Nothing Special

     I wake up early, like I do every morning, but with the freedom of Sunday I have the chance to fall back asleep. During one of these bouts of sleep I have a dream. I don't remember all of it.

     I remember lying in the shower tub, cold water storming onto my already-soaked coat. I wasn't moving, but I could still see. I remember somepony coming in to check on me, but I didn't recognize who it was.

     I don't remember breathing.

     The pony carried me to my bedroom, laid me in bed and left. I remember the door clicking: Locked.

     I woke up finally to a pounding on my door.

     "Page," Note shouted in at me. "Ma and Pa are about to leave, are going or not?"

     I rubbed sleep from my eyes and growled a response. "Where?"

     "To the hospital," he reproached. "Pa's leg is broke, remember?"

     "Broken," I chide under my breath. I take a few seconds to think. Going to the hospital won't mean much of an experience for me. I could take my book, but I'm probably too lazy to read it anyway.

     "So, you going?" Note called.

     I rubbed my left eye some more, still trying to stay awake even though I would try sleeping again as soon as he left. "No." That was that. No more noise from either side of the door. I laid back down to try sleeping more, to no avail.

     I just spend another hour lying awake, thinking of everything irrelevant as of the moment. It was just before I decided to get up for good that I recalled my dream. I spent a few more moments thinking on it, attempting to decipher it.

     Having no luck yet again, I finally got up. Everything of that morning on is unforgettable, for the reason only that is repetition. The simple rut of having an average Sunday routine makes it easy to remember. But hard to forget.

     I had cold cereal for breakfast, same as everyone else. Note and Sprout were arguing in the living room. Stone was outside working, despite his father's wishes. Sitting at the table with my bowl of cereal is far from peaceful, but it's the closest I get until I return to my room, which may occur sooner today than other Sundays.

     Usually, Ma and I would play a board game until noon, then she would prepare lunch and we would all eat together. Then I would go to my room and sleep or write or read until Pa called me for supper. Today is different.

     Quite simply, neither of my parents are present, so that leaves me with nothing to do. I decide to go outside.

     Steering clear of where Stone is working, I make my way to the forest. The section I'm heading for is different from the area in which we were lost the night before. I know this stretch of woods like the back of my hoof. I come here all the time, mostly when I need time alone and don't want anyone to find me. I don't particularly need alone time today, I just want it. Last night left some, well, feelings to be desired.

     There's an old apple tree deep within the area that I like to climb. I can make it pretty high, and I love it. I know some ponies are afraid of heights, or terrified of falling, or the risk of falling or whatever, but I'm the opposite. I feel better the higher off the ground I am. And falling, well, there's no better way. If I got the chance to fall from the sky, with the assurance of landing safely, I would jump willingly.

     I make it to my special branch and lay down on my belly, legs dangling over either side. I lay with my chin resting on the hard wood of the limb. The nearing end of the season sends a chilly breeze through me and I shiver. A few of the remaining leaves fall with the gust. I hear geese honk overhead as they travel south for the coming winter. I close my eyes.

     Now I hear so much more. Still the rustle of crumbling leaves and migrating birds, but now I hear squirrels burying acorns. I can hear snakes slither into burrows, preparing for hibernation. Then I hear a louder sound, the crunching of leaves under something's steps. I open my eyes and see a bear. She's about fifty yards away, and she's carrying a fish. The bear doesn't notice ol' Page in the tree, but I watch her to the best of my ability. At one point I have to look over the frame of my glasses to continue watching, which gives me a headache.

     I close my eyes again and continue to listen. Forest life stays the same, making the same sounds as always, while my mind plays. I imagine scenarios that could occur if I climbed higher into the tree. Or if I jump down and follow the bear. I come up with stories that could happen out of the blue. I determine how logical and/or probable each of the scenarios is, but I know that even the most realistic of happenings won't ever take place, because whatever I expect to happen never happens. Have I mentioned this before? I think not. If I have, skip the next paragraph.

     Ever since I was a colt I came up with the most ridiculous occurrences. It is this outstanding imagination that makes me a brilliant writer. Anyhow, I often take moments of silence as times for my mind to wander, and often it comes back with numerous ideas. As I grew older, many of these ideas grew more and more logical. And as I learned, I discovered that no matter what I expected to happen -- no matter how logical, or immediate -- it will not happen. For instance, once I was doing homework in my room when I discovered that I had already done this exact assignment the day before. I brought the work to my mother and told her, expecting to hear some bout on how I should finish it just in case, but instead I hear her tell me that I shouldn't worry about it and just tell my teacher in the morning. So I forget the assignment and tell my teacher the next day, expecting him to be OK with it, and understand that I shouldn't need to repeat work. But of course, it happens in the exact opposite way! This teacher, whom I have known to be accepting and willing, now puts me down that I should have done the assignment without a problem, having already known it. This is just one example.

