The Sunlight Theory OLD VERSION
All I had to do was ask.
There, I said it.
It was a simple answer and an easy solution, but I just couldn’t do it.
The Sunlight Accident, as I now called it, succeeded at a B+ sort of level.
A spectacular failure, in my opinion, but it did its job, I guess.
Because of my actions, the doctor’s office had become as familiar as my own name. I could recite every symptom for lead poisoning in children, gingivitis, and peptic ulcers all thanks to the seemingly random assortment of posters in the waiting room. It also didn’t help that I still went to a pediatrician; the coloring books were fine, but the tiny couches also made me feel freakishly tall.
My mother, Twilight Velvet, sat off to the side, burning through a manuscript on her lap with a red pen. No matter how many times I asked, she wouldn’t tell me what she was working on. Weeks of prior prodding had only led to three simple words words: “Non-Disclosure Agreement.”
My mom brushed a small bit of purple hair from her face, and I craned my neck to try and peek over her shoulder. As always, I was met with a simple glare and a cough, and I was back to sitting and watching the TV in the waiting room.
Apparently, the main characters needed to cross a river because the plot demanded it. After about eleven painful seconds of silence meant for audience participation, I decided that my phone would be a better distraction. Although, I couldn’t keep myself from muttering that the “missing” canoe was, in fact, floating behind them in the river.
There was a stifled giggle off to the side, and I caught my mom holding her pen to her face for a brief moment before returning to her work. I had to admire that not even Hearth’s Warming Eve was able to tear away my mother from her work. Still, I knew that I was lucky that she was free before the clinic closed at noon.
“Miss Sparkle,” a receptionist called. I began to stand up before my mother planted her hand on my leg. Taking charge, she got up, stuffed the papers into her bag, and walked over to the window before looking back at me. She smiled before tilting her head and signaling me to come to her side.
“Go down the hall and to the right. Dr. Redheart’s office should be the last door.”
To be polite, I pretended that this was the first time I had heard the instructions. I thanked the receptionist and made my way down to the office with the help of my mother.
Inside, my doctor stood by, holding a clipboard. She always wore a bright smile, seemingly joyful that her career path succeeded despite her name. Every time I came in it was sort of off-putting to see her name tag say, “Dr. Nurse Redheart.”
“Hello, Twilight,” she chirped brightly. “I bet you’re glad to be getting out of your cast. Just in time for any Hearth’s Warming get-togethers, am I right?”
“You know it!” I cheered, jumping up onto a padded medical bench. While I sat up, Dr. Nurse Redheart dug around under the sink and came back up wielding a tiny saw.
“Are you doing anything special for Hearth’s Warming?” Redheart asked.
Instinctively, I ducked away from the cutting tool. “I-I…”
Thankfully, my mother decided to swoop in and answer. “We’re going to visit my mother upstate.”
Redheart smiled before grabbing my cast. “Alright, Twilight. I’d like you to stay still for a moment.”
Wincing, I nodded and closed my eyes, trying to ignore how close the saw was getting to my foot. No amount of research seemed to dispel my anxieties caused by the tiny saw. All the articles I read always noted that it vibrated, meaning there was no chance of getting cut, but I still couldn’t help being squeamish about the whole thing.
I asked the doctor to cut along the side, tracing the pathway down from the length of the cast from halfway up my shin to the bottom of my heel with my index finger. The last thing I wanted was for the messages to be torn apart. Nodding, the doctor brought the mini-saw down and immediately dug it into the cast. Eventually, after a long series of frightened squeals, she got to the heel and slowly pulled the shell off.
Wow, it was cold.
Bringing my hand down, I rubbed the sides of my calf and scratched at the itch that had been bothering me since about a week after I broke my ankle. Nervous, I slid off the bench, feeling a slight jolt of pain.
“Careful when you put weight on it,” Redheart instructed, most likely because of my cringing face.
“Okay,” I answered back with a breathy whine.
Using the nearby counter, I kept myself steady, mindful of the slight weakness in my ankle. The pain slightly subsided but stopped just above dull, and I quickly got used to it.
“Would you like to keep the cast?”
I perked up at the doctor’s question. “Can I just see it for a bit?” I asked.
