Bravest Face

Michelotto shuddered from his slumber at the sound of the alarm. The pulsing tone drove him from the recesses of his mind and pulled him into the morning light. He reached over and hit the alarm with a disciplined hand, ending its tirade with a well placed crack. Taking a deep breath and holding it, the earth pony put his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes, blinking and squinting to adjust to the sun pouring through the blinds across the room. He sighed and sat up slowly, scooting himself against his headboard.

He turned his trunk carefully, anchoring his legs to the bed by spreading them wide and locked. A few vertebrae popped quietly. He stopped at a stubborn one, not quite wanting to relieve itself, but needing the release before Michelotto would go any further. He rested his right arm on the headboard and twisted his torso harder, finally gasping as the vertebrae let out a crack and loosened fully. He slouched slightly and rubbed his face again and slowly drew the covers off himself, greeted by a cool breath of air.

A hand touched his thigh. He grabbed it softly and rubbed it with both hands, massaging its knuckles with his thumbs, pressing in and moving them in circles against each other. He kneaded his fingers into the soft, fleshy palm and slowly released, feeling its warmth lingering on his hands. He stroked the arm it belonged to with a firm, reassuring pressure, then rose to his feet and stretched.

"Did you sleep OK?" Michelotto asked, directing the question to nothing in particular. The words hung in the air and dissipated, absorbed into the silence. The stallion walked over the window and reached for the string holding the blinds partially open and gave it a strong pull. The small metal slats flew upward and stuck, drenching the room in the fullness of the morning's light. The covers of the bed writhed and twisted, as if they were some nocturnal animal that would rather stay up all night and sleep all day.

Knowing his son, this was a normal morning.

The mass under the sheets let out a muffled groan. "Da-d!" it cried. "I don't wanna get up!"

"What's that, Mr. Night-Owl?" Michelotto smirked, removing his flannel nightwear and replacing it with a pair of dungarees. "I can't hear you through all those sheets!"

"I said I don't wanna get up!" the voice whined again. Putting on a shirt and socks, Michelotto stumbled over to the bed and jumped onto the mattress. He landed on all fours and shook the bed as much as he could. The tremors rocked the bed frame and knocked the nightstand over, sending the alarm clock and lamp to the floor with a crash.

"What's that?!" He mock-shouted. "I can't hear you through this earthquake!" He shook the bed more, trying his best to get the lumps under the sheets to move.

"Aaah! Dad!" the lump cried. "I said I don't wanna get up!"

The sheets reared and flew off the bed, revealing the small colt beneath. A flash of orange and cream lunged at the tremor-inducing monster and flung his arms around its neck, wrestling it fiercely.

"Ra-awr!" Michelotto roared. "You're going to wake up, whether you like it or not!" he growled, reaching his arms around the wee beast and ripped it from his neck. The colt squealed and tried to wriggle free. The stallion threw the colt to the end of the large bed, where he tried to stand through the shaking. "I'm gonna pancake you!" the stallion hissed, clapping has together for emphasis. He flattened himself and rolled across the mattress. The colt squealed again and leapt as the stallion's bulk closed fast toward him. The stallion roared and toppled over the bed, falling to the floor with a catastrophic 'thud'. "Oh, you got me!" he snorted. He shook and shook, fighting his inevitable demise. The colt leapt of the bed and landed next to the wounded monster.

Michelotto writhed as his son tickled him ferociously, fighting and laughing until he was on the verge of tears. Finally, his son stopped and delivered the 'killing' blow; a single hug was enough to subdue the father until both were quiet, laying on the bedroom floor. Michelotto stroked his son's orange mane and returned the hug, burying his face in his son's shoulder.

"I love you, Machiavelli," he said, whispering.

"I love you too, dad." the colt replied. He sighed and nuzzled his father's chest.

Silence followed for several minutes.

Finally Michelotto broke the embrace. "So are you ready for your first day of school?" he asked, looking into his son's eyes. Machiavelli hid his face and whined.

"No! I don't wanna go to school!" He laughed and his dad bumped him in the butt with his knee playfully. "I wanna stay here at home, with you! And I wanna hang out with Nikolai at the park and go chasing butterflies and stay at home all day!"

Michelotto laughed. "Son, you can't! You're five years old now. I have to go to work at the power plant, and I can't always take you there with me."

"You did that one time!" Machiavelli protested.

"That's because I asked Nikolai's dad, my boss, if I could and he said 'yes'! But kiddo," he stood up and put his son on the bed. "We're doing a big maintenance project soon and I won't be allowed to take you there while we do it. I'm sorry." He opened the dresser and withdrew a light blue shirt and put it on. It read Casual Fridays Live for ME! He began putting on his shoes when his son stopped him.

"Uh, dad?"

"Yeah?" He replied half-present, checking his hair in the dresser mirror.

"It's Monday."

Michelotto looked at his shirt in the mirror, then stepped back and took it off, noticing the text. "So it is!" he said, putting on a white t-shirt. "Now c'mon, get dressed! You got a big day ahead of you!"

"Aww, but dad!"

"What, son?" Michelotto sighed. Machiavelli bounded off the bed and blocked his dad's escape.

"I go with you so I can go fishing!" The father's face twisted in confusion at his son's odd request.

"Huh?" he asked, still wondering what had prompted his son's interest in fish. He brushed past the colt and made his way down the stairs.

"You said you go to work and then you go fishing all day with Nikolai's dad and Mr. Samson and all you other work buddies!" The colt chased after him down the stairs. "So I thought you could take me fishing, too!" Michelotto paused and then shook his head in realization.

"No, son, I said we go 'fission' all day!" he waved his hand in the air. "Not fishing!"

"Same thing!" Machiavelli retorted.

"No, they're totally different! One gives Trimble power, the other gets me a couple bucks at the bait shop!"

"How does fishing give the town power?" the colt wondered. Michelotto put his face in his palm and sighed.

"Look, son," he said, "we'll go out to breakfast at Dice's, OK?" His son's eyes lit up.

"Can I get the French toast again?" he asked excitedly.

"Yes, Machiavelli, you can get whatever you want."

"Even the pancakes that come with the coloring book?" he bounced up and down.

"Yes," the father sighed.

"Oh boy!" The colt started out the door.

"BUT!" Michelotto stopped him. "First you have to get dressed and get your school things together-"

"But dad!"

"No buts, mister!" Michelotto wagged his finger. "Unless by 'but' you mean 'butt' as in 'butt upstairs and get dressed, now'!"

Machiavelli groaned and trudged up the stairs. Michelotto rolled his eyes and grabbed his car keys from the door-side table, from the bowl his wife had made him the day she discovered she was pregnant with Machiavelli.

How they wished she was here.