Chapter 1: Happy Birthday!
The Twelfth of April, I think. I’m here, at home, spending the day like I did yesterday and the day before: Drinking to the bottom of a bottle. Beer’s so weak, water from the tap has more alcohol, but hey, at least it’s cheap.
I can’t quite remember how many I’ve drunk. Doesn’t much matter, either. Not enough by my standards—I can still remember my name, for starters. I suppose that just shows a lack of trying on my part.
The wife finally decides to enter the room as I’m setting another empty bottle down on the floor with its brothers.
“Dear…” she begins, already with the disapproving frown and the arched brows. Every single day, every single day, the same thing. I’m pretty sure at this point those eyebrows were painted on her forehead, stuck in a position of scorn.
“Yeah?” I ask. I stuff some pretzels in my mouth and chew. The saltiness is a nice kick against the bitter beer. I probably won’t throw up tonight, if I’m careful.
“Sitting in front of the television doing nothing? Again?” She raises her hands in the air in dismay and points at the TV. It’s stuck on some program selling knife sets. I could go for one, actually. I’m almost glad I can’t find the remote to change the channel now.
“So?”
She sighs. Another step down guilt-trip lane, a path of which I have driven down so many times that my tire tracks have worn grooves in the road. “So, I was thinking, maybe, you’d get out of the house every once in a while.”
There she goes, and the knife in my back twists again, a little bit deeper. Joke’s on her though, the fat on my back’s so thick that it stops the guilt in its tracks.
“Maybe go out and get a job, too,” she continues. She’s wringing her hands, probably to relieve some aching joints. She’s been working longer hours at the hospital again, still dressed in her nurse’s scrubs. Even her hair’s frayed and unkempt, greying at the roots due to neglect. She hasn’t been looking after herself so well. Not anymore. She looks old, sounds old. Much past her years. “It could really help us out.”
I dig my hand into my bowl of pretzels, withdraw a dozen or two, and promptly throw them into my mouth, several missing the mark, falling down my chin and across my pudging belly. “I’ll think about it.”
“But dear—”
“Said I’d think about it.”
She remains silent beside me, like some brooding shadow. She probably wants to snap back at me. Show some spine and finally crack out a reply. I almost expect her to. I revel in the thought, actually. I just want something, something for her to stand up on. Anything at all for her to keep her ground and show force against me. Not so that I can have something to fight back against, but so I could finally not have something to say ‘no’ to.
But she doesn’t. She purses her lips, huffs out a breath, and walks away. Immediately I regret not asking her for more beers
I’m all out now, running on empty. I know, I should have prepared more, stocked more, but really, why? Why bother. I thought I’d be plastered by now. Great intuition on my part, that’s for sure. At least I have plenty of pretzels, but really, what’s their use without beer to choke them down?
Nothing, that’s what.
Regrettable, but I have to get up, if only to grab another beer from the fridge. I bring three more back just in case. I change the channel on the TV to something more appropriate for such a monumental achievement: Jeopardy.
It’s just as I’m sitting down and opening up a beer with a flick of my thumb that I noticed something strange. I’m starting on the ever-familiar trip to Buzzville and feel the edges of my vision turning a shade or two blurry already, so I can’t exactly trust my sight. But there it is anyway.
“My coat,” I mutter, speech slurred with strong drink. Really, it’s what is under the coat that matters, or rather, it doesn’t matter anymore. A corner of it’s peeking out. What was the point of putting the coat on it in the first place, if a corner comes peeking out? “Dumb coat,” I say.
With a grunt I get on my feet and walk the short distance to the front of the TV, breathing heavily. Exercise isn’t exactly my strong-suit nowadays.
There, right next to the TV. My coat. It’s covering a box of some sort. My mind’s struggling to keep the gears turning, in motion about why it’s there. I mean, I see the corner as clear as day—gaily colored decorations on plain cardboard—but its purpose, heck, even its reason for being here is still a mystery. For once I didn’t think the booze is keeping me in the dark this time.
I lift up my coat and discard it on the floor without a second thought. Beneath it is a hand-crafted box covered in paper, colored a variety of hues. A plethora of stickers cover nearly every inch. What isn’t covered in stickers is dipped in more glitter than stars in the sky. Finally, to really tie it all together and complete the look is a bright red bow on top, like the figure of a trophy.
“Oh, right,” I whisper. “Sam’s birthday gift. I forgot it. Again.”
I pick up the present and return to my seat. It’s already lost some of its warmth and longs for my presence once again. I shake the box, and a soft thumping can be heard inside.
“Sam’s gonna be real angry with me. I can’t believe I forgot it was her birthday. Again. And I left her present at the house. Again.” I sigh deeply through gritted teeth. “Damnit, why’d I have to forget?”
I could get up, could take it to her, but I decide against it. Traffic’s probably terrible right now. Besides, it’s been such a long, long time since I had visited her new place. Haven’t been around there since she first moved in. My wife goes all the time, and heck, she even tried to convince me once or twice to go with her, but I’ve always had an excuse. Just like now, actually. Wow, I’m good at this.
