Oh, and it was also raining.
It happened on the day when the rain in Canterlot was actually falling sideways.
I do mean it. Sideways.
The storm was soaking the streets and boulevards through, catching inhabitants and tourists alike in its attack. I was trying to press on through the torrents nonetheless. I was fighting bravely against the tide, an umbrella for my sword and the case of my trusty cello as the shield. My situation was, some might have said, dire. My train to Ponyville, the last train on that day actually, was leaving in about forty, which meant I had twenty minutes, maybe less, to come up with a solution to a rather spectacular problem.
I did not have a birthday present for Vinyl. And her birthday was that day exactly.
It was enough that I ended up having to visit the capital on that very date and not spending some more time with my best friend! Having been forced to stay at the Allegrezza Royal Philharmonic longer than expected, I was in desperation trying to find a store on the Canterlot Promenade that would spark my interest, being constantly assaulted by waves of water. For the rain was making a mockery of my quest, naturally.
Who, the Tartarus, was in charge of the Weather Corps that week?!
Failing to stand tall against a strike of wind, I found myself staggering towards a display window. My umbrella, a faithful servant, heroically or perhaps foolishly attempted to make a commemorative last stand and suffered a rather hefty collision with the thick glass, which bent some of its wiring. Its sacrifice stopped me from acquainting myself with the same surface though.
Without even looking at the name of the establishment, yet desperately wishing to find at least a minute-long respite from the cataclysm, I reached for the nearby handle. The moment I pressed on it, the gale decided to fake being a true gentleman and opened the door for me, pretty much flinging me inside before slamming them back closed.
How rude!
I looked around, surprised at having found myself in a record store! What a beneficial coincidence! That was exactly what I needed! I left my wounded umbrella and my cello near the exit, finding it improbable for thieves and robbers to be active in that weather, even if I were to leave my possessions unattended for a moment. On my left and right various tapes and albums were stacked high on the shelves, their fancy-looking covers inviting me strongly to reach for them. Oh, how I adored stores like this, true libraries of music!
Well, this particular place I invaded was unfortunately coming short of having quite the noble stature I initially thought it possessed.
Most of the titles of the albums and names of the corresponding bands were rather... extravagant. “The Dirty Manes”, “Gemtrance”, “Iron Princess”, or “Rah-Rah-Rah?”, question mark included. The entire establishment reeked of overindulgence. Dirty green walls were plastered with posters both new and old, one trying to outshine another with quasi-geometrical motifs and eye-searing colors, creating a chaotic mosaic of performers and styles. And there was a peculiar, rather irritating smell of incense around the store as well.
So, no, it was not a “library”.
“Hail up, mon!”
I jumped up when a heavy with accent voice greeted me out of nowhere. I looked around, spotting that amongst the pandemonium in the store there actually stood a proper counter with a cash register. And behind it, a zebra stallion with a big, friendly smile on his muzzle and a pair of avocado eyes fixated right on me. His monochromatic, black and white mane was in disarray, wildly falling all over his head, as if he had just gone through a set of thick bushes. Add to that a golden circle the size of a hoof acting as his left earring, surprisingly not causing the stallion’s head to tilt with its shear circumference.
If he was the curator, this was definitely not a “library”.
I shook my head in self-admonishment. That was not a kind thought nor was it the time to be prejudiced.
“Uhm, greetings,” I said. “I happened to have wandered in here—“
“Dat puttin’ it mildly!” the stallion interjected, his smile still growing somehow, revealing more of his white teeth.
“Yes, well, the weather is a little capricious this evening, indeed,” I admitted, unfortunately realizing that I was soaking wet despite my gallant efforts outside. My mane must have looked absolutely horrid! “But, I am in a bit of a hurry and I need urgent help,” I explained, trying for my sophistication to substitute my rather disastrous state.
The zebra nodded fervently, his hooves beating out a quick, catchy rhythm on the counter. “Ya need help, Wimbo helps! Ya need what?”
Wimbo. A peculiar word to act as a name that was. Strangely fitting this individual, however.