She handed over the husk, and I looked over the messages written by my new circle of friends. Ignoring the slight stench of sweat, I pulled out my phone and took pictures of the signatures and “get well” wishes.
The conversation between my mother and the doctor shifted back to Hearth’s Warming plans. I filtered out their talking and went to absentmindedly tracing a certain comment with my finger.
“Don’t open ‘til Hearth’s Warming–Sunset.”
Well, technically it was Hearth’s Warming Eve, but I let the slight inaccuracy slide.
Like she had promised, her phone number was written under the snarky comment.
Slowly, I moved my ankle around in a circular motion, stretching out the joints before reaching for the other shoe. Once I felt comfortable, I looked over to my mom and flashed her a smile.
My mom leaned over and held my hand. “You ready to go?”
I nodded as I took my first step with my newly-healed foot.
“Happy Hearth’s Warming,” the doctor said as my mom helped me out the room.
I leaned back into the doctor’s office. “Happy Hearth’s Warming!”
Cautious, my mother led me down the hall, holding my hand the entire way down to the family car. Her grip was tight, refusing to let me go—even while going down the elevator—as if I’d slip, fall and break my ankle all over again. I smiled at the thought as I caught my reflection in the metallic doors of the elevator.
When I climbed into the car, I stared back the stack of boxes in the back seat, all waiting to be delivered personally to my new group of friends. Ever since the Friendship Games, my social circle had exploded. Once the holiday season came around, my wallet became the casualty as I had to get gifts for my parents, my brother Shining, my future sister-in-law Cadence, Spike, and the eleven girls I could genuinely call my friends.
There was also the problem of giving them out. Sure, getting the cast removed helped, but I still had eleven stops. Some of the stops were easy, as Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy lived on the same block, but Applejack lived a little bit outside of Canterlot.
I pulled out my phone and opened a roadmap of the city’s bus routes. It would take a while, but there was a good chance I’d be home long before it was time to leave. Still, I could ask my mother for a ride around town. Then again, I didn’t want to bother her either.
“Hey Mom,” I called, fastening my seatbelt.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Would you mind taking me around town? I have a few Hearth’s Warming presents to pass out.” I knew she was a busy woman, so I braced myself for a swift yet polite rejection.
“Sure,” she answered quietly, her focus mostly on backing out safely. “We don’t have to leave until one.”
Nice. My shoulders lowered at the relief that came from both the saved $6.35 and (more importantly) the time before the trip to my grandmother’s. Leaning back into the seat, I closed the bus routes stored on my phone. But even then, I kept the road maps open to direct my mother on the most time and fuel efficient route.
“Oh my, this is just the most darling pair of socks, Twilight! Are they cashmere? My, Twilight, these definitely put the scarf I made for you to shame.” An inefficient yet necessary ten minutes were spent reassuring Rarity that her scarf was, indeed, quite beautiful.
“Hey! They’ve got cupcakes on them!” Pinkie Pie beamed, clutching the pastel-colored gift to her chest. “Wait here, Twilight! I made everyone a super-duper, special personalized gummy-candy fruitcake!” Somehow, Pinkie’s fruitcake was a lot heavier than it looked.
“Socks!” From the look of the telltale twitch, I braced myself for Sour Sweet’s backhanded compliment. “How did you know that I warranted a last minute gift? What am I, an afterthought?” There it is. Deep down, I knew Sour Sweet appreciated the gift anyway.
“Socks, huh? Simple... practical. Everybody needs them. Smart move, Twilight.” Smirking, Sugarcoat turned to the inside of her house. “Hold on, I also got you a pair.”
“Socks?” Rainbow Dash asked, crossing her arms as she leaned against her doorpost.
“Yep,” I beamed as I handed over the present. “The universal gift!”
“Jeez, Twilight. You… didn’t have to.” Reluctantly, she pulled out the packaged socks from the little gift bag. “I mean, really? Socks?”
“They’re not just any socks, Rainbow. They’re SlimFit, CrossFiber, UltraSoft, SmoothTread, MoistureAbsorbant, ThermalLock Athletic Socks!”
She huffed through her nose. “They’re socks, Twilight.”
