its more of an around the house outfit, than a dinner dress’ she said.) but, I didn’t.
I think, maybe, I might wear it tonight.
I think, maybe, you might notice me wearing it tonight and that makes me smile.
Yes. I am going to wear this dress.
Pinkie Pie’s party is in a half hour, now.
***
I’m at Sugar Cube Corner. So are the rest of the girls. So is, I’d say, almost half of Ponyville. Twilight, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, you, me, and...
She’s here too.
I was hesitant to come. I, like you, haven’t ever missed a single party that Pinkie has thrown, but I, unlike you, don’t really like talking to ponies sometimes. Not all the time. It’s just… sometimes I’d like to see you without all of our friends there.
I was a little hesitant at first, but when I stood in the doorway and you waved to me I felt it. That feeling I always get when I see you, or when I talk to you. Butterflies. My stomach always feel like it has butterflies flying around in it when we talk.
Right now I must have a million of those pretty little things in my stomach.
I see you across the room. I want to wave, but, then I realize that you’re looking at her. She’s talking with Twilight and Mr. Rich. You’re staring at her. I’m staring at you.
When did the room get so small and the world get so big?
I don’t want you to see me staring so I look away and at the crowd. When I do, Rarity sees me. She gives me a half of a smile. Its a half smile because it also looks like maybe she might be frowning.
I think she must know.
Once, a while ago, when Rarity and I were at the spa together, I told her everything I liked about you. I only said it because she asked and, well, other than you, Rarity is my closest friend. We really get along and I love it when we get to go to the spa together. It’s… um… I think the word is ‘therapeutic.’.
I like Rarity. Not like how I like you. Not like how you like her.
We talked for a long time about you.
Rarity comes over to me. She’s taking very ladylike sips of punch out of a wine glass and she has such a pretty smile on her face.
“Fluttershy, dear.” She says. She’s still smiling. “Your mane looks absolutely gorgeous tonight. New shampoo?”
I bow my head. She’s right, though. It is a new shampoo. Actually, it’s an entirely new look. Usually I comb my mane to the left. Tonight, I combed it to the right. I thought (and its silly…) but, I thought, maybe, you might have noticed it was different. You haven't yet, but there's still time.
“Yes,” I say softly.
Her hoof touches my shoulder. I stare up at her. She’s smiling, and, I think I’m smiling too.
She’s such a good friend.
“Fluttershy,” she says. “You look simply wonderful tonight.”
I think that she says this to try and cheer me up. Its nice of her to do that (if that is what she's doing). I did, after all, decide to wear that dress. I combed my mane to the right. I put faux-lashes that Rarity gave me as a gift once in. I even had Angel help me put eyeliner on (not a lot, though).
“Thank you,” I say to Rarity.
I lift my head from the floor and stare at her. She’s so pretty. Everypony in town would say the exact same thing. There are colts, and mares, who would give so much to be able to spend the time with her that I get too. She’s pretty, and kind, and caring.
But, she isn’t you.
My eyes fall back onto you. You’re standing next to her now. You’re laughing. She’s laughing.
You two look very happy when you’re spending time together.
She isn’t dressed up like I am. She isn’t really dressed up at all. She’s wearing the same stetson hat she wears every time I see her and her mane is worn wild from a day of restless work at Sweet Apple Acres.
I feel silly now that I decided to dress up.
For a slight second, in between the laughter, you stop. Your head turns to the side. Towards me. You smile (it is such a pretty smile that you have) and you wave at me. I think, maybe, you’re waving me over? I’m not sure, and, I really hate to imagine embarrassing myself in front of you (or her) so I just wave back and smile.
Rarity nudges me. Its gentle.
“Go talk to her,” She insists.
She’s smiling. She’s always smiling.
She’s so pretty.
Applejack is so pretty.
You’re so pretty.
“I… I don’t think I can.” I whisper to the floor. “I mean, I really wouldn’t want to interrupt anything.. and… well..”
“You’ll never get anywhere with Rainbow Dash if you insist on keeping to yourself.”
She’s right.
“Come along now, Fluttershy,” Rarity says. “The love of your life is waiting.”
Rarity leads the way. I trail a few steps behind her. I think, maybe, she has a plan? I hope she does.