“Well, it is my closest friend’s birthday today and I need to buy her something. And it is crucial that I obtain it within the next few minutes, my train shall be leaving in... uhm, pardon me, do you happen to have a clock around here?” I inquired, hopelessly searching for something keeping time in this disarrayed environment.
“Ease-up, ya will make it!” Wimbo replied warmly instead of granting me a proper, polite answer I was expecting. “Who dat key?”
I blinked. “I... beg your pardon, what ‘key’?”
“Yu key!” he responded, chortling, his hind legs beating out a drum-like melody on the floor. “Dat friend ya ‘ave!”
“Oh! Yes... of course...”
I hung my head. The one time when I needed something done fast I had to end up dealing with a zebra with a rather bizarre and idiosyncratic vocabulary. Woe was me!
“Well, she is my housemate and a DJ, as it happens. She enjoys a variety of styles,“ I began explaining then paused, feeling slightly abashed, ”but I cannot for the life of me label any of those genres without the fear of distorting their... endemic names.”
“She likes music? Ya in a perfect place, den!”
“No, no, sir, I do not consider your enterprise a ‘den’, I mean—“
“Ya play too?” he asked of me, his glinting eyes escaping towards my cello near the doorway.
“I do, indeed, but, please, I really cannot stay and chat, I—“
He laughed, humored with something yet again. “Mi like ya!”
I raised my eyebrows. “Well, I’m flattered,” I replied, rather dishonestly. “But could we—“
“Ya love ‘er?”
Time dilated for a brief second as I felt my jaw dropping at that utterly unforeseen question. Had he really just...?
“What?” I inquired, only afterwards attempting to regain the necessary composure, feeling my cheeks reddening. “I mean... Excuse me? That is an awfully personal subject, I will have you know...”
“Mi feel da rhythm of yu ‘eart! Ya feel someting for dat mare!” Wimbo exclaimed, rearing in what seemed like genuine happiness.
“Well, I... I-I might be a bit... fascinated by her... By her character, I mean! But I would not call it love and—“
“And mi would not call music ya play wit dat,” he pointed at my instrument, “real music! But dat is still music, yeh?”
“Well, I most certainly find it being so!”
“So find mi tellin’ true too, ya love ‘er big, mon!” he shouted, leaning forward on the counter, grinning like a madpony. “Ya all freaky wit dat love!”
I felt subjected to a variety of differing stimuli at that point. For once, I was fighting a constant blush, feeling heat gathering behind my cheeks at the topic. Then, I was simply dreading the notion that this stripy individual was so uncouth as to be ignorant to the idea of classical compositions, especially ones involving my beloved cello!
And I came to the realization that I had just enough of strange behavior from that Wimbo character. I stomped my hoof down and leaned towards him quite menacingly.
“Listen here, I have not come here for a... a panel discussion concerning my emotions! Especially not one about my implicit love! I need to buy my best friend a gift and I need to do so post haste! So I expect you to help me out this instant and provide me with something that suits her and shall be absolutely perfect for her! Now!”
At my outburst, Wimbo’s smile disappeared, replaced by a legitimately melancholic expression. His eyes lost their playful spark as he lowered himself behind the counter a bit.
“Am mi not ‘elping?” he inquired with almost child-like honesty.
“How exactly?” I replied, utterly unabated by his expression. “I need a gift and an appropriate one, not a... psychological analysis!”
Wimbo nodded at me. “Mi say ya need both,” he replied, a smirk again beginning to form on his muzzle, even after he spotted I had taken great offence at his words. “Ya want a good gift?”
“Obviously!”
“Close yu eyes.”
I groaned. I was through with his weirdness. “Blast it, what for?! I need to—“
“Get a gift, mi know!” he interrupted me, waving his hooves. “Close yu eyes.”
I huffed. I was going to be late for the train, have no present and catch a cold, all because of this zebra twit!
Well, perhaps the illness would not be his direct fault... but he would clearly be guilty of accessory!
Of course, being the culprit he was, Wimbo was smiling one of his remarkably sincere smiles again.
“Trust mi. More so, trust yu’self.”
Abandoning hope and feeling that I simply had to embrace my anguish and be at peace with the tragedy that was that atrocious day, I did as I was told. Had I anything left to lose?
