Here's To You, Mrs. Sullivan
Here’s To You, Mrs. Sullivan
Mrs. Sullivan knew it was bad news from the way the nurse walked. His walk, which had previously been shuffling and slow enough for Mrs. Sullivan to consider contacting his supervisor about it, was now brisk. He was going somewhere in a hurry, but not because he was excited. His shoulders were too hunched and his head too low. No, he just wanted to get it over with, and she could appreciate that.
“Sending a nurse to do a doctor’s job, I see,” she said quietly as he approached the waiting area.
The nurse must have seen her mouth moving or heard her speak because he looked at her with a quizzical expression on his face. She wanted to give him a frown in response, but even that would’ve been too much energy for her to use. All she really wanted to do was to sleep and dream and forget that this day ever happened.
Her daughter got up from her chair and swayed from side to side, her mouth moving without sound and her eyes red rimmed. Mrs. Sullivan tried to bring her back down to her chair with a single gnarled hand, but she -- always the one for dramatics -- remained standing.
“Is she alright?” Her daughter asked.
The nurse licked his lips and pushed his glasses up his nose. Mrs. Sullivan took this as a bad sign and tried to pull her daughter back down again.
“You might want to sit down for this,” she said.
But her daughter still wouldn’t sit back down and began to sob so hard it could’ve been mistaken for laughter.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse said, and Mrs. Sullivan’s daughter started to wail. “She’s… she’s gone. I’m so sorry.”
Mrs. Sullivan’s tiredness suddenly vanished. She felt like flying at the nurse, slamming him against the wall, and demanding that he show her proof. But she didn’t. Mrs. Sullivan knew that the proof was in the room just down the hall, waiting for her. She let out a long sigh and reached for her cane, using it to stand herself up. She brought her daughter’s head into her shoulder and cradled it there, feeling her cry.
+++
All of her school friends came to the wake. Mrs. Sullivan watched as little boys and little girls, barely old enough to even know what death meant, paraded in front of the casket in their black outfits with their parents. Some of them were crying openly, but most of them had faces as if they were in a bad dream. She didn’t expect any of them to realize the gravity of the situation, not quite yet.
When it was her turn to approach, Mrs. Sullivan felt the first tears fall down her face. She did nothing to stop them, only wiping her face when it became too blurred to look at the little body.
They had done a good job of making her look life-like. Mrs. Sullivan hadn’t thought it possible, but modern science and technology could apparently work wonders. But as wondrous as that was, she still couldn’t look her granddaughter in the face. Whenever she looked, her face looked like it was changing before her eyes - from the face of a young girl to the face of an old man, to an old woman, to any number of people that ran the gamut of age. All of them were just as stiff and just as formal as the small child that actually lay there. She winced and stopped looking.
There was a tap on her shoulder, and Mrs. Sullivan slapped her prim and proper face back on. She turned around and there stood her daughter, her face pale except for splotches where her makeup had been washed away by tears. She held a piece of paper in her hand.
“There’s something she wanted me to give you,” she said.
Her daughter handed over the piece of paper. Mrs. Sullivan trembled as she looked at it. There on the paper was her and her granddaughter, at least as well as a six-year-old could draw them. Surrounding them were creatures that she first mistook for dogs but soon realized they were horses. There were six of them, arranged around the two human figures in a circle. Across the top read, in black crayon, “Gram Gram And Me Make Friends With The Ponies”.
“She w-wanted to give it to you for your birthday next month but…”
Mrs. Sullivan nodded and said, her voice cracking, “Thank you.”
Her daughter rushed forward, nearly knocking her off her feet. She wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist and burrowed her head into her hair.
“I love you, Mom,” she whispered.
“I love you too.”
+++
Mrs. Sullivan hadn’t slept since that night at the hospital. Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was her granddaughter’s face and the faces of so many others. The nurses at the retirement home had given her sleeping pills, but she hadn’t taken them; they still laid unopened on her nightstand. They had said to only take one, so they must have been pretty strong. Her eyes flicked to them, and Mrs. Sullivan sighed.
She got up out of bed and walked over to the bathroom. She stared grimly at the mirror and turned on the faucet. Mrs. Sullivan splashed herself with the cool water that gushed out of the tap and held her palms under it for a moment or two, bringing them up to her lips and drinking it down. She looked at the mirror again, and she could see where her granddaughter got her brown, almond shaped eyes. The water from the faucet trickling down her face mixed in with her tears.
She really needed to get some sleep tonight, Mrs. Sullivan decided. Shuffling around, she got a small plastic cup from the medicine cabinet, filled it with water, and returned to the bedroom. She took a quick glance at the clock on the wall, tick tocking away. It was just after midnight.
