Bravest Face

The colt kicked his legs back and forth beneath the diner seat, struggling to fit the next bite of pancakes in to his mouth. The thick, syrup-covered pastries taunted his senses as they refused to be consumed; they just sat there, laughing at him as he stuffed their comrade into his mouth with little avail, eventually giving up and returning the disk to its place atop the others on the plate.

"Just cut it with a knife, son." Michelotto said, stifling a laugh. "You can't fit the whole thing in like that."

"I'll get it" Machiavelli smirked, looking down at his plate. He took the fork in his hand again and dug at the pancake with its side, trying to free a piece for himself. He could almost hear the pastry screaming as it was messily dismembered, spilling syrup all over the plate. "I'll show you, pancake!" the colt muttered to himself.

"What was that?" the stallion asked, looking up from his plate of hash browns.

"Nothing-" the colt replied through a mouthful of syrup and food.

"Chew with your mouth closed, son."

The colt swallowed hard, gasping.

"What did I just tell you, kiddo?"

"You said to chew with my mouth closed." Machiavelli drank nearly half his glass of milk as soon as he was done heaving.

"Well I meant chew."

"I did!"

"You practically choked yourself on half that pancake!"

"I'm OK," the colt squeaked. "Besides, these things gotta go!" he started into the other half. Michelotto returned to his plate. He took a moment to savor the fried, salty crunch of the hash browns before getting an idea. He looked up to see Machiavelli struggling with the last of the pancakes. The milk was gone.

"So, son, you asked me earlier about fission." He leaned forward.

"No I didn't" the colt exhaled through his napkin.

"Yes, you did," Michelotto rebuked. "You asked me how fission could power a whole town."

"How does fishing power the whole town?" the colt interjected, as if changing the topic.

"Uh well, son-"

"Do the fish swim in a big hamster ball?"

Michelotto paused.

"Do you want me to tell you or do you want to keep guessing?"

"OK" Machiavelli sighed.

"OK! So! Everything's made of these little things called atoms - kind of like when you draw a circle in the dirt and put a bunch of marbles in it?"

"Yeah. Nikolai plays with them when he comes over sometimes."

"Atoms are like those circles. They fit together really tightly and make pretty much everything."

"Even me?" the colt perked up.

"Yes! And there's lots of different atoms, too! And atoms are made of a bunch of smaller particles - we call 'em subatomic particles. Those subatomic particles are the marbles, OK? Sometimes..." he paused, trying to think of where to go next. Explaining fundamental nuclear physics to a five-year-old was difficult. So difficult, in fact, that it may as well have been explaining fundamental nuclear physics to a five year old. He pressed forward, realizing it wouldn't matter if it made sense or not. After all, Machiavelli was barely beginning kindergarten later that day.

"Imagine you have three kinds of marbles; you got your plainsies, we'll call those 'protons'. Then you got your commies, you know, those clay ones? Those are your electrons. Imagine if you have a bunch of them on the outside-" he drew a circle on the table, "and that's your playing circle right there. And then-" he pulled a steel marble from his pocket, "you've got your steelies." The marble glinted in the morning sun, sporting a thin, wavy line running about the entire surface. "These babies are your neutrons. Now, if you get the same number of steelies and plainsies inside and the same number of commies on the outside, you got an atom. Sometimes, you get lots and lots of plainsies and steelies inside, so there's tons of marbles inside this circle," he swung his hands about in the air, mimicking grand gestures. "When you do that, the marbles are packed together, and they make the circle really heavy. They're just about ready to burst out of that circle! Then -" he tapped the steelie on the table. "You get one of these steelies wandering out there by its lonesome, so you take it like this-" he made a fist with his hand, tucking his thumb beneath the rest of his fingers. He set the marble in the impression of his thumb knuckle and pointed it towards Machiavelli.

"Uh, dad?" the colt tried to interject.

"And you use it as a shooter! The shooter goes in and boom! The marbles scatter everywhere and you're left with two smaller circles."

"Dad?"

"And a bunch of these steelies go flying everywhere and land in other circles, and then you get two small circles, and it goes on and on and on. We call that a chain reaction. And every time a circle, or atom, flies apart, we call that fission. And when you get a chain reaction going, it makes a bunch of heat that just goes all over the place. You keep the marbles in water, and when they fission and get all heated up like that, the water turns into steam, and it turns these big fans connected to motors that make electricity, and they light up all of Trimble!" He gasped, bright-eyed. Several of the other restaurant patrons turned, looking at the source of the commotion.

Machiavelli stared at his father with a neutral expression, mouth hanging open.

"It's cool, right?!" he laughed.

"Uh..." the colt stared. It was clear he had only understood a portion of Michelotto's analogy.

"Don't worry about it!" The stallion waved a dismissive hand. "You'll understand when your older. They'll probably teach it to you in elementary school!"