“What did I get her again?” I wonder to myself, aloud. Shaking the box had revealed nothing. Anything could be in there. I can’t quite remember what I got her. Did my wife get her something? Nah, this was Sam's work. She liked to decorate boxes, so I'd use them for birthdays and Christmases. Weird, I know, but it made her happy.
I could open it right now. Just take a peek. The thought is certainly tempting. Besides, if I bought the gift, I have a right to know before I give it to Sam on her birthday. Be rude not to. That’s probably a rule or something.
Too late to back down now. I open it.
And it’s… a pony doll. Geez, isn’t she a bit old for this? I mean, it’s all blue with a rainbow mane. Ridiculous. Who was the marketing genius behind this eyesore? God Almighty, it’s just so unbelievably girly and sickly sweet. Is Sam really into this stuff? I can’t quite remember, but maybe, possibly she is…
Eh, why do I care? It’s just a pony doll.
“You bought this doll, so really, you care at least a little,” the little pony doll says to me. Its tone is cordial, a bit brash. Feminine.
I arch a brow. A doll. A doll is talking to me. “Damn, that beer kicked in faster than I thought.”
“It’s not the beer,” the doll replies. “I’m real.” I don’t exactly know how it’s able to talk to me. I think its lips move, but it’s hard to tell. My vision was already a bit on the blurry side and it’s only getting worse.
I squeeze the doll, causing it to cry out a complaint. “You still feel like a doll,” I say, dubious. I poke one of its rose-colored eyes. “And you still act like one.”
One of its fuzzy little hooves reaches out and slaps my finger away from its eye. “Hey, what’s the big deal! Don’t do that!”
“Holy hell.” I look at the half empty beer bottle still in my hand. “What is in this thing? And where can I get more?”
“Hey, buddy, over here,” the doll says, catching my attention.
I nodded. “Oh, right, talking doll. Yeah…” I brush pretzel crumbs off myself and set the doll on my leg. “So, uh, what do you want, Miss...”
“Rainbow Dash,” she said. It is clearly a she as I first guessed, indicated by the name, female voice, and overall design. At least I hope it is. If not, then damn did it probably have some problems with its social life.
Wait, why am I thinking about a pony doll’s social life again?
“I came here to talk.”
Oh, right, that.
“Talk about what?” I reply.
“You know what I’m talking about,” she said.
No, I don’t. So I decide to humor her.
“Hell no I don’t. Stop beating around the bush and just tell me before I throw you in the garbage disposal.”
Okay, so it isn’t exactly humoring to her, but it’s very funny to me.
If a doll could roll its eyes, she certainly did. “I’m talking about why I was in the box. Underneath your coat. For, like, a really long time, dude. What the heck? You know how dark it gets in there?”
“No, and I don’t really care.” I finish the rest of my beer, glad for the cold sting down my suddenly parched throat. Who knew talking to an inanimate object could get you nervous. “You’re probably some stupid toy I forgot to give my child for her birthday.”
“A toy? Toy? Seriously, dude, I’m not just some toy!” she began to object.
I frown. “Do you… have a string that makes you talk then? Are you a talking toy?”
“Buster, I’m talking to you right now, and look at me! Do you see any string?”
She makes a convincing case, I have to hand her that.
“Good point! So, like, uh…” I rack my brain for a solution or some missing piece to this complicated puzzle. Damn, I haven’t had to do something like this in a long while. “You’re a special doll, then?”
The doll smiles—which indeed appears as strange as it sounds—and nods her head several times. “Right on the bits! I’m the one and only Rainbow Dash, fastest pegasus in Equestria!”
“Pega-what?”
“Pegasus! Y’know, flying ponies!” She flaps her wings—why the heck didn’t I catch that beforehand—and jumps up and down on my lap. “I’m the fastest and coolest one there is! That’s why Sam wanted me so bad!”
I blink, my bleary eyes clearing for a brief moment. “How do you know Sam’s name?” I ask. More importantly, how did she know just Sam’s name. Everyone calls her Samantha; her mother, her friends. I am the only person who addresses her by Sam. It was our thing.
Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes once again, which didn’t stop being creepy the second time around. “Duh, weirdo, she spoke to me. While you were driving. C’mon, you were there, remember?”
Ah, remembering. What a difficult task. Well, what other task does beer make more difficult than easier, eh?
I close my eyes, breathing out a large gulp of air I didn’t know I’m holding in. “Let’s see… yeah, car ride. It was just after I bought you and Sam put you in the box.”
“That box was super cramped by the way.”
“Whatever. Sam kept on whispering to it. I kept on telling her to keep the box closed. I didn’t want her to play with her toy before her birthday party.”
“Man, we were gonna have so many fun adventures! The best ever!” Rainbow Dash flexes her wings and kicks at the dirt—or rather, my pants—with her hooves, standing as tall and proud as a cheaply-made toy could be. “I’d teach her to fly, how to control clouds, and then she’d meet all my friends back in Ponyville!”
“I kept on telling her to close the box,” I repeat softly. I rub at the stubble on my chin, which has gone several days without trim. Usually I’ll leave it for weeks. But not that day. Sam hates whenever I get a beard. I always kept it close-shaven for her.