     With the knowledge of past events never working out according to my expectations, I decide it best to stay put. I allow myself to think of more possibilities and rest my eyes and listen.

     At my age, with my imagination, I have quite a number of stories in line to be written, and I have no intention of creating new story lines constantly. Instead, I have put the ideas to use, adding on to already existing accounts. I do my best to write these notions down, but I almost never get the opportunity to truly write the whole thing.

     I feel another cool breeze and a leaf falls directly across my muzzle, tickling my nose and making me sneeze. After that, I decide it might be a good idea to get down and go home.

     I jump off the branch and enjoy every lasting millisecond of freefalling. Sometimes I think I would have made a much better pegasus than earth pony.

     I land perfectly on my hooves and brace the impact into my knees. It's too easy now.

     "Perhaps I'll jump from higher up next time and land in a roll?"

     That would be the most adventurous thing you've done since running through the woods.

     "Wouldn't it just?"

     I think to myself, half out-loud, while I make my way back through the forest. The sun is lowering in the west and my belly rumbles, hungry. I don't bother rushing, though.

     When I finally make it back to the house, Ma is carrying Breeze inside on her back while Pa hops out of the carriage with his front left hoof in a cast, hung in a sling. I decide it best to slip in another way, to avoid an awkward confrontation with him. I only manage to run into Stone at the back porch. He's hard at work spreading pebbles into a path to the wood pile. By the looks of things, he crushed the rocks himself.

     "Where you been, nimrod?" He insults me.

     "Out back," I tell him. It's simply what we call the area of woods that we use most often. "I needed some time alone."

     "Yeah, well I needed some work done. You coulda helped out, fag." That insult bites me, but I hide the cringe.

     "Just because Pa's not home--"

     "Pa being injured like he is, you'll need to pick up a lot more slack 'round here, you dung." He only knows to call me what he sees every day.

     I wait in silence, my eyes on the ground facing the door.

     "Why dontcha grab a shovel and help me get these rocks spread." It's not a question in the slightest. He pushes a spade down toward me. I bite my tongue and ignore it, letting it fall to my right. "Hey, flea-biter," he shouts, I bite harder, wetting my eyes with tears. "I said get the shovel, or did ya forget how to listen."

     "Shut up! Just because Pa isn't around doesn't mean you get to break his rules!!" I shout. My riposte was only met with a powerful swing to the left side of my face. My body shifts to the right and my legs buckle, causing me to fall slightly.

     "Next time you feel like shouting at me," he whispers, "you best bite your tongue."

     I see the shovel on the ground and consider using it to hit him, but something stops me. This makes me choke up more; all my life is based off things I could have done, but didn't. Especially things like this.

     I take a long shaky breath and turn to run inside, but something stops me. He is standing on my tail. "What kind of idiot are you? Get the shovel and help."

     I yank my tail free, pulling a few hairs out with a sting. It also knocks him off balance slightly. I have a sudden thought of attacking him while he's stumbling, but again I let the chance go. I simply back up, defensively, say, "Deal with the stupid rocks by yourself," and run inside before breaking down.

     I run directly downstairs, ignoring calls from any family member that happened to be inside. The tears in my eyes, fogging my glasses, along with the pained ringing in my ears, I don't have much trouble keeping them out.

     The door to my room has no lock, so I take my desk chair and prop it closed.

     I cry myself to sleep. I don't bother responding to anyone's attempts to get to me. I think my mother, and youngest brother each tried to come in. Neither of them does.

     I wake up to a pounding on my door. The abruptness of the call makes me forget my dream.

     "Page," my father calls, "Page, open the door."

     "Or what?!" I shout back, despite my tiredness. "Go ahead and ground me. It's not like I have anywhere to go!!"

     "Just open up," he sounds like he's pleading now. "I want to talk to you."

     I remain silent for a few good moments, listening. I hear the shuffle of hooves, more hooves than a single pony. I hear the sweet voice of my mother, but don't know what she's saying. Is she chastising him? Forcing him to be a different kind of parent? I get out of bed and slip to my door. "I can hear you fine through the door," I tell him.