“Tis now the very witching time of night,” she muttered to herself.
Mrs. Sullivan popped the pills out of their little pocket bubbles with some difficulty. Pain shot up her fingers as she did so, but she got them open in the end. They had only given her four pills. That was probably the largest amount you could take in one sitting without overdosing, she surmised. She took a pill in her hand and held it there, staring at its pearly whiteness. Mrs. Sullivan took a deep breath and swallowed the pill, chasing it down with the water.
She got into bed and, within fifteen minutes, began to dream.
+++
Twilight Sparkle stood on a grassy knoll, watching the stars in the sky through her trusty telescope. Spike was curled around her hooves, sleeping soundly. She looked down at him and smiled. It’d be such a shame to wake him when she only needed him to take notes on the planets’ movements. But that could wait. She had last taken her calculations at precisely two o’clock in the morning, and it was only about midnight, so the baby dragon could rest a little longer.
Truth be told, she too was tired. Perhaps just closing her eyes for just a little while would remedy that. Twilight sunk to her knees and placed her head on the soft grass, listening to Spike breathing. In and out, in and out, in… and… out…
+++
“Twilight! Wake up, Twilight!”
Spike’s voice called out to her, and Twilight’s head immediately snapped up.
“Oh my goodness! Did I miss marking down the planets?”
Spike came into focus a moment later, and he nodded his head.
“That’s not our biggest problem here, Twilight,” he said. “Take a look at this!”
He pointed to the sky, and Twilight got to her hooves unsteadily - still weighed down by sleep. She looked up and gasped.
“A meteor? Princess Luna’s Almanac said nothing about any meteors this month!”
Spike nodded and said, “That’s not the only thing. It’s… it’s getting closer!”
“What?!” Twilight exclaimed. “Let me do some calculations…”
Her horn glowed, and her magic found her notebook and quill. Twilight looked into the telescope for a moment and then began to scribble furiously. After doing this a couple of times, she gasped again.
“Spike! According to these--” She jabbed her quill into the notebook. “--the meteor is moving pretty slowly… for a meteor anyways. But it’s not just that. My calculations say that, based on its current trajectory, it’s headed straight for the Everfree forest!”
Here's To You, Mrs. Sullivan
Mrs. Sullivan woke up that morning alone and stuck in a tree in the middle of a forest. After spending the next fifteen minutes or so alternating between contemplating the absurdity of her situation and screaming for help, she decided to rescue herself. She had gotten the highest marks in her Wilderness Survival course back in high school, but that had been at least fifty years ago and had taught her nothing about how to actively get down from a tree. Still, even if she broke her leg getting down, being on the ground would make her much easier to find than being in a tree, right?
With a deep breath, the sixty-seven year old grandmother wrapped her arms around the tree and began to shimmy down it - using her legs to clutch onto the trunk to stop herself at times. It wasn’t a very tall tree so in a few minutes of fumbling and near falls she was about a foot off the ground. For a moment, she considered just dropping down and dealing with her soon to be complaining joints later. It was in the middle of that thought that she heard someone call out from the forest.
“Hello? Is anypony there?”
Ignoring their strange corruption of the word “anybody” for the moment, Mrs. Sullivan shouted back, “Yes! Hello! I seem to be lost in this forest!”
Mrs. Sullivan decided to hell with her knees and ankles and dropped to the ground. She promptly regretted her decision as she fell flat on her back. Her spine popped, and she heard her shoulder blades creak. With a prolonged groan, she slowly reached for her ankles and sat herself up. She cracked her neck a couple of times and then took a look around.
Yes siree, she was definitely in a forest. But where had that voice come from? She glanced to her right and to her left, but she saw nothing except blurry patches of green. Mrs. Sullivan wished that she hadn’t left her glasses on her nightstand whenever it was that she sleepwalked into a forest and got herself into a tree. Her explanation of it all sounded absolutely ridiculous but it had to be something like that. She had already pinched herself to see if she was dreaming and had come to the conclusion that, no, this was real life. It wouldn’t have been the first time she woke up in a strange place, but that had mostly happened in her younger days, and she highly doubted the retirement home staff wouldn’t notice an old woman sleepwalking out of their facility.
Mrs. Sullivan sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them back up, she could have sworn she saw something pink and yellow dart in front of her. She grabbed at it but was too slow to catch anything but air.
“...Y-you’re not a pony?”
A soft and feminine came from the brush. Mrs. Sullivan turned her head to where she thought it came from and wondered if she was dealing with a child.
