A Wing Over Her Head
Spitfire sat down on that blue park bench on a warm day in Manehattan Park.
She buried her hooves into her face, breathing heavily. It seemed like her whole life had fallen apart in the span of a couple of hours. It seemed like everything was going smoothly; she was a sophomore in Wing University with a scholarship in flying athletics, she had friends and a boyfriend, she was good on money, . . .
Then there was nothing. Her boyfriend decided to dump her, almost out of the blue—by phone, no less. He didn’t even have the nerve to show up and dump her in person. Now normally, this wouldn’t be such an issue, but the couple were also sharing his cottage, and he decided to completely kick her out. She was only able to carry a backpack’s worth of clothing and items as she flew away crying, forgetting most of her money in the cottage. None of her friends answered the phone when she called them, which meant she had no place to live and college would become impossible . . .
It’s just not fair, she thought to herself, tears streaming down her face. It’s just not fair.
* * * * *
She was alone. This was really the first time Spitfire had ever felt loneliness. Usually she was a very sociable pony—at least with a couple friends around, or always someone willing to talk on the phone, or at the least having her parents there to confide in. But there was none of that now. Her parents were in another city, and with a dead phone she couldn’t call anyone.
This is what it’s like to be alone, she thought to herself. This is terrifying.
Minutes, then hours passed. The sky turned dark with night, then with clouds, and soon it was pouring rain. Spitfire was still there, on that same blue bench, sad and lonely. She hadn’t moved from that spot for the whole time; she just sat there, eyes distant, lost in thought. So lost in thought that she didn’t really care that the rain was messing up her flamed mane, or the water constantly pounding her back, or that her teeth were chattering because she was so cold, or that she would probably get sick after today and be stuck in bed for a while.
At some point, in a break of thought, she realized that the rain was no longer hitting her. She thought, just for a second, that maybe she was just imagining things, that maybe she was just so sad and wet that she had become numb to the feeling of water constantly hitting her. Yet the sound of rain splashing in puddles and the pavement was still audible. She looked around.
Spitfire immediately realized that there was a young stallion sitting next to her, about the same age, with a light blue coat and dark blue mane, holding a wing above his head and a wing above hers. His eyes were kind and bright, but she was so surprised by the presence of another pony that she jumped and fell off the bench, yelping a quick “ow!”.
The stallion’s mouth opened in shock. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?” he spoke, a look of concern on his face. He got up, basically lifting her off the ground and back onto the blue bench, wiping off some soaking pine needles from her body. “I swear, I didn’t mean to scare you like that, I—”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted softly, rubbing a couple bruised spots. She looked at him and tried to give a warm smile. “I-I-It wasn’t your fault. I-I was just . . .” She trailed off, unsure of what to say.
“Just . . . what?”
A few moments passed. Both of them were frozen in their position: Spitfire with her mouth open, the stallion staring curiously. Spitfire shook her head suddenly, breaking the pause. “Never mind that. What are you doing here in the pouring rain?”
“Trying to make sure you don’t catch hypothermia,” he said, motioning to his wing again. Spitfire looked up, and there it was, a light blue wing, blocking most of the rain from her body. She realized she seemed to be getting a little bit dryer and less cold.
How kind, she thought absent-mindedly.
“What are you doing here is the real question,” he continued.
Spitfire automatically opened her mouth to answer . . . but nothing came out. No words. She didn’t know how to express what she was feeling, how to describe what went wrong. There was just so much . . .
The stallion studied her closely. “Please,” he begged softly. “I just want to help you. Make sure you’re okay.”
Her hoof immediately went to rubbing one of her bruises. “I-I’m f-f-fine,” she said finally, turning away. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, trying to hold back tears and her shivering. “I’m fine.”
He grabbed her hoof and turned her back to his direction, her eyes still shut. “No, you’re not,” he said firmly, wrapping both of his hooves with one of her own. “Listen, I . . .” he hesitated, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, “I know who you are.”
Spitfire opened her eyes, not looking up at him.
“Your name is Spitfire,” he said. “You are a sophomore at Wing University. You have a full scholarship through flying athletics. You are undecided, so you’ve been taking a wide variety of classes. And you also hate the way Dr. Winmare teaches the anatomy section of biology by using your wings as an example.”
She didn’t respond. He lifted her chin up so that their eyes were locked onto each other. “You’re the captain of the entire flying division. Not just the racers, or the stunt flyers—everypony. You’re so good at anything flying sometimes you take the place of Coach. You are such a natural leader and everyone likes and respects you.” He paused. “None of them would want to see you hurt like this. . . Especially me. I care about you.”
Her eyes widened at that last statement. I recognize those words . . . This . . . this is the same stallion who . . .
He put his hooves on her shoulders and pulled her closer until they were only inches away. “I’ve seen you so bubbly and happy,” he whispered. She was on the verge of crying, tears in her eyes. “I’ve seen how you can make anyone happy just by walking into a room or by talking to somepony. This is not like you.” He hesitated, noticing a single tear streaming down her cheek. “I want to. . .” he struggled to say the words, “be here for you, to . . . h-help you.”
With that, he embraced Spitfire in a big hug, and she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably into his arms. Both just sat there, the stallion’s blue wings still protecting them from the rain that continued to fall. She let all the tears stream down her face as all the sad emotions seemed to drain from her.
“My boyfriend broke up with me,” she sobbed. “Now I have no place to live, and I tried calling my friends but none of them answered me, and now my phone’s dead and I only have my backpack with only a little bit of stuff, and I don’t know where I’m going to sleep tonight, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to go to college, and I don’t know, and I’m angry and confused and sad and scared and . . .”
With that she continued to sob into his shoulder, muffling her cries in the dark night. The minutes passed by, with the stallion just patting her head and her back softly, saying shakily, “Shh, it’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay.” And suddenly, on impulse, the stallion leaned over and softly kissed her on the side of the head.
Her breathing seemed to normalize somewhat, but she stayed crying into his shoulder for longer, the stallion still soothing her with his soft words. Soon her crying had stopped into just heavy breathing, but they stayed hugging, comfortably.
“Thank you,” she said into his ear. “Thank you for caring.”
The stallion simply smiled and hugged her a little tighter. There was a long, long pause, and all that could be heard was the sound of the never-ending rain. “If you need a place to sleep,” the stallion finally said, “I’d be happy to let you stay at my place for as long as you needed to.”
Spitfire gasped lightly. “Really?”
“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “I’m all alone. Company would be great.”
She released from their hug, a look of complete shock on her face. “I-I-I,” she stammered,”I don’t know w-what to s-s-say—”
“You don’t need to,” he softly interrupted. “Let’s just get you out of this rain.”
Helping her up, they both started to walk away, Spitfire backpack over her shoulders. The rain had seemed to lighten up a little. “You know,” she said, tilting her head towards him, “I don’t think I ever asked you your name.”
The stallion chucked, looking back at her. “Soarin’.The name is Soarin’.”
“You go to Wing University, too.”
“Yes.”
“You are on the flying team.”
“Yes.”
“You’re the stallion who . . .” The unspoken words hung in the air like a tacit blessing.
Soarin hesitated, for the first time getting a little nervous. “Yes,” he answered finally, his voice shaky.
Both were silent. “Well,” she finally said, leaning her head against his shoulder, “It’s very nice finally meeting you, Soarin’.” She paused, grinning for the first time. “I’m very glad I did.”
Soarin’ smiled warmly. And with that, they walked away from that blue bench in the park, his wings held high in the rain.
