The Existentialist

Thomas eventually settled in a couple of weeks after he showed up. He settled into a little house a little ways into the Everfree Forest. It was a secluded spot that was somewhere between Fluttershy’s cottage and the park that was Southeast of the Carousel Boutique. The only addition to the house was a request made by Thomas. It was a sort of shed, he called it a garage, that was to provide a space for Thomas’ yellow carriage, that’s what I call it.

“I'm not afraid of anything.” Coming from Thomas, I almost found it hard to believe. Though, his first reaction to us, a different race of beings, was almost comical if not nonchalant.

“No kidding.”Applejack had invited him to help out on the apple farm. It was a task he seemed eager to attend. To Applejack’s surprise, he had the tools necessary to help. Many tasks that seemed to be difficult for him were made easy by these tools. They were in his carriage. He called it a truck. To my best understanding, it was similar to a train, but it didn't need tracks. And, it supposedly could go most places that a train can't. Thomas said it was broken, but he was sure that he could fix it. Applejack asked if he would use it to help her do more farm work once he got it fixed. “You're not even afraid of losing a limb? Or dying?”

“Broken bones can heal. If I lost a limb, I would adapt. Death? Ha,” Thomas laughed, “it depends on the circumstances. It could be an excellent adventure.” He hoisted a rope over his shoulder to pull a wagon that held considerably more apples than the basket Applejack was carrying. "Or, it be a stupid death where I slip on a banana and die from a concussion. That would be embarrassing." I remember watching all this from the kitchen window of the farm house.

I had asked Granny Smith to help me bake a pie for my father's upcoming birthday. I had just set the pie in the oven when I overheard their conversation. It was funny, I'd never seen Applejack the way she was when she was talking with Thomas. There was this different air about her. She talked with a certain flustered way and gave Thomas her undivided attention. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Applejack was beginning to like Thomas in a more than friends kid of way. Though, she wasn't exactly the type to grow attached to others in that way. At least, I never saw her that way. One thing for sure was the fact that she enjoyed his company. And, she wasn't the only one.

When Twilight came over to my boutique to be fitted for her next Grand Galloping Gala outfit, she only had one thing to talk about. Thomas. “His understanding of literature is astounding!” Twilight’s rants of praise turned into a conversation that lasted nearly three hours. She just kept going on and on about Thomas’ different analysis of Equestrian literature. “He taught me new ideas about the great romantic and gothic genres. In most of my early classes I only understood such allusions as mentioned by other textbooks I cross referenced in my studies, but now I can understand them. It's all clear.” Twilight listed off books that I remembered reading in school at one point or another. She explained all the ideas and messages that were hidden between the lines. I don't think I can ever look at green the same way again.

It was strange. I noticed how Thomas never kept the same job for too long.

I was just at Sugarcube Corner when Pinkie dropped a plate at the counter the moment I stepped inside. “It's on the house! Enjoy!” It was a familiar pastry. It was a cinnamon roll. I had plenty of sweets like this, but I knew this was special for some particular reason. I took a bite, and my mouth was in heaven. There was the perfect balance of cinnamon and nutmeg. It was perfectly moist, and the warm cream cheese frosting was simply divine!

Thomas came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of more cinnamon rolls, whose sweet aroma filled the air. He carefully placed them in the window display by the counter. “How goes the day, fair Marie?”

He called me Marie. “What was that you called me?”

“Forgive me, you are obviously not the companion of that indifferent stranger.” He pulled out a jar that contained a number of colored candies covered in what looked like powdered sugar. “Turkish Delight?”

I accepted the treat. It was different but delicious nonetheless. “Do you make a habit of doing this,” I asked him, “or is Pinkie Pie a better teacher than she lets on?”

Before Thomas could answer, Pinkie dropped down from the ceiling unexpectedly, “Oh, no! I don’t normally give away many of my super-duper-awesome secret recipes. These are all from Thomas”

“Now Pinkie, you’re giving me too much credit. I simply learned how to make these pastries, I didn’t invent them.” Thomas seemed very tense, almost embarrassed.

“But, you did make these.” Thomas looked even more irked with that comment I made.

“Well, yes,” he sighed, “I suppose I did.”