“I’m not a pony, dear,” she said, gentler than she felt. “Now, can you find me a big, long stick for me to use as a cane?”
There was a rustling in the brush and in a few moments, a stick came flying out, nearly hitting Mrs. Sullivan on the head. She picked it up and used it to stand to her feet. Her back screamed in pain, and she hunched over to appease it.
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Sullivan said as she tried to straighten out her back. “Can you tell me a way to get out of this forest? The people at the home are probably worried sick about me.”
This was a lie, of course. The people at the home couldn’t care less about her as long as her daughter still paid the monthly rent and as long as she kept her drool to herself. But it might encourage the young girl in the bushes to give her some help.
“Y-you’re not a pony… or a griffon… or a zebra… or… or…”
Mrs. Sullivan sighed again and said, “I’m not a pony or a griffon or a zebra. I’m a person, just like you. I know that your mother probably told you to stay away from strangers, but I really need your help, dear. Could you please help an old woman out?”
The brush rustled again and something blurry, pink, and yellow came out. It moved closer, and Mrs. Sullivan saw that it was about half her height and… apparently quadrupedal.
She pinched herself again.
It hurt.
+++
Fluttershy was used to helping strange and mysterious creatures, but most of them were of the non speaking variety. She had never met an animal called “person”, let alone one that called themselves that. Still, a creature in need was a creature in need, and this creature was certainly in need. It was obviously old, the fact that it needed a cane to walk and was all wrinkled and hunched told her that, and possibly injured.
That was why she approached the animal in the Everfree forest that day - her kindness would allow no less.
The “person” simply stood there, milky eyes open wide. Having dealt with scared and hurt animals before, Fluttershy approached slowly and carefully, making no sudden or unnecessary movements. Her face remained calm and impassive, even though she was shaking inside.
“I’m Fluttershy,” she said finally. “What’s your name?”
The person opened its mouth and spoke.
“You… you’re a…?”
It looked down at her hooves and back up to her face.
“I’m a pony,” Fluttershy said, “a pegasus, actually. And you’re a ‘person’, right?”
It nodded.
“What’s your name?”
“You… you can call me Mrs. Sullivan.”
Fluttershy smiled, and “Mrs. Sullivan” smiled back - or at least that’s what she interpreted it as with its odd facial structure.
“So… you’re female?” She began, her confidence waning, “I mean, the ‘Mrs.’ and all...”
Mrs. Sullivan smiled a little wider and said, “Yes, ‘Fluttershy’. I’m a woman. Guess I’m not at my prettiest right now, am I though?”
The pony shook her head and said, “Oh, no, no, no. You’re very pretty. I like your mane. It’s very… uh… grey.”
Mrs. Sullivan snorted and tapped her cane against a tree root. Fluttershy smiled. It was nice to find somepony just as awkward at taking compliments as she was.
“Thank you, Fluttershy. Now, can you give me a hand… er… hoof? My back is simply killing me.”
“O-oh,” Fluttershy said, “I know something that can fix that right up. Just get on the ground and…”
+++
Mrs. Sullivan had never had chiropracty done by a pegasus before, but she had to admit, it made her back feel fabulous. She still had to use her makeshift cane for balance though, but she felt like an entirely new person. She still couldn’t make sense of her situation -- if it was dream or reality or some kind of trip brought on by the sleeping pills mixing with her normal medication -- but that didn’t matter at the moment. All she knew was that her back felt great.
“Are you doing alright, Mrs. Sullivan?”
The pink and yellow pegasus was in front of her, flittering through the trees like a butterfly. Mrs. Sullivan, on the other hand, had a more difficult time getting through the tangled mess of brush and tree roots that littered the forest floor.
“Doing... just... fine...,” she responded, huffing and puffing.
Fluttershy giggled.
(You’re so silly, Gram Gram.)
Mrs. Sullivan’s heart hurt in more than one way. She slowed to a stop and sat down on a lonesome tree stump. She took in a few deep breaths, which quickly turned into many short breaths. At the height of their fever and pitch, tears rolled down her cheeks.
That’s right. She had forgotten her. What kind of grandmother was she if she didn’t even remember her own dead granddaughter?
You’re horrible, that’s what you are.
She felt something soft brush against her hair. Mrs. Sullivan looked up and saw Fluttershy hovering there.
"Mrs. Sullivan?" she asked in a soft and gentle tone, "Are you alright?"
"My granddaughter," Mrs. Sullivan whispered, "she... passed on recently."
Fluttershy's face twisted up, and the pegasus brought a light hoof to Mrs. Sullivan's shoulder.