My mother hummed along to the bubblegum-pop tune on the radio as she drove down the road, tapping at the steering wheel. I did the same with my phone, struggling to find an introductory text message to send to Sunset Shimmer. Everything seemed wrong from the painfully safe “Sup?” and the boundary pushing “I know your number now lol.”
A small (but much needed) stroke of genius led me to type, “It’s Hearth’s Warming.”
It was coy, cheeky even, and it referenced the parting line that put our relationship on the shelf. Personal, yet vague. Genuine and earnest, but subtle. Staring into the screen, I caught my reflection and the dopey, satisfied smile that came with it.
After a brutal wait of five minutes, her response was simply, “Who dis?”
“Twilight Sparkle,” I sent back, groaning at the response.
“I kinda figured ;P”
I laughed awkwardly to myself, earning a short glance from my mom as we reached a busy street.
Turning back to my phone, I typed in, “I’m coming by your apartment soon.”
Sunset didn’t respond.
“This is it, right?” my mom asked. “I'll go find somewhere to park. Just call me when you’re done.”
“Alrighty then, maybe you can find a place to work on…”
“NDA,” my mother shot back, unlocking the car doors. Nodding, I hopped out the car and waved as my mother drove off.
My heart was racing and my stomach began to churn. For once, I was glad that I skipped breakfast. I ambled down the sidewalk until I came to Sunset’s apartment complex, a tallish building that embodied the definition of “economical.” On the side of the road, chained to a wide post, was Sunset’s motorcycle.
I ran my hand along the bike’s coating, feeling the scratchy chips in the paint. The slight nicks and dents in the body only made me feel worse. Hopefully she wasn’t harboring a grudge against me for ruining her bike. From the look of it, though, the aesthetics of the bike might have been the only thing that was damaged.
Maybe I should have given Sunset's bike a new paint job. Feeling inadequate, I stared down at the box tucked under my left arm.
I stepped into the apartment building’s lobby. This was a more than generous statement as it was tiny and only had a small coffee table, a handful of chairs, and a plastic ficus off to the side, haphazardly adorned with holiday lights.
Giving Sunset another chance to reply, I sat on a chair next to the elevator while holding the wrapped gift under my arm. I ran my thumb across the slight wrinkles along the top of the package. As if it made a difference, I kept checking my phone every few seconds, watching as the digital numbers rose at an increasingly slower pace as if it were mocking me.
Despite this, I nearly jumped in my seat when the phone began to vibrate in my hand.
“Come on up. 3rd floor. 314 in case you forgot.”
Breathing in deeply, I stood up, careful not to put too much weight on my ankle. “Third floor, number three-fourteen,” I repeated to myself as the elevator doors shut behind me.
Straining, I half-hobbled my way towards her apartment. My nails scratched at the box, threatening to tear it open before it got to its intended recipient. I found myself concentrating on the floor, noticing discolored stains on the carpet below; I didn’t know how I had missed them during my visits post-The Sunlight Accident, but I quickly guessed that it was my nervousness that was making me hyperaware of my surroundings.
Stepping over one of the aforementioned stains, I stopped at Sunset’s door and knocked.
There was a slight click in the lock, followed by another, and then a third chain-based lock came last before the door opened. I held my breath, unprepared for her to answer so quickly. Gripping the box tighter, I stepped back as Sunset Shimmer stood at the door frame.
“Happy Hearth’s Warming,” she greeted cheerily as she leaned against the wall. Smiling, she held her hand against a pair of gray sweatpants, half-covering an off-color stain on her thigh. Her hair, for lack of a better word, was floofy—almost unkempt—under the festive red hat she wore. She looked unapologetically comfortable, almost as if she didn’t plan to leave the apartment until school began again in January.
“H-hi,” was all I managed to get out.
She glanced down at the gift in my hands and bit her lip. “Oh, you didn’t have to.” Without saying another word, she opened the door completely and motioned for me to come in.
As I entered, Sunset disappeared behind a wall leading to her kitchen. Not knowing what else to do, I slumped down onto her couch. It was just as uncomfortable as I remembered from my other visits following the accident, though I never really had the heart to tell Sunset about it. The last time I came here, Sunset affectionately referred to the seat’s color as “Baby Barf.”