I stayed a little longer, just to see Thomas at work in the kitchen. It was strange. Pinkie is famous for being a fast baker, but Thomas was somehow faster. He worked on multiple recipes at a time. In his own little workspace, he was going back and forth between ingredients and steps that I quite frankly lost track of. And, in the middle of what all looked like chaos, he gave me a soufflé. “I thought you might be hungry.” A soufflé! He just happens to bake a soufflé for me because he thought I was getting hungry! I’ve met distinguished chefs from canterlot that cringe at the very notion of a soufflé. Thomas just came and set down this dish that instills fear to many bakers, and he did it so casually. It was like he didn’t care, or it was like he didn’t recognize that such an achievement was noteworthy. I hate myself a little for indulging. The soufflé was a strange balance between savory and sweet. It was odd but, simply, amazing. It was only after I had finished the soufflé that I looked up at the clock. I hadn’t realized I’d been watching him and Pinkie Pie bake for nearly four hours. Time kept sneaking up on me like that. It wasn’t polite.

I left Sugarcube Corner that day with a loss for words. I couldn’t even think about my designs I had started that night. They were just lines on a page. I kept thinking about Thomas at Sugarcube Corner. His facial expressions were so focussed, and yet, absent. He stuck his tongue out when he concentrated. A small smile grew ever so slightly on his face with every pastry or candy he made, but the smile disappeared the moment he handed his work off to Pinkie who in turn carefully stored his creations. I found Thomas’ attitude towards baking to be sad. He performed the task with such skill and care. However, his presence carried a tiredness that reflected a silent hatred of the task. It was frightening because reminded me of how my little sister, Sweetie Belle, was when she was brushing her teeth. I saw Thomas work as this incredible baker with a skill that I myself had never seen before, yet he treated this skill with disdain. That soufflé was perfect. Thomas just did it because he could. It wasn’t a special talent that he capitalized on. This tricked me.

I supposed at first that his efficiency on the farm was his natural trade while his literary mind, as Twilight professed, was merely a hobby. But with this baking, I couldn’t make heads or tails of him. Did he have a distinct talent? I couldn’t say. These were the troubles of my mind as I slept that night. The following day was my time I had set aside for Fluttershy. It was our Spa Day as we called it. Another headache came as Fluttershy only had one thing to talk about while our faces were caked in cream.

“Thomas saved Angel’s life a couple of days ago. The poor little guy was choking on a piece of carrot, and you know how I tell Angel not to eat his carrots too fast, but he doesn’t always listen. Anyways, he started choking and Thomas jumped right into action and performed a special maneuver that help Angel cough up the chunk of carrot that was lodged in his throat. I was so glad that angel was fine after that.” Fluttershy shivered at the thought of her bunny possibly dying.

I had grown rather tired of any conversation that concerned Thomas. “Really? Next I suppose you’ll be telling me he can talk to animals too.”

“Oh, no. He doesn’t talk to the animals.” That was a bit of a relief. “But he does talk to butterflies.” Of course. I listened to Fluttershy as she recounted a bizarre endearing image of Thomas without his foot coverings as he carefully tread around the yard near the cottage. “He had these funny glasses that were thick and plastic. He said they helped him see better.” Butterflies. Butterflies! I grew more irritated with every second of the account of Thomas chatting it up with butterflies. I hated it because I could picture him moving in an agile fashion with butterflies landing all around him as whispers escaped his mouth that resulted in mirthful conversations with these tiny creatures that not even Fluttershy had heard. “He was so surprised! Thomas said that the butterflies in the place he’s from don’t talk to him because of… Rarity? Are you okay?”

“Fine!” I couldn’t control that yell. “Just great.”

I remember how terrible I felt when Fluttershy gave me that worried look. “Rarity, is something wrong?”

“Why,” I felt so childish murmuring to myself like that, “you gonna ask Thomas to come in here to massage it away?”

“Oh, no,” Fluttershy laughed, “he couldn't do that now, he only works here on weekends.” I buried my face in a towel nearby to let out a controlled scream. I didn't care if it messed up the cream mask. “Rarity! What's wrong?”

I didn't want to look at her. I kept my face buried in the towel as I mumbled into it. I don't even know if any of my muffled rambles were heard. I just let out my frustration into this towel. Realizing I still needed to breath, I sat up and just stared for a bit at the imprint my face left in the towel. “I'm sorry, I'm just fed up with listening about how great Thomas is. That's all I've been hearing ever since he got here! I'm sick and tired of everyone praising him like he's a prince!”

“Rarity.” Goodness I felt so childish when Fluttershy had to reprimand my complaints. “He's not a prince. He's just a good person who likes to help. There's no reason to be mad about that.” She tried comforting me by giving me a quick hug. I suppose it helped a little. “You're not jealous of him, are you?”