“Girls!” Rarity shouts over the music. This draws your attention. Yours, and hers. I stay a few paces behind Rarity. I don’t really like the distance between us, but, I do like that I’m far enough away that if this gets awkward I can just turn around and walk away.
You turn to me. So does Applejack. You’re both smiling at Rarity, and, I see you smile at me and my heart does that thing it does… it… well, it flutters (I guess you could call it that? Even if it does sound a little silly coming from me.).
“How y’all doin, Rares?” says Applejack. “Fluttershy?”
It sounds kind of funny when she says my name. Flutter-Sha.
“We’re quite good,” Rarity answers for herself, and for me.
“Yes,” I agree and nod my head. “Quite good.”
“Applejack, is that a new stetson you’re wearing?”
It isn’t. I know that Rarity knows this, and that Applejack knows it. Still, I watch Applejack’s eyes rise up and stare at her hat. She shakes her head and snorts a laugh.
“Nah,” She says, shaking her head. “Same as its always been. Y’ know that, Rares.”
“Hmm,” Rarity nods her head now. “Have you ever considered replacing it? Its rather… erm… rugged.”
Applejack makes a face like what Rarity has just said is offensive.
Oh goodness, I hope this isn’t going to turn into an argument. Or worse… a fight.
“Come on now, Rares,” Applejack grunts. “Y’all know that this here stetson used t’ belong to my dad. And his dad before him, even!”
“Oh, of course.” Rarity smiles. “It has sentimental value. I understand.” She turns to me, grins, and I get the feeling that she’s about to do, or say, something which might be mean spirited. “It’s just…”
“Just what?”
Applejack looks upset.
Oh, dear
“Well, I recently received an order from a very particular client about some rural headwear and I was hoping that you might be interested in giving me your opinion on something?”
“Y’all are asking me for fashion advice?”
Applejack chuckles. You join her.
“Come on, Rarity” You laugh. “What does Applejack know about fashion?”
“Hey, now.” Applejack snaps at you.
You look upset. You never look upset.
Oh my…
“I happen to be keen to a few fashion trends,” Applejack says. Her hoof grips her chin and she tilts her head upwards. Proudly. “I was the first pony in Ponyville to make wearing a stetson look good, wasn’t I?”
You nod your head. I know she means it differently than how you hear it.
“And how!”
You’re smirking.
“Well, dear,” Rarity says. “Perhaps I could speak with you-”
She turns to me, and you. She gives me a soft, playful smile.
Rarity. Rarity. Rarity. What are you planning to do?
“-In private?”
Applejack turns to look at you. You shrug. It’s hesitant. I can see that glimmer in your eyes start to fade. I know you won’t stop Rarity from stealing her away from you. You’re too polite to do that. But, the idea isn’t one that you like.
“‘Course.” Applejack says as she turns back to Rarity. “I reckon I could use a refill on my drink anyway.”
She’s drinking cider which I’m quite sure is from the reserve collection she had made after that unfortunate business with those awful brutes who tried to steal her farm one summer ago (what were their names? Fling and Fang? Flip and Flop?). You’re also drinking cider. Her mug is empty. Yours isn’t.
When Rarity and Applejack walk away, I watch your eyes follow her fleeing form. You sigh. It’s so low and so upset, it almost hurts to hear from you. Then you turn to me and your smile lifts, and, suddenly, I’m smiling too. I can’t help it.
You have a very infectious smile, Ms. Rainbow Dash.
“Isn’t she just the hottest mare who ever walked on four legs?” You ask me. Again I hear you sigh, but this time, it’s a lovey-dovey sigh.
“She’s,” I’m trying to find the right words to say. “Very nice...”
“Aww, Flutters,” You say. There’s excitement in your tone. Playfulness. Your left hoof wraps around my neck. Your right is still holding a mug half full of cider. “I’ve got it bad.”
You are…. oh, gosh, you’re drunk. You never get this close with me (or anypony) unless you’re drunk. Its not like you drink a lot. Actually, aside from Pinkie’s parties, I don’t think you drink much at all.
You used to tell me, in Flight School, when all the other ponies would sneak out at lunch to drink behind the bleachers, that you didn’t need the extra calories. I thought, and I still do, that you really didn’t have to worry about that.