“Then with Pinkie we’d throw Sam the biggest surprise party ever! There’d be cake, balloons, cookies, ice cream, punch, streamers, and even party games!” Rainbow Dash pats her chest and struck a heroic pose. “Of course, I’d help her win all the best prizes, since that’s what friends are for.”
“She just… kept on opening the box up. No matter how many times I told her to close it. I wanted her to keep it closed until we got to the party. But first we had to buy the present. Her favorite toy. That’s what she wanted.” I remember how much she went on and on and on about that pony doll. She’ll talk about it constantly, even months in advance of the party. I could have gotten it for her beforehand, but no, she wants it on her birthday to truly make it special. So, of course, I obliged. “The rainbow... winged pony.”
Rainbow Dash jumps when she is mentioned. “Yeah, that’s me, and I’m the best! And Sam’s the best too! Best friend I could ever ask for.”
“She…” I gulp. No more beer to keep my throat from getting dry. Damn shame. “She didn’t keep the box closed.” My palms were sweaty now. Strange how my throat goes dry and then my palms get all my liquids. The human body is weird. “No matter how many times I told her. Over. Over. And over again.”
“Too bad I had to go back in the box so soon,” Rainbow Dash said. Her wings droop to the ground, and her big doll-eyes look up to me with worry. “Why didn’t Sam take me out of the box again, mister?”
She didn’t keep the box closed! She didn’t! I kept on telling her! Over and over and over again! I got… I got so angry. Angry. Yeah, that’s it. I was angry at the time. And Sam kept on complaining about how she wanted her present that very minute.
“I mean, it was kinda lonely in that box, y’know.” Rainbow Dash looks down to her hooves, her head dropping low. “I didn’t have any of my friends with me. Not even a flashlight. And then you suddenly open up the box and you keep on muttering to yourself.”
I was so angry at the time because I wanted her to have a good party, but she kept on being so difficult. So very, very difficult. I already got her the gift. That should have been enough! She should have been content! Happy, even. But no, she wanted to play with the toy at that very minute, and I kept on saying no and no and no and no and… and…
“Where’s Sam?”
“It was all my fault,” I whisper. “All of it. I shouldn’t have gotten angry. I shouldn’t have told her to put the doll away. I should’ve done something different.” My nails were digging painfully into my palm, but I didn’t mind it. The pain meant I was alive. That’s what I hate about it.
“What happened to Sam?” Rainbow Dash asks.
“I wasn’t looking but it was a green light.” I swallow hard. My breath is shaky now. “It was green, I had right of way, I couldn't have known. I couldn’t have know. I couldn’t have—” another shuddering breath, “—have known.”
Rainbow Dash pats my arm with a hoof. “Why isn’t Sam here? Where is she?”
“How was I to know?” I whisper.
Then I cry out a sob.
“H-how was I-I-I to k-know?”
My eyes are full of tears. Another wracking sob leaves my lungs. I can’t stop it. It’s all flooding out now, like a dam has just burst. I keep on trying to repeat the words “How was I to know” over and over again, but they never come out right. I become frustrated I can’t even say the words I wanted, needed to say. But it didn’t matter now. The wracking sobs had to come out somehow. One by one they blubber out in huge heaves and sighs, tears streaming down my face all the while.
I don’t know how long I was there, sobbing. Rainbow Dash didn’t ask my anymore questions. I think she got her answer. We both did. For the first time in years I felt myself letting go of the tears all at once. They had been building up for far too long now.
Eventually, my wife comes home. She sees me in my state. This time there is no scorn or guilting me. Instead, she holds me close as I continue to cry.
“Shhhh, shhhh, it’s okay,” she whispers to me. She’s crying too. “It’s okay to cry.”
“How was I to know?” I ask. It came out more like a pathetic sob, thick with spit and snot. But she understands it nonetheless.
“It’s not your fault,” she says to me. She holds me closer and rubs my back as I cry on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. Just remember, it’s not your fault.”
I want to tell her it is my fault. Everything was. Before, after, just everything. Everything was me and she knows it. But she doesn’t tell me that. She just keeps on whispering “It’s not your fault” over and over and over again, calmly in my ear. I let her.
I can’t say much anyways.
I rub at my cheeks. Clean-shaven. Just the way Sam likes it. I’m not sure if Sam would like the weight I had put on, but for her sake I was keen on losing it.
I’m standing in front of her grave. It’s a simple tombstone and mark in the ground. Nothing too special or glamorous. If Sam was here, she’d probably decorate it with glitter and stickers. The thought makes me grin.
I pull out of my pocket the pony doll. Rainbow Dash never did ask me anymore questions. She didn’t talk anymore about the adventures her and Sam would have. Not even a peep about how much of a great flier she is. I missed that. Well, not so much of the third, but still, it was nice.
“I can see why Sam likes you,” I tell the doll. The doll smiles back at me, although much less creepily. More sincere, I think. “You’re a lot like her. You could have been the best of friends.”
I set Rainbow Dash on top of Sam’s grave, taking a step back to admire it.
“Sorry I kept you waiting.”
Author's Note
The original title was intended to be "Horse of Remorse." To this day I'm still ashamed of myself for not pulling through with that.
