Nothing Special

     As Stone and I run frantic through the forest the sky grows darker. The moon is only a crescent tonight, so there is not much light and it getting harder to see.

I slow down and try listening. In recent years I have found my hearing to be far more adequate than my eyesight, even with my expensive glasses. I had worn the glasses since I was five. It's practically a miracle that I found out about my advanced hearing.

     At first I don't hear much more than my own heavy breathing and powerful heartbeat. I stop for a few seconds to calm down and listen more closely. I hear the breeze, but don't feel it. It stays high, in the treetops, with the birds. The birds shuffle in their nests as they prepare for sleep.

     I hear hoof steps to my right. They are distant and alone, but not in any particular hurry. I look in that direction and see a silhouette trotting in the distance. I can tell by the stallion's stature that it is Stone. He is still searching, like me: seemingly in vain.

     I close my eyes and concentrate farther away. An owl hoots, a critter scurries, a twig snaps. My eyes snap open. The only thing I can think of in this forest, at this time that would snap a twig is another pony. Stone is still to my right. I begin to gallop forward.

     I still see few things, but there is enough moonlight to navigate past trees. My luck turns: a thick, dark cloud drifts over the crescent moon and blackens the forest to pitch. I stop. Now what?

     In the direction I was running, a blue-green glow illuminates a good hundred feet around the shadowy images of two ponies. I recognize the magical glow as the same aura that Minty Swirl used when she picked up my supplies at the library. My heart leaps as the assumption comes, that Minty had found my father and was following him back to the house.

     I start running toward them once I am convinced it is them. I get closer more quickly than I intended. My haste startles the two and the light goes out.

     "Pa?" I call out. "Mint, are you there?"

     "Yeah, over here," I hear Minty Swirl respond. Her magic light re-sparks and I run toward her again.

     I look over at Pa and notice he's wearing his jacket as a sling, with the sleeves tied around his neck. His left foreleg is resting in the cradle. "What happened?" I insist.

     "One of the goats got a good kick to my head," Pa explains, "sent me down a hill onto an old log. Doubt it's broken, just hurt real bad. Dumb animal got away."

     I nod and we turn to keep walking. Pa knows his way through the forest, but I begin to think the blow to his head is taking a larger toll than he's letting on. Or that he even knows about. I often make corrections to his choices, and after a bit of arguing, he "remembers" the correct direction as the one I pointed out.

     As we near the edge of the forest, I hear Stone calling out for Pa.

Can he not see the light? I ask myself

He's not exactly the brightest star in the sky

Hey now, that's my brother.

Do you deny it?

     "Over here son!" Pa calls to Stone, with a tone of voice that agrees with me.

     "Shouldn't he be able to see the light?" Minty whispers to me.

     I don't answer, just sigh. It’s funny how they both thought exactly what I thought. Sometimes I wish I wasn't so secluded.

     We regroup and head out of the wood. Ma is there waiting, and the look on her face in memorable. The pure relief she shows in that instance is unlike anything I'd ever seen before, or would ever like to see again.

     Everyone heads inside, but Minty stops me. "You’re holding something back," she chides. "Tell me."

     "I hold thing back from most everypony," I retort, "what makes you so special?"

     "As long as I've been here, you're the closest thing I have to a friend. I try to keep my friends, and in order to keep them they need to be happy. I can tell when ponies are unhappy, and you should consider yourself lucky that I bother to stop and try to help."

     The response surprises me. She is probably the closest thing I have to a friend as well. But that doesn't mean I'm going to tell her everything on the first night I meet her.

     She just looks deep into my eyes, like she's reading them. Like she's trying to see what they have seen. I have no choice but to stare back, her piercing green eyes digging into my soul. What will they find? What can they find?

     I can imagine what she's thinking: "His soft purple eyes, like lilacs. They are wet with perpetual tears, held back for years for fear of a secret divulged in the worst way."

     So of course, her actual thought made vocal is nothing like I expected. "Maybe you just need someone new to give you company!" The smile she gives me is warm and meaningful. I don't know what to think of this filly. Does she know something, or anything? Would I have met her if I were still in school? She starts trotting past me and says, "You have very pretty eyes. They remind me of lavender."

     Of course... Though, I do prefer lavender to lilacs.

     I turn and catch up to her. "Would you like me to walk you home?"

     "Only if you're prepared for constant, friendly conversation." She grins at me.

     I don't respond; just think that it would actually be nice to have a decent conversation with a good friend. As long as she doesn't get too invasive.

     She lives near the library, so we don't have to walk too far. On the way she asks very basic questions. My favourite colour is purple. Her's is red. My favourite food is apple fritters. Her's is toast. My dream is to write and act in a play on Bridleway. Her's is to be a pet therapist. I don't quite get what that means, but we have a good laugh as she tries to explain.

     After a few steps of silence, her next question surprises me. "How did you get your cutie mark?" I look back at my flank, the roll of parchment with a single purple star on it. It's a bit of a touchy subject, but I can handle it.

     "Back in middle school, I had this English teacher. She was supposedly the most cynical English teacher in the history of the town. This one assignment she gave, near the end of the year, it was told to be the hardest. I was told she never gave a perfect grade for it, no matter who it was. I took it as a challenge, which is totally unlike me. Every day after school, I would head to the library to use their type-writers. I swear it was an opus among literature. It took me two weeks to finish, so I barely handed it in on time. Anyway, the minute I finished the final page, my cutie mark flashed to its current place." I chortle slightly and casually wipe my eyes beneath my glasses. After a painful gulp I finish, "I only got 93%."