Tonight seems different.
“I think,” You begin to say. You stop yourself and stare around the room. I get the feeling that this might be a personal confession you’re about to make. Something that you don’t want other ponies to hear. But, since we’re best friends you feel comfortable enough sharing with me.
“I think I’m gonna do it, ‘Shy.”
Oh no.
Not this conversation.
Please…
“I think I’m gonna ask her out.”
Your hoof tightens around my neck. You’re not choking me, but, its a bit rougher than I’m used too.
I don’t know what to say.
“Aww, c’mon, ‘Shy!” You say. You’re not angry, or upset. You’re just speaking a bit louder than before. “Say something?”
“I…”
I stare at the floor. At the floorboards. Sugar Cube Corner is always so well kept. Mrs. Cake is very good at taking care of the place. Even after tonight, I’m sure by tomorrow morning the floors will all be swept and cleaned. Pinkie Pie is so lucky to live with The Cakes.
“You what?”
You’re looking at me. Its… scary how intense the look you’re giving me is.
“Eep.” is what I end up saying as I take a few steps backwards.
“This is gonna be a good thing.” You say. “You’ll see… We’ll… we’ll be good for each other. Me and her.”
You chuckle.
“Besides,” You say. You walk towards me, clearing the little distance between us. “You like Big Mac, right?”
I do?
“So, y’know, if things work out with me an' Applejack... and, if Big Mac finally gets the backbone to ask you out, we could be, like, sister in laws, or something? Wouldn’t that be so awesome?”
Sisters in law.
Best Friends.
Gilda.
Applejack.
Me.
You.
“That would be,” I’m mumbling. “Nice.”
You and her.
Me and him?
I stare around the room. Big Macintosh is in the corner. He’s talking with Caramel. He’s not wearing his yoke. He looks… handsome, I suppose. He works so hard, and, it shows on his body. He’s bigger than almost every colt in Ponyville and he certainly looks it. His body is built from long days of tending fields. Its muscular. Very muscular. He’s very attractive. Not quite like how you have an attractive body, but, any mare would be lucky to be married to Mr. Macintosh Apple.
Any mare who isn’t me.
Or you.
Or her.
Caramel sees me watching Big Macintosh and nudges him. He whispers something into his ear. Big Mac’s eyebrows lift. He looks… startled. Almost embarassed. Then, he turns to face me, and he smiles. Its a softer smile than one of yours. Shy, even. If his face wasn’t already red I do believe that anypony could tell he was blushing.
I feel your hoof prod into the soft side of my stomach. “He’s totally checking you out,” You say.
You’re smiling. There’s that faraway, drifty look in your eyes. Its the same look you get when you stare at her. You’re thinking about me, and him, aren’t you?
Him and I?
Us?
He is very handsome. There’s not a mare in Ponyville who would argue with that. There are even a few colts who would say the same thing. That he’s handsome. That he’s quiet. Soft. Hushed. That all those things make him charming.
There are mares and colts in Ponyville who would say the same thing about you.
“He’s coming over here,” You gush.
You’re gushing.
You never do that.
And, here he comes. Big Macintosh is politely excusing his way through the crowd (he’s so courteous) and coming towards us. His head is held high. He has a soft, almost unnoticeable smile on his face.
“Good evening, Miss Dash.” he says when he’s only a few steps to reaching us. He smiles down at me. “Miss ‘Shy.”
He bows his head to me.
“I think I’ll go grab some more cider,” You say and then you’re gone. I notice, even if you don’t want me too, the smirk on your face when you leave.
You want me to like him.
You want this to happen as much as I want you and me to happen.
We both stand perfectly still for a few moments. You’re gone now, and it’s just me, and him. Him and I. Standing quietly. He’s still smiling.
“That’s a very nice dress, Miss ‘Shy’.” He says. “You look very pretty in it.”
He thinks I look pretty.
You think she’s hot.
I smile at Big Macintosh.
“Thank, you.” I say.
He smiles back at me.
Us.
Big Macintosh’s hoof lifts off the ground and he brushes it out in front of me.
“Would you like to dance?”