“How’s the leg doing?” Sunset asked, sticking her head out from the kitchen.
“Oh, it’s fine now,” I answered, rotating my ankle again. “I can walk on two working feet again.”
“That’s good,” she said casually as I heard the fridge door shut. “It was kinda sad to see you hobble around CHS after the whole accident thing. I’m sorry about that, by the way.”
“Don’t be. It was my fault.”
“It was on my bike,” Sunset shot back. “Therefore it was my responsibility to get you home safe.”
“It happened on my parents’ front yard,” I countered, shifting the blame back towards myself. It really was my fault, in all seriousness. “My problem.”
Sunset, unfortunately, was having none of it. In retaliation, she crossed her arms and leaned back into the couch’s cushions. “We fell into the street—public property. My fault.”
“Fine,” I conceded, “it’s your fault. I blame you. It’s entirely your fault that I grabbed the bike’s handles and sent us rolling down the hill.”
“Thank you.”
We stopped talking for a moment, thinking about what we had just said before breaking out into a fit of laughter. A moment later, I felt her hand on my back and I immediately felt myself tense up at her touch.
“H-here’s your gift,” I blurted out, sheepishly pushing the wrapped box forward. “Open it.”
Smiling, she brushed a lock of hair away from her face before accepting the present. Anxiously, I watched her tear away the paper wrapping. The sheets of decorated paper crinkled as they hit the floor, and my heart rate immediately spiked while I studied Sunset’s face.
Her fingers pried the lid open and her eyes widened in surprise as she saw what was inside. She jumped back, only slightly, but I could see the surprise plastered all over her face. She cocked her head and squinted her eyes, most likely to get a closer look.
All my fears disappeared the second a smile formed on her face.
“Oh, wow,” she said, pulling up a shoddily sewn together teddy bear. “Mr. Stuffed Bear, you’re alive.”
I laughed at the comment. “I stitched him up myself.”
She held up the stuffed bear, watching as its leg was held on by a literal thread. Its button eyes were mismatched, one black, the other navy blue—an honest mistake in the dark, really. I never said I was good at sewing.
“I love it,” Sunset beamed. “It’s ugly, but in a really charming way.”
She clutched the bear to her chest, bringing it into a tight bear hug. A moment later, she did the same with me and my cheeks began to swell. That hug alone made the six-and-a-half hours on the stuffed animal operating table worth it.
“I’m glad you like it... I kinda figured you should have a little memento from that night.”
Hearing that, Sunset shot up from the couch. “Oh! That reminds me,” she announced, nearly bolting into the next room. “Wait here!”
While waiting for her to return, I stared at the gift I had just given Sunset and I noticed little things I wanted to change. For example, a fair amount of the stuffing was still exposed, seeping out from some of the stitching. There was also the fact that the bear’s left ear was stitched on backward.
Seconds later, Sunset returned, holding a box of her own. She sat back down on the couch, sitting on her legs as she handed it over. “Open it here—I want to see your reaction.”
Fair enough. Not knowing what to expect, I forced the top off the pre-wrapped box.
Inside was a picture frame, displaying a photo of Sunset and I…
Riding the Iron Pegasus.
Sunset was caught mid-laugh, a joyful smile on her face, and I had no doubt that she was having fun at that moment. The wind blew at her hair, rippling it enough to resemble a flickering flame. At first, I loved the gift, finding it thoughtfully sentimental... up until I saw myself.
It wasn’t a flattering photo, to say the least.
Unlike Sunset, I was caught in a state of absolute horror.
Did I mention that I’m also hilariously unphotogenic?
“What do you think?” Sunset asked, leaning in closer. “I was gonna swing by your house to drop it off later today, but since you’re here… I figured.”
“It’s... great,” I forced out. “How’d you get this?”
Sunset chuckled and leaned back comfortably in her seat. “I texted AJ to pick up a picture while we were walking out. Y’know, for the memories.”
I thumbed the picture frame, finding the thoughts it carried from the day at Funland to be the consoling silver lining. It was nearly the perfect day. Sunset and I held hands, got ice cream, won carnival prizes... Of course, I definitely wouldn’t mind forgetting every event that took place after.