“No.” Maybe I was a little, but who doesn't get a little jealous when we hear everyone talking about nothing but the same person. “I just feel like you all, my friends that is, are going to talk about Thomas till I'm deaf in ear. It's become irritating. It's like you're all obsessed!” I took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. I know I'm being a little childish.”

“It's okay, I understand you're upset.” Fluttershy had this way of calming people down no matter what the problem was.

“Thank you.” I hugged her. “Thank you for listening.”

“Anytime. If you ever need to just talk, I'll be here for you.” With that I spent the rest of the time at the spa in peace.

I decided afterwards that I would go talk to Thomas myself. I realized that the problem could very well be that I haven't exactly been social with him. I mean, I've said hello while passing by him in the road, but I've never actually talked face to face with him about anything. I believe I owed him the common courtesy of communication. And besides, he lives mostly out in that house all by himself. I'm sure he would appreciate the company every now and then. I was just passing the park on my way to Thomas’ house when I saw a strange little cloud floating by. I could see a rainbow mane hanging over the edge.

“Rainbow Dash? What are you doing?” I was a little concerned because I didn't see her moving, but relief came when I saw her turn over to look down at me.

“Oh, what's up Rarity,” she looked tired, but happy at the same time, “I'm just chillin up here; thinking about the spirit in the sky.”

“What's that?” I didn't understand what she meant by spirit in the sky.

“Oh, that's just what I call it. Well, it could be a he, or a she. It could be married. It'd make sense. Yeah.” She shook her head as she realized she was talking to me. “You should ask Thomas about it. I still don't exactly trust him, but you should talk to him. He's got all kinds of deep stuff to talk about.”

I looked at her, curiosity buzzed in my head. “What do you mean you still don't trust him. You're willing to talk to him aren't you?”

“Yeah, but there's something off about him. It's like he knows something he doesn't tell anyone else.” Rainbow Dash shrugged. “I don't know. He's pretty cool I guess. But, there's always gonna be some people I don't trust entirely. Like you,” I was a little offended when she said that, but less so when she explained, “I never know what kind of weird dress you're make me wear every time we go to the gala. Anyways, see you later.”

I watched her cloud float away.

When I finally came up to Thomas’ house, I was a little disappointed when I saw what it looked like. It was more of a humble cabin. It was fairly sized with a fresh appearance of earthy brown finish that covered the exposed wood. There was a distinct shine it held in the light of the sun. I imagined that his house would be white. But the door seemed practical for Thomas. It was open with a tarp underneath that was placed for the purpose catching any paint that dripped. I could tell he recently painted his door green. It matched the grass roof that was fairly vibrant. The red door to Thomas’ garage was open.

The door was the kind that rolled up with the assistance of a chain. I could see Thomas’ carriage with the front panel open revealing the engine as it were. It was smaller than a train engine, but apparently it could go faster than that. Thomas was underneath his carriage. I could hear the clanking of tools as he shifted around, he was laying on a low piece of wood with wheels.

“Don't tell me! I know who you are. You're not flying, so you're not Rainbow Dash. You're not Fluttershy either because she has a more jittery step even this deep into the Everfree, not that I blame her. You're not Pinkie Pie because, well, I wouldn't have seen her coming. Like a party planning ninja, am I right?” There was a clank and a grunt as Thomas set down one of his tools. “You're not Twilight because she would have interrupted me. Applejack has a very distinct farm smell, no offense, and has a more rugged confident step.” He hummed to himself. “Perfume. And, you carry a confident yet dignified step. Well then, if you're not Miss Rarity, I have no clue as to who you are.”

“Very good Tom.” I smiled a little. I will admit it was impressive that he could identify me just by the way I walked up to his house.

“I'm not exactly a detective. I've just read too many Sherlock Holmes novels.” Thomas laughed at that. He altered his voice into this different foreign accent, “Elementary my dear Watson!” I found this little antic amusing. “I'm sorry to ask, but could you give me that black stretch of tubing there.” I saw the tray full of parts. I lit up my horn and levitated the tubing over to him. “Thank you, kind miss.”

I remembered the reason I came here, and with what Rainbow Dash had told me, I had more questions. “What's the spirit it the sky?”