I didn’t realize it before, but the route Big Macintosh took to get here crossed around a dance floor. I look at the crowd of ponies on the dance floor. Ditzy Do is dancing with Time Turner. Twilight is dancing beside Miss Cheerilee. Cloudkicker is with Blossomforth. Mr. and Mrs. Cake are waltzing. Pinkie is hanging upside down from a chandelier (I really hope she doesn’t fall. That would be a dreadful thing to happen tonight).
You’re dancing with her.
Until tonight, I don’t think I’ve ever even been this close to Big Macintosh. I never noticed he was so tall. Or so… erm… muscular. When I look up at him, I realize, if I squint my eyes he looks a little bit like her. She has freckles and so does he. Their faces are shaped rather similar, too.
Her.
You.
Me.
Him.
I smile up at Mr. Macintosh Apple. My hoof grazes over his hoof. He’s smiling too. He looks so proud. So… handsome. Yes, so very handsome.
“I’d be happy too, Mr. Macintosh.” I say.
His hoof grips mine. He smiles. I smile too.
He isn’t you.
She isn’t me.
I don’t think I mind, really.
All I’ve ever wanted from you was for you to make me happy and all I ever wanted to do for you, was make you happy. I know, now, that I can’t do that the same way that she can. It hurt, once, for a long time, to think about you two together. You spending your life with her. Me, spending mine alone.
It hurt once, but, now its okay. Or, I think it is?
You love her and maybe she loves you back.
Maybe I loved you. No, I definitely loved you. I still think I do, but, its alright now. I won’t get in the way of you two becoming the two of you. Yes, it hurts. Yes, its the painful kind of thing I never, ever, want to give up on, but, well, its for the best. You two are a different kind of ‘us’ than you and me are, or could be.
It’ll be alright.
You have her. You’re happy with her. If she makes you feel in any way like you make me feel, then she makes you giddy, and weak at the knees. I’m happy for you. I’m happy that someone special can make you feel like that. Even if it isn’t me. Even if it is her.
You want to be with her.
He wants to be with me.
I’ll never be her. I can’t. I don’t possess that same drive, and headstrong determination it would take to make ‘me’ your ‘her’.
I get it.
I could spend half my life wondering about what we could have been together, but, where would that get us?
Us?
I’m giddy.
There is no ‘us’. There’s you, and there’s her, and there’s you two together. And… honestly… its better to admit it to myself.
I’m really excited for you.
No, really. I am.
There’s you two, and then there’s me, and Mr. Macintosh Apple.
And he’s such a handsome colt.
Really.
I watch you dance with her. I watch the way you two dance together, and, I realize, I never even had a chance with you. She’s all energy. She’s all the things in life that I am not. She’s the mare you want to spend your days with.
You want to be with Applejack.
You want me to be with Big Macintosh.
He wants me to dance with him.
Maybe, somewhere down the road, when you’re old and grey with her, and I’m old and grey with him, we can look back on this -- whatever it was -- and we’ll laugh, and sip tea, and be happy. You’ll be happy with her. I’ll be happy with him.
It will be… good.
We’ll be okay.
My hoof touching the warm comfort of his hoof. You bumping your flank against her flank. Me, being led onto the dance floor by him. You, staring at me, smiling. Her, staring at me, smiling. Us. Me and him. Him and I.
I think I can be happy like this.
If you’re happy. I’m happy.
We’re happy.
Together.
Me and Macintosh dance, and, honestly, he’s quite a dancer. I’m surprised. Very surprised. He moves like he has been doing all of his life. Like it’s his second life. One outside the farm, and the barn, and his family. He moves like he’s entirely independent. His own colt. His own stallion.
My stallion.
He likes me.
You like her.
I… like him.
Yes.
Yes, I think, maybe, I just might like Mr. Macintosh Apple.
You, and her, are both staring at me now while he spins me under his leg. My head is dipped. I’m not staring at you. No. I’d never hurt him like that. I’m staring at him. I’m studying just how much he looks like her.
We can be happy.
He pulls me close to him. Our chests are pressed together. You’re staring at me, and you’re smiling, and, she’s staring at me, and, she’s smiling too.
You want us to be together.
You want him, and me, to be an us.
You don’t want to be with me.
You want to be with her.