Wimbo spoke up again. “Ya see—”
“No, I do not, as it happens,” I retorted with my eyes closed, letting out some of my rightful ire.
“A true!” He actually laughed back at me. “But ya will see soon. Or, perhaps, ‘ear,” he paused for a second. “Tink about yu friend. For a moment. Just tink about ‘er...”
I sighed, complying. Thinking of Vinyl was pretty easy, as it happened. I had a lot of great memories and thoughts concerning her. She was my stalwart companion, if sometimes loud with her music and remarkably obnoxious in behaviour. Yet, even when it came to her sometimes waking me up in the morning with her... “remixes”, much to my justified displeasure, Vinyl’s presence and positive aura were always causing me to smile. Frankly, I absolutely adored her for that.
“Good, keep at dis. And listen!” Wimbo encouraged me after a moment.
“Listen for what?”
“Da rhythm,” he whispered mysteriously.
Gah, of course, more of this strange blabbering. Fine, fine, there was nothing else I could do, was there?
I focused again. Vinyl and I met almost by an accident and we began spending more and more time together immediately afterwards. We even bought a little cottage in Ponyville in equal shares at one point. We had created our little haven there, each of us seemingly on her own. We had chipped in on the doormat, though!
And, well, despite our sometimes vast differences, we stayed friends, through better and worse times. We were usually living our separate lives, but sometimes... Sometimes there were those evening when we would just sit down and... and talk. Even if Vinyl was usually rather... abstemious when it came to chatter.
We talked about nothing. About everything. Our conversations were not so much about discussing something, more about... being close. Just that. Because it felt good. Because it was... meaningful.
Our calm evenings had a certain... music to them. They had a certain...
“Ya see,” Wimbo’s calm voice weaved itself into my mind with ease, “we all ‘ave da rhythm in us. Locked in our ‘earts. And in da rhythm we walk, we talk, we eat, we sleep, yeh? We often not know it is dere, but it is,” he paused, likely to achieve a quasi-dramatic effect. “Da rhythm...”
A peculiar introduction to his philosophy that was, but I kept listening carefully. For, as he was talking, I began feeling something strange.
“And sometimes, we find dat we share da rhythm wit somepony else. When we tink about dem, our ‘earts beat better! When we are close, music is playin’ around! Even in silence! More in silence! Ya know what mi say?”
“I... I do, yes,” I admitted, feeling confused over a sensation that had crept upon me.
“Tell mi.”
I was suddenly able to hear that pulse and tempo he was talking about coursing through me, its origin and source unknown to me. It was... most peculiar. Uncanny, even. It was less profound then the heartbeat, but audible nonetheless. And it grew stronger when my thoughts gravitated towards Vinyl.
“That rhythm... It feels like... I do not know... I suddenly feel like there are ponies that can... tune our lives up to this beat. Make our existences have that... resonance.”
My thoughts ventured through my memories of Vinyl some more, causing this inner tempo to bloom. “No matter, high notes or low keys, there are ponies that make all our life sound unique. Resplendent. Like in a wonderful polyphony and consonance...”
“Ah, good,” Wimbo whispered with joy. “Ya talk fancy about it, but ya can ‘ear it, mi know. So, why do ya fear for a gift? No matter if what ya take be “perfect” or “suitable”, no matter if ya even give ‘er one after all. ‘er heart will love and beat better when ya will simply be close! For she shares yu rhythm and ya share ‘ers!”
The zebra silenced himself for a brief moment, allowing me to experience this exquisite phenomenon some more. A basic, most delicate sensation that suddenly manifested itself so remarkably.
“Dat is good love ya ‘ave dere. Good heart-rhythm,” Wimbo cheerfully added, nudging me slightly.
I opened my eyes, finding myself in the middle of one of the aisles, holding an album I must have taken from the shelf before me.
My mouth hung ajar. I had no idea how I had gotten there or made this sudden choice. Something brought me there and guided my hooves without my knowledge!
Wimbo was standing right next to me, holding a small bag to pack the record, smiling his big, friendly smile.