"I'm sorry," Fluttershy said quietly. "You're in so much pain, and I... I didn't notice..."
Mrs. Sullivan wiped at her face with her hand and brought her fingers to curl around Fluttershy's hoof. The pegasus flinched but did not move away.
She smiled through her tears and said, "It's not your fault, Fluttershy. How could you have noticed? We've just met."
Fluttershy smiled back a weak smile and said, "I... I know what it's like to lose somepony. So..."
Mrs. Sullivan stood back up solemnly and wiped her face again.
"Thank you, Fluttershy," she said with a grim expression on her face, "Than--"
Mrs. Sullivan was interrupted by the pegasus wrapping her forelegs around her middle.
"I know that your granddaughter is missing you," she said, "I know I miss my grandmother too."
Mrs. Sullivan ran her fingers through Fluttershy's mane and sighed.
"I know she is. I know she is."
+++
Mrs. Sullivan spent a good deal of the morning at Fluttershy’s cottage, enjoying some of the pegasus’ home brewed herbal tea. It was delightfully earthy with a bitter edge that she had always admired about unsweetened tea. As an added bonus, it cleared the sinuses with its rather pungent smell, but Mrs. Sullivan didn’t dare mention that to Fluttershy.
“What was she like?” the pegasus asked as she drew circles with her hoof on her kitchen table, “I mean… I don't mean to...”
Mrs. Sullivan nodded curtly and said, “It’s quite alright, Fluttershy.”
She let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding in and looked the pegasus in the eye, whose eyes flickered back and forth for a moment but eventually settled on her own.
“She was a very bright child,” she began, “but she wasn’t uppity about it. In fact, she was quite humble about it, much like you.”
Mrs. Sullivan smiled at Fluttershy, and the pegasus looked away -- blushing.
“There’s nothing wrong with being humble, Fluttershy. In fact, I think it’s a trait that is very much needed where I come from. There’s simply too many people with their heads full of compliments and not enough sense to keep quiet about them.”
The pegasus nodded softly and said, “Sometimes, I think that too…”
Mrs. Sullivan let out a laugh.
“You’re too young, too kind to think like me,” she said. “You’ll have plenty of time to become a grumbling old curmudgeon, trust me.”
Fluttershy mumbled something that she didn’t catch and turned away to fetch more tea out of the kettle.
“What was that?” Mrs. Sullivan asked.
The pegasus turned back around with fresh tea and said, “N-nothing.”
Mrs. Sullivan frowned and said, flipping her head through the air in a nonchalant gesture, “You’re not the kind for insults. So what’d you say to me?”
Fluttershy blushed again and repeated her earlier mumbling. Mrs. Sullivan tutted her tongue like the retired school teacher that she was.
“Louder, Fluttershy,” she said.
“Um… I don’t think of you that way,” said Fluttershy.
“A little louder, please dear. These old ears can’t hear you when you mutter.”
“I-I… I don’t think of you that way,” Fluttershy repeated.
Mrs. Sullivan cocked an eyebrow and said, “Think of me what way?”
“I don’t think you’re a grumbling old curmudgeon,” she said softly. “I th-think that you’re very nice and kind a-and--”
“You can stop right there,” Mrs. Sullivan said with a chuckle. “You’re going to swell my head so much that I won’t be able to get out of your house without limboing out the door! You really don’t want to see me limbo, by the way.”
Fluttershy giggled, but was cut off by a tap-tap-tapping on the door.
“Who could that be?” Mrs. Sullivan said as she reached for her makeshift cane. “Some of your friends, surely?”
The tapping came again, this time for insistent and more urgent.
“Fluttershy! Fluttershy! There’s something I need to talk to you about!”
“Coming,” Fluttershy said in her loudest voice, which was barely over normal speaking range.
The pegasus stepped towards the door but then turned around, looking unsure.
“Mrs. Sullivan, you might want to… uh…”
Mrs. Sullivan smiled and said, “Are you embarrassed of me?”
“No, no, no, no, no!” Fluttershy said, shaking her head furiously, “It’s just that…”
“Fluttershy! Fluttershy!”
The pegasus glanced over back at the door and said, “Coming, Twilight.”
“Some ponies might not be as… um…”
Mrs. Sullivan took the hint.
“Where do you want me to go?” she said.
“Fluttershy! Fluttershy!”
Fluttershy pointed to the stairs with a swish of her tail, and Mrs. Sullivan sighed - bracing herself for the joint pain that was to come. She climbed them as quickly as she could and was out of breath and shaking by the end.
This better be worth climbing stairs for, she thought.