He leans his face down. I can smell the aftershave he’s wearing. The cologne. It’s… well… its musky. He’s musky. He’s handsome. He’s gorgeous. Any mare would be lucky to have him. I’m a mare. He’s a stallion.
I’d be lucky to have him.
You’re staring at me. She’s staring at me. He’s leaned down so close to my face that I can smell him and….
And…
And… I kiss him.
In front of you. In front of her. In front of half the town. I kiss him right on the lips (which taste just a little bit like cider and are smoother than I thought they would be). He kisses me back. His hooves roam across my back, and my hooves run all along his muscular spine, and neck, and shoulders, and, we’re kissing.
Me and him.
Us.
Its okay that you don’t like me. Its okay that you like her. Its okay.
Everything is okay.
I have Big Macintosh. He has me. You have her. She has you.
Everyone is happy.
I’m happy.
Really.
I pull away from him. He’s grinning. Its not a conceited, arrogant grin. It’s a heartfelt and prideful grin. He’s happy.
I’m happy.
“I didn’t know y’all were so forthcoming,” he says.
He’s blushing.
My cheeks are hot.
I’m blushing too.
You’re staring at me.
She’s staring at me.
You’re both smiling like you’ve wanted this to happen for so long. As long as I’ve wanted ‘us’ to happen, or, maybe, longer? Its impossible to put a timetable on this because, really, we’ve known each other since Flight School, and, I followed you when you moved here to Ponyville, and I really only know Big Macintosh through you (and her). And…
I want to like him.
I want to like him because I don’t want to like you.
Because, liking you hurts me.
Because, liking you means I have to deal with you liking her.
Because, liking you means that I have to suffer.
I like Big Macintosh.
I’ve spent more than enough time of my life liking you. Liking you, with no resolve. Liking you when you liked Gilda. Liking you when you liked Applejack. Liking you knowing you’ll never, ever, like me back.
Big Macintosh likes me. He likes me, for me.
You like her for her.
She likes you for you.
“I like you.” I say to him, and, I’m smiling.
He’s smiling back.
Half the town is watching as he lifts me up. Half the town is watching while I smile at him, and, he smiles back.
Rarity is watching and she’s frowning.
“I like you too.” He says to me.
He means it.
He lifts me up from the floor and gently places me back down onto my hooves so that I’m standing upright and he’s beside me. He’s smiling at me. I smile back at him. You’re smiling at us. She’s smiling right beside you.
She approaches.
“Shoot,” She says. Her hooves -- her left and her right. Frontmost. -- catch us over our shoulders. I can smell the cider on her breath. “I reckon that was a dance if I ever saw one…”
Big Macintosh bows his head. He’s blushing. Its kind of hard to differentiate his blush from his crimson coat, but, I can still tell. So can she.
I just smile.
You’d want me to smile.
“Aww, hush,” he says. He tosses a hoof over my shoulder and pulls me tight onto him. “Leave us alone?”
He’s protecting me from her.
He wants me.
You want her.
“Oh, okay, okay.” She says. She’s grinning. She likes this. “Y’all just remember; keep it above the belt, y’hear?”
He rolls his eyes.
You snort a giggle.
I turn to him and he’s as flushed as I’ve ever seen him. He likes me. I mean, sincerely, he really, deep down, likes me.
“I’m sorry,” He sighs. Its soft. “My sister…”
He doesn’t have to finish his thought.
The town isn’t looking at us anymore. Its just me, and him.
You’re not even looking at us anymore.
I grip his chin in my hoof. His eyes bulge. Its really cute (honestly).
“It’s okay.” I tell him.
He smiles down at me.
“I really do like you, Miss ‘Shy.”
He’s so nervous. Oh goodness, its almost heartbreaking how genuine he’s being right now.
“I…”
I don’t look at you.
“I really like you too.” I say.
Am I lying?
No.
I do like Big Macintosh.
I don’t like you. I did. Once. For a long time. For half my life, almost. But, you don’t like me. You like her. She likes you and, I like him.
He kisses me again.
I kiss him back.
Us.
Maybe you and I weren’t supposed to be together. Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe I can be happy with him. Him, who isn’t you.
Maybe…
I don’t know.
