Author's Note
Windsilver
Where I am, emotionally, before writing this.
Kind of upset. My sister just left to go visit our dad. Something she's been doing for a while. I'm not upset with her. Not in the slightest. She's made a ton of sacrifices in the past, just so I wouldn't feel how I'm feeling now. So I'll never even consider holding her in anyway responsible. The only person I blame is my father. I can list on one hand exactly how many times he's tried to open up to me, how many times he's reached out to me, and how many times he's talked to me (Other than to ask me to get/do something.) When I went over to his house when I was younger, I spent all my time outside. He rarely spoke to me. He rarely acknowledged my prescence whatsoever. Even now, he's rarely shown any interest in having me around. The last time I saw him was at the anniversary of my grandmother's (his mother's) funeral. Even then, he didn't speak. He didn't hug. He pulled at one of my dreads.
My grandmother (not the dead one obviously) asked, "You don't like 'em Reggie?"
To which he responded, "No."
I'm sorry but I don't think you get to choose what I look like or do. You gave up that right.
...
I think I should stop there before I get too agitated to even write anymore.
How I am after
Drained. That's a good word. Tearful. That's another.
Don't feel too bad, guys. I still have some awesome people in my life that have supported me through the thick and the thin.
I-I… I want to... say this to him. One day. I want to let him know how he's made me feel. I want to let him know that I am hurt. But I will survive. And, while I will always wish for that time that was lost, I won't try to work for something I can't have. Nor will I beat myself up over things that I can't control.
The Silver will not be tarnished by the stains of the past.
No More Fake Smiles
I’m poised to knock. My hoof mere inches from the door, but it feels like miles. I can imagine it now; I'll knock and almost immediately the door will open. He'll come out, give me a hug, and thank me for coming. Then we'll spend the day together. He'll tell me he loved my last book and that he's already shown it to his friends and co-workers.
We'd go out to eat. Not anywhere fancy. I'd settle for McTrotters. Besides, I know he loves their hay and appleseed burgers. We could split the price with the bits I brought. Then, we can come back here to see the premiere of the new season of The Trotting Dead.
Yeah, and then pigs will grow horns, wings, and become our overlords, I thought to myself. I drop my hoof and turn away. My head drops as I walk down the path, away from the door. Just as I reach the edge of the clouds the door opens.
"Who's out there?"
I freeze. It's him. I turn back, just for a moment, but it's more than enough. Enough to know that I can't do this. I spread my wings.
"Wolfe?" He asks. Surprised to find me here.
I flap once and jump off of the precipice of the cloud formation.
"Wait!" He shouts, running towards me. "Wolfe!"
But I'm gone. I'm free falling through the clouds, leaving him behind. I can't talk to him. Not like this. Not today of all days. I can't walk in there and pretend that we were a normal family for the last decade. I can't walk in there, give him that card…
The card! I facehoof. How could I leave the card there?
I complete a 180° turn as I fall, which leaves me facing upward. Should I go back for it? No, by now he's already found it.
I shake my head and turn again. I'm approaching fast. In fact, I've got a few seconds to react if I want to avoid becoming a stain on the grass. With practiced ease, I spread my wings, angling them so that they can catch the most wind with the least strain. I angle my own body to an acute angle with the ground. As I descend, my body and wings begin working to become parallel with the plains below me.
I glide for a few meters before touching down in the fields. I look up again, half hoping that I might see him flying down, chasing after me. When that doesn't happen. I head home, dejected.
I ball up another blank sheet of paper and toss it at the full recycling bin. I can't think, I can't write, and now I can't even sit still. I need to go do some tricking. I don my leg bands, run a brush through my mane, and fly out my window, headed for my favorite spot.
"Why is it so hard?" I wonder aloud. "Why is it so hard to put it behind me?"
I fly in silence for a while.
"Why should I have to put it behind me?" I ask. "It's his loss, not mine." No, even I can't believe it.
My spot is in view. A nice collection of stairs, benches, a couple of walls, and a tree about 20 feet high. I could spend hours here. I think I'll start with the tree.
I land a good distance away from the tree and begin my stretches. Making sure to work out every muscle in my body. By the end of the routine, I'm primed and ready to start. I lock on to my target, the tree's yard-wide trunk, and take off. My wings are folded to my side, my body a bit low; I'm like a bullet. When I'm close enough to the tree I leap. I plant my front left hoof and my back right hoof against the tree. I lean back and push off, landing a backflip.
After hitting the ground I push off with my left side and spin, nailing a 360°. I angle myself at one of the walls, then I'm running at it. I jump, planting my right legs at the wall and tic-tacing to the adjacent one. I grab the edge and pull myself up. I launch myself from the top of the wall to the second lowest of the tree branches.
From here I can spot Big Macintosh with a cart of apple fritters near the center of town. My stomach rumbles in hunger. After checking for my bit pouch I jump out of the tree and head for the cart.
Crap! He's here. And he's with his foals. I immediately turn around and race home. I can't deal with this right now. I can't see him after all that's happened.
"Please, Wolfe, just come out."
I refuse to answer.
"Wolfe, open the door."
Silence.
"Wolfe, I'm giving you until the count of three."
I slide out of bed.
"1."
I begin walking towards the door.
"2."
I lay a hoof on the door and wait.
"3!"
I yank the door open a second before he can lay his hooves on it. I see his face. The face that I've been waiting for for the last ten years. The face that I'd hoped would show up at birthdays. At celebrations. The face of the stallion who took forever to answer his mail. Who was never around me. He was there for anything and anyone else. But. Not. Me.
"What?" I'm upset and I show it. He doesn't deserve to be here.
He recovers and gives me a surprised glance. "You took off so fast from town. I just wanted to—"
"To what?" I interrupt. "To check on me?"
He nods nervously.
Something about that nod sets me off. No, it's not the nod. It's him being here that sets me off. Him being anywhere near my life after he chose to alienate himself from it. He doesn't get to be here. He has no right to come here and try to get involved in my life.
"What's wrong?"
I explode. "'What's wrong?' You want to know, 'What's wrong!'"
"I don't know Dad. Maybe it's the fact that you're never around. Maybe it's the fact that whenever I want to hang out, you're always busy. Maybe I'm upset that you told me that the divorce 'Won't change a thing.' Isn't that what you said?"
He doesn't answer. He's looking at me in fear, and something else. Something that I've wanted to see for most of my life. Guilt.
"Maybe it's because you've never been to a single celebration of mine! But let Dusk Fire graduate from high school and suddenly you're all for it!"
He's backing away now. He can't take the truth being thrown in his face.
"Maybe it's because you were never there when I needed you! Maybe it's because you never even tried to connect with me!"
He turns and runs. He's heard enough, but I'm not done.
"Maybe it's because you made me feel like I wasn't good enough! Maybe because it's your fault that I fear failure and disappointing someone!"
He's gone. I'm alone. I let one last sentence slide from my lips.
"Maybe because it's you I'm afraid of disappointing the most."
I turn away and shut the door.