     I hear the hushed argument of my parents outside.

     Ma says, "Tell him you want it to be face-to-face."

     Pa replies, "I don't see what the difference is."

     Ma growls back, "It will mean more to him to actually have you in there. A real chat will help him get things off his chest."

     Pa clears his throat. "Son, I would rather we speak face-to--"

     "I want to talk to Ma," I interrupt him. "I know she's there."

     More unclear arguing takes place, but I can tell they're arguing while wriggling past each other in the stairway outside the door. "Page," Ma finally calls.

     "Yes mother?"

     "Will you please open the door? I want to see you."

     "I can't risk that."

     She sighs heavily. "I understand that you're afraid of Stone, but--"

     "I am not afraid of him..." I interrupt again. "I... I'm afraid of you." She stays silent for a few moments, waiting for me to elaborate. "I'm afraid of your way of using your skills as a mother to get into my head and make me spill things that mean nothing." I speak sarcastically about her "skill." "I'm afraid of you achieving a knowledge that you believe as true simply because you got me to say it out loud, just so you can use it against me the next time something like this happens."

     She is silent for a few more seconds, but eventually responds. "I'm sorry you feel that way." I feel like interrupting again, but I bite my tongue. I've gone far enough for now. "I just want to know what was in your mind when you hit him."

     I laugh a good, maniacal laugh at that. "When I hit HIM?" I say.  "I'll be honest; I did expect him to cook up something like that, to make him perfectly innocent while making me entirely crazy." I choke at the last word, like my mouth has tears of its own. "But that figures, doesn't it, Ma? That the perfect first born was attacked by the insane middle child." I start sobbing up for some reason. "Good ol' Stone was just doing a simple job and this crazy pony jumped him." I kick the chair from the door, allowing it to open. "At least now I know I'm not the only one capable of making up stories." I turn and walk to the other end of my room and face the wall.

     Ma slowly opens the door and walks in while I sob. My glasses fall to the floor with a little splash in my tiny tear puddle. "I never got the whole story," she admits, quietly.

     I look over my left shoulder, and she gets a glance at that side of my head. I hadn't even noticed the pain until I recalled the affair in its entirety. She instantly spotted the swelling bruise on my skull left from a senseless attack, given by a senseless pony. I turned away as she reached toward the welt. "I believe my reaction is justified. The bruise speaks for itself."

     She says nothing more. She simply sits beside me and wraps a hoof around me. I am now as big as she is, so cuddling me is not simple anymore. But it sure does help.

     She holds me, weeping, until almost two a.m. when she decides that it's best we hit the hay. I make her promise not to make me tell her, or anyone, what my problems are. No one has the right to know yet. She promises, and we both go back to sleep.

     In the morning I am woken up by Sprout, telling me there's a list of chores for me to do today.

     The list says I will have Note helping me. But I read that I will work alone, seeing as Note will not work regardless of what he is told.

      I keep my head down all day, and am content until lunchtime. Ma does her best to keep everypony from asking about me at breakfast. I give Note the more simple of the chores, but consider that he will most likely not do them right. The chores are arranged to keep me in a different field from Stone all day, save for mealtimes.

     All of my previous chores remained, and Pa's chores of stacking logs, milking the goat and churning butter are given to me. I give Note the chore of churning. Stone is in charge of sawing the logs and splitting them. I will get to split them tomorrow. I still have to reap the wheat, only now Note is helping. He only gets a small sickle, but I still fear for him. With this extra help, harvest will be finished at least a week in advance.

     Things run smoothly for some time, but like I said, lunchtime changed everything.

     We were just cleaning up when Note spoke to me. "That friend of your's visited yesterday."

     "Mint?" I ask him.

     "No, the older one," he says, "Rosella or somethin'."

     I pinch my eyes shut and bite my tongue.

     "Said she had a big opportunity for her music career and was wondering if you were still into singing duets."

     I open my eyes slowly, but keep my teeth closed. Yesterday was her birthday.

     "Too bad you weren't around. Instead she invited me over. You should see the turntables her step-dad got her. The music coming from that vinyl, it was sweet."

     I taste blood.

     "I showed off my skills with sound and made her an epic new electronic track to sing to. She's gonna write lyrics and-- Hey where you going?"

     I bit my tongue open listening to him talk, so I decided it was best to leave. My eyes were wet all over again. He'd better keep his mouth shut throughout the day, or I might miss the hay next time I swing the scythe.