     She whistles in surprise. "Quite a teacher. Do you remember her name?"

     I smirk and discretely bite my tongue to hold back a painful comment. I just end up shaking my head "no."

     "Oh," she sighs, "what about the story? Do you remember what it was about?"

     I bite my tongue a little harder and clear my throat. "Nope, I really have a terrible memory," I say casually.

     "Hmm..." after a few seconds of silence, she smirks back at me.  "It took you until middle school to get your cutie mark?"

     Too far! I lose my cool, and forget to bite my tongue. "Yes, okay?! My lack of social skills deprived my creativity. I had bullies at my throat about my eye colour, my girlish figure, my name, and my blank flank. I did my best to ignore it, but apparently it had a bigger effect than I thought, and apparently it's still a big deal."

     I kept walking, my pace becoming more brisk. She slowed. "I'm sorry." She sounds genuine, but I don't really feel sorry.

She had it coming.

Shut up.

     "For the record, I like your eyes." She catches up and compliments me. "They match the star on you cutie mark."

     I slow down, taken aback by the connection. "Thank you..."

     We walk the rest of the short distance in silence. Her humble house is just a block away from the library. We stopped there and found my bags still outside the door, where I expected Note to pick them up. Dumb colt.

     At the front door of her house she thanks me for the walk. I thank her for the company.

     "Wait here," she insists. I oblige, curiously. She comes back with a lantern, lit and bright. "For the walk home." I hadn't realized she had lit the way for us on the way here. "Stay safe."

     "Thanks," I say as she closes the door. "Good night."

     The walk home is silent and boring. I simply think to myself.

I can't believe I reacted like that.

It's perfectly acceptable. It was a dangerous subject.

But it was uncalled for. I probably hurt her feelings.

It probably surprised her, but now she knows more about you. Specifically about what not to ask about.

Yeah, she knows not to ask about getting my cutie mark in middle school. Great, I can count on not hearing that in a conversation in the future.

Don't get smart with me.

Well I refuse to get smart with anypony else.

Why not? They deserve it, don't they?

First of all, only some of them deserve it. Second, I meant that as of right now. We're alone!

     I sigh. "I'm alone."

     I get hit upside the head when I get home. "Where have you been?" Stone demands. "Pa's been up for hours because Ma's afraid he has a concussion. His leg is broken and we have to take him to the doctor's tomorrow. You're gonna have to pick up on all his chores 'til he's better." All the while he's yammering, I'm putting my bags down, unloading them onto my back, blowing out the lantern and carrying everything to the kitchen table.

     Once I set out everything down I respond. "I'm sorry, but I had to take Minty home."

     I take another smack. "She could have made it home herself. Ma was worried about you, and she's got enough to deal with."

     "It won’t happen again." I try hard not to make eye contact.

     "You better--"

     "That's enough," Pa interrupts. "Stone, go close up the chickens. Page, your brother's right. We had no idea where you had gone and no idea when you would come back.  Unfortunately my leg is broken, which means someone will have to pick up on the chores."

     "Yeah, I got the message with the hoof to my skull." I snapped.

     "That's enough. Stone was only trying to make sure you got the message."

     "What, so now I'm not a good enough listener?"

     "If he doesn't think so, no."

     "I really don't think you should base your opinion on me from what your first born thinks!"

     "Don't try and confuse the subject."

     "I'm not confusing anything! I am speaking absolutely normal, you're just too simple to understand a slightly advanced form of the language. This whole family is!" With that I storm off, making sure to ignore anything else he has to say. My bedroom is in the basement because I'm the only one who hasn't complained about it. I don't complain because having such an undesirable room makes it easier to keep secrets.

     If Pa is gonna have trouble sleeping tonight then he'll finally have something in common with me. For as long as I can remember, I've had insomnia. A very complicated form. Lying in bed is not relaxing at all, and it certainly doesn't put me to sleep very fast. I only really get tired after midnight, forcing myself to fall asleep any sooner and I'll be up a number of times before five in the morning.

     That said I usually do my best to occupy myself until midnight so I can sleep the rest of the night. That is, I used to, up until I started having to get up early to start on my chores. Tomorrow is Sunday, and Pa insists that work on Sunday is immoral. That only means that I get more sleep, so I keep myself up by writing myself letters. The first one pretty much just says what I wish I had said to Stone while he chastised me.

     Dear Page,

You've done nothing wrong. Minty Swirl is a very nice girl, and she deserved to be walked home. Pa's broken leg is not your fault, and you shouldn't be accused of anything, especially not something like this.

     Talking to myself keeps me sane.

     After a few letters later and my clock reads 11:37, Ma comes into my room with cookies. "I thought you'd be awake."

     "I was actually just about to go to bed." I lie.

     "Well, I brought some cookies and warm milk, to help you sleep." She places a tray from her back onto my desk in front of me.

     "Thanks, but warm milk gives me nightmares." That is the truth.

     "Oh, I didn't know."

     "That's okay." I take a cookie. "Thank you." Fresh, warm, gooey chocolate chip. Probably the best comfort food there is.

     "I'll get you some cold milk." She seems kind of... desperate.

     "No, that's fine. This will cool down quick."

She smiles. "Okay, well... good night Page." She kisses my forehead and walks out, leaving the plate of cookies on my desk. She often seems like she's trying to cheer me up, while other times she's completely oblivious to my feelings.

Why is my family so random?