"No, that's not the problem, dad-"

"Hey! I bet you could come to the plant's visitor's center after we have the maintenance project finished! They got all sorts of cool displays and models, and they even have a big model of the power plant! I could have Nikola's dad teach you some more-"

"DAD!" Machiavelli blurted. Michelotto paused, wide-eyed for a moment.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Where'd you get my steelie?" the colt asked, pointing to the marble in his father's hand.

"Oh," the stallion muttered. "I uh..."

"Did you take that from my marble bag in the toy chest?"

"Uh... yes." Michelotto handed the marble over and returned to his hash browns. They were cold.

Machiavelli laughed and threw the marble into his father's water glass. Water splashed across the table and onto his glasses. Michelotto gasped and tore them from his face. The glass fell over and emptied the rest of the water onto the table and into his lap.

"Son!" he hissed. "why'd you go and do that? Now you got water everywhere!" He wiped the glasses on his sleeve and put them back on his face. Machiavelli giggled.

"Well that's what you get for getting into my toy box without asking!" he said snidely.

"I'm sorry , OK!" Michelotto shivered. The marble rolled across the table and into his son's lap. "But I'm your dad! I can get into your stuff if I want to!"

"No you can't!"

"Oh, so I can't get into your marble bag, but you can just dig through my clothes whenever you want to play dress up, is that it?" he laughed. Anger was not in his voice.

"That's not the point-"

"The point is under your hat, mister!" with that, Michelotto tipped his son's water glass, spilling water all over Machiavelli's lap. The colt stared, then began to tear up. "Aww, man," the father started, "I think we both wet ourselves!" He stood up, revealing a trail of water that ran from his crotch down to his boot, obviously the byproduct of the thrown marble earlier.

Machiavelli wiped his tears and laughed. He stood up and pointed at his father's pants.

"Aren't you a little old to be needing diapers?" he giggled.

"This is nothing!" Michelotto boasted, arms akimbo. "You should see your grandpa after he's back from the bar! You'd need some waders for that old coot!" The other patrons stared. One of them spoke up.

"Mickey, you goof! I thought they shipped your dad off to a home years ago!"

The father turned to face the voice.

"Jack!" he cried.

A cyan stallion, the source of the voice, smiled and reached out a hand. Michelotto outstretched his to return the gesture, only to be met with a revulsion from the former.

"Ugh!" the newcomer gagged. "Looks like you should be there with him!" he smiled, then swept his friend into a tight embrace.

"Jack, it's been so long!" Michelotto laughed, hugging back.

"How have you been, man! I haven't seen you since you moved out of Steelwood!"

"Oh, yeah, I've been working up at the new plant these last couple of years." He stepped back.

"Oh, of course!" Jack reeled. "Corporate moved you out here, that's right!"

"Eeyup."

"I see your little bundle of joy turned into quite the troublemaker, there!" The white stallion pointed to Machiavelli. "How are you doing there, sport?"

"Dad was telling me how fishing-" the elder elbowed his son, "er, fission, works! I think I get it."

"Hey , all right!"

"Oh, oh! And it's my first day of kindergarten today!" the colt bounced. Michelotto cocked an eyebrow and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, now he's excited!" he droned.

"Hey, all right!" the blue stallion punched the colt's shoulder in a playful manner. "My kid Howe's first day too! Maybe you two can hang out sometime!"

"Maybe-" the colt backed behind his father.

"Sure, it'll be great!" Jack said, enthralled. "Hey, how's that wife of yours, Matilda? How's she been?" he asked innocently.

Michelotto paused for a moment and looked at the ground. The bustle and noise of the diner seemed to pause with him. Several diners turned to the newcomer.

"Mickey, you all right?" he tried to meet his friend's stare. "Everything OK with you and your old high school sweetheart?"

"She's, uh..."

"You didn't get divorced, did you?"

"No Jack." Michelotto cut him off. "No, she..." he sighed, then took a deep breath.

"Jack, Matilda is dead. Don't you remember?"

"Oh!" Jack gasped. Michelotto looked up, a bit more sullen than he had been before. "Oh, geez, Mickey, I'm so sorry! I totally forgot, I swear!"

"Jack, you were there for crying out loud!

"I know, I know! I'm sorry, I can't believe I forgot-"

"It's, it's OK, really-"

"No! No, it's not OK! Sweet Celestia, Mickey!" he took a step back. "How could I forget that?

"I wish I could forget, every day." Michelotto stepped toward the door, opening it. His voice grew stern. "Come, Machiavelli."

"But dad-"

"To the car, son!" he ordered. Machiavelli wandered to the door and waved to Jack, then turned and made his way to the hotrod parked in the dirt lot in front of Dice's.

"Look, Jack-" the widower took a step towards the door. "I gotta drop him off at school. I'll see you some other time." He turned to leave.

"Wait, Mickey!"

Michelotto closed the door and made his way to the car.

Jack opened the door and shouted after him.

"I was going to say I'll see you at the plant!"

Michelotto gave him a dismissive wave.

"All- all right, then!" Jack closed the door and sighed.

He sat down at his booth and continued whittling at his now lukewarm soufflé.