“Kiss mi neck, good choice!” he shouted merrily.
“Wha—“ I attempted to speak up, amazed by both the fact of me changing location without noticing and his weird request.
“She will love it!” Wimbo assured me, putting the album inside the bag and granting it to me. “Now ya go quickly, ya ‘ave fifteen!” he warned me, already leading me gently outside.
“But I have not paid you!” I managed to immediately protest while still trying to wrap my head around what was happening.
“Dis one is on me!” he declared, passing me my cello and umbrella.
“But—“
“No ‘buts’ and no protests!” he replied, laughing. “Just get ‘ome and play in da rhythm!”
I only managed to grab his hoof in a firm shake before exiting the store in an outlandish state of shock.
“I am very thankful, Wimbo, I really am!” I told him, although I was not certain for what I was really showing my gratitude.
“Mi pleasure, mon! More time!” he exclaimed loudly after me, as I recommenced my struggle against time and dreadful weather.
***
After this day of surprises and heavy rain, I found it rejuvenating to sit down at home finally. I was covered in an entire mound of warm blankets that Vinyl offered me upon witnessing my lamentable state. I smiled broadly as my housemate got back to the living room with two mugs of hot cocoa.
“Geez, Octi, I really had no idea Canterlot had a deluge planned for today!” Vinyl remarked with a stupid grin, passing me my beverage and sitting down on the couch right next to me.
“Well, I was certainly not aware of it,” I admitted honestly. “It was dreadful! Absolutely horrendous!”
I sipped the cocoa, praising the benevolent forces responsible for bringing its idea to the World. And the ones propagating the tradition of drinking it late in the evening, under wonderfully fuzzy quilts.
After a moment of tranquility, I spoke again. “But this cataclysm actually caused me to stumble by a rather peculiar place... Could you grab something from that brown bag, please?”
“Sure!” Vinyl replied, reaching out for the contents with her magic.
It was at that moment that I realized to my horror that, due to all of the flabbergasting experiences of today, I had completely overlooked one simple fact. I had no idea what I had actually bought from Wimbo! Even during the train ride I was far too occupied with cursing at the damnable weather and shivering like an aspen to pay attention to that matter!
Vinyl took out the album from the bag and brought it closer, but even as it was slowly flying through the room, I could see her eyes glinting.
I always adored that spark in her bright, cerise eyes and I was hoping dearly that I had interpreted it correctly yet again.
“Happy Birthday, Vinyl,” I whispered when the record landed in her hooves. “Do you like it?”
She was rendered speechless for a moment. “Wow... Spears’N’Vines’ ‘Sonority’, are you kidding me?! Octi, where did you even get it? I thought they stopped releasing it ages ago!”
Without waiting for my answer, Vinyl turned the album over, focusing entirely on the names of the songs included. Meanwhile, I found myself grinning broadly, seeing my best friend beaming as she was checking out the contents.
“Oh, yeah!” Vinyl shouted before starting to giggle like a schoolfilly. “They have ‘HeartRhythm’ here! The original version, the one they played with Gash holding the guitar upside down as a joke! Do you know that one of his strings actually snapped when he was performing his part? But he kept going without it, can you believe it?! And, and then two of the stage sandbags fell on the scene after the percussion solo, they say you can actually hear the thumps!”
I had no idea that she was so into this band’s performances. Frankly, I had never before even heard of that specific group. However, right then I was more focused on her beautiful smile and excited voice. She always had such a wonderfully innocent tone when she was exhilarated.
She laughed and whooped. “I’ve always wanted to hear this version! I’m going to put it on and crank the volume up until it raises the roof!” she declared enthusiastically, hopping from the couch. However, she abruptly stopped herself, somehow pausing her excitement for a moment to turn to me.
“Yeah, ah... I know it’s not your type of music, but... would you like to listen to it with me...?”
I could only smile. “Listen to ‘HeartRhythm’ with you? Yes. Yes, I would like that very, very much.”
I was not certain if she understood what I really meant.
Later that night, when I was lying in her forelegs, her deep, calm breathing lulling me to sleep, I felt our two ‘heart-rhythms’ serenely beating as one.