He was quiet for a little bit as he continued to work. With a final struggle underneath the carriage, he finished and rolled out from his workspace. “Is that what Rainbow Dash calls it?” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and picked up a red rag to clean his appendages. “Are you familiar with the concept of a god?” I shook my head. I had an idea, but I wasn't here to hear what I already knew. I wanted to know what Thomas thought. “The idea is that a higher being is in charge of everything. And that, everything you see was created by some higher being. The Christians, where I'm from, believe that their god created all us humans in his image. And, supposedly he created this world we live in for us, to learn, to grow. My parents taught me that God wants us to be the best we can be as people.” He scratched his chin and sat down. “My understandings on the existence of a god are a little biased because of my parents, devotion to Christianity. That's not a bad thing, but I think it's important to decide where one stands as far as gods go. There's an important question too. Is there one, is there two? Who knows?”

“What exactly do you believe, Tom?” I saw that he was struggling to be careful not to suggest what I believe in.

“Well, I believe that there could be such a being. Though, I don't believe he created me. I believe it's possible that he may have created the means for my existence, but I am in control of what I become. I could be a bad man, a good man, or even a crazy man. I choose what color is my favorite, and I decide what decisions I make. My decisions aren't made for me. I believe if we didn't have the power to control our choices, we wouldn't struggle with making choices.” Thomas cleared his throat, shaking his head. “I don't mean to ramble. But, there might not even be a God. People tell me he's where we go when we die, but who really knows? The argument is valid for both sides and is judged by majority. It's never judged fairly, though.”

I pondered on the things he said. Thomas was kind enough to recognize that I was thinking it all over. “I don't know if I believe in a spirit in the sky. I don't think I do.” Thomas didn't smile, but he didn't appear affected by what I said either. “Though Tom, it is a nice idea. And, I don't think I should worry too much about it either. I think I should focus on myself. After all, why worry about things you can't control? I think I'll focus on the me, here, in the now.”

Then I saw it, Thomas smiled. It was the first genuine smile I saw from him. “Any other questions you have?” Getting up he opened the door to the compartment of his truck. “I think I've got plenty of time.”

I watched him as he was looking around inside the compartment until he grabbed some strange keys with, well I didn't know what to call them at first. “What do you call those parts of your body. I know they're not exactly paws.”

“You mean my hands with my fingers.” Thomas wiggled them to show me. “Don't feel sorry for asking. You're not the first and you're not the last.” He stuck one of the keys into a little port and turned it until a sparking sound startled me. The engine clicked a few times and roared to life. “Yes! Ah ha! That's it!” He shifted a shaft and some pedals as he grabbed onto the wheel in front of him. “Hop on in.”

I stared at him a bit, a little frightened. “You want me, to willingly sit in this contraption?”

“Come on, it's not so bad. It's faster than walking. Listen, I won't take you that far, I'll just drive you home.” I didn't want to get in the truck, but I eventually made my way to the other door and struggled a bit with the handle before getting in.

Thomas showed me how to crank the windows up and down. It was fairly convenient. I could have fresh air instead of being closed in a metal box. I kept the window down even though I felt the inside fans of the truck. “Please take it slow.” I braced myself as we began to move with a sudden jolt. Though, once we were moving fast enough, I felt a calm pass over me as the ride became smoother. The trees passed by as if we were flying, but we were still on the ground. This exhilaration came over me as the path back to the Carousel Boutique seemed to shrink as Thomas’ truck carried us along without any delay. The air passed through the open window and hit me in a fashion I was not accustomed to. It wasn’t an uncomfortable experience, if anything, it was new and thrilling. I could see the Boutique closing in up ahead. Thomas carefully managed the pedals and repositioned the shaft that I now saw had numbers that marked each position. The truck slowed down to an easy stop.

“Here it is.” Thomas looked at me. I almost couldn’t believe I was already back. “Have a nice day.”

I stepped out of the truck and walked carefully. My knees were shaking from the experience. I looked back at him and waved goodbye. He gave a short wave in return, and then, I saw him maneuver his truck around to head back the way he came. I turned to enter the Boutique, but before I even made it inside I could hear Thomas yelling from inside his truck. I quickly turned around to see what was wrong. He had jumped out of his truck and slammed the door shut. Scratching his chin he noticed me watching him.

“It’s out of fuel!” The moment I heard him shout this, I couldn't help but smile and laugh. He joined in my laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Thomas tapped his foot on the ground as he stood there with his hands on his hips, still laughing. “Do you happen to know where I could get a lot of corn?”