“I used to have it sitting by my bed, but I figured you should keep it.”
Oh, jeez. That means in the past month and a half, Sunset woke up to my screaming, horrified face every single morning.
At least I was in her thoughts.
And it was the thought that counted.
“Thank you,” I said, holding the picture-frame close.
“You’re welcome,” she answered back, pausing for a brief moment. “So! How about we pick up where we left off.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you want to tell me something?”
“Oh! Um…”
Immediately my mind went blank, and it was as if we had reversed back to that moment in time where I was hopelessly crushing on Sunset. It was at that moment when I realized that I was not prepared for anything past this point.
“Sunset,” I continued, hearing myself talk like I was a distant observer. “Would you like to... um, go out?”
There, I did it.
She smiled. “Where to?”
Oh jeez. I didn’t expect to get this far.
“Movies, go see,” I stuttered, tripping over my own tongue. “Heroic suppers?”
“Ah,” Sunset hummed. “How did you know superpowered dinners were my weakness?”
“What?”
She chuckled. “Nevermind.”
“So is that a yes?” I asked. She seemed to be thinking it over, and I couldn’t tell whether or not she was actually thinking about it. For some reason, she paused longer than the conventional standard of silence in a conversation.
If I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn she was doing this on purpose.
“Uh, I don’t know. I don’t think seeing a meatloaf in tights constitutes a good date.”
It was then when I finally got the joke. “Oh, ha-ha. But seriously, Sunset.”
“I think it sounds like fun,” she answered. “I’d love to.”
It was then that all the weight came off my shoulders. Everything was out there. She knew I liked her, and I knew she was interested With a relieved sigh, I allowed myself to sink into the plush, unsupportive couch. There were no more unanswered questions left.
“So, when are we going?”
Oh jeez. How in the world did I forget that dates had to be, you know, scheduled on a date? It took every fiber of my being not to panic. Not thinking, I just blurted out, “How about the thirty-second? Wait, uh… the twenty-eighth?”
Real smooth, Twilight.
She laughed again before nodding. “Sure, Twilight. I’ll pick you up at six. How’s that sound?”
“Good! Great! Stellar!” I cheered, mostly because I didn’t have to make the decision myself. Otherwise, we’d have been there for hours. Luckily, I had researched every movie’s showtime over the upcoming week. A six o’clock pick up, with a ten-minute drive to the movie theater, left a little over an hour before the seven-thirty showing.
Another good thing about Sunset’s dictated meet time: it helped me decide between dinner then movie versus movie then dinner. This also lessened the probability of Sunset and I getting hungry during the movie, which allowed for the almost excessive two hours and forty-two minutes to be enjoyed. The pros seemed to be stacking up in favor of Sunset’s decision.
Then, we could end the night at the nearby ice cream parlor.
It was perfect.
"So what are you doing for Hearth's Warming?" Sunset asked.
"Oh, I'm going to my grandparents' place upstate," I answered. "You?"
"Rarity's throwing a Hearth's Warming party."
"Oh yeah, I remember her giving out invitations."
"It's a real shame," Sunset droned, putting on a mildly disappointed voice. "I would have taken you as my plus one."
I knew it was a joke, but I found myself kind of wanting to go with Sunset instead.
There was a short chime coming from my bag. "That's probably my mom. I should get going. We want to get there before my grandmother starts cooking the family dinner on her own."
"Let me guess. You guys were late once, and she won't let you forget it?"
"Exactly," I said as I slung my bag over my shoulder. With Sunset's lead, I made my way over to the front door. "It was great seeing you."
“You too,” Sunset said. “Six o’clock?”
“Yeah, definitely six,” I confirmed, stepping outside of the apartment. I turned back towards her and noticed she was still holding the door open slightly. We stared at each other for a quick second.
She stepped out the doorway a little. “The twenty-eighth?”
“Yup.” It was then when I realized that she was keeping me over a bit longer on purpose. Did I forget to do something? That was probably it. But what was it? Maybe I left behind the gift she gave me... but a simple glance at my bag proved that it wasn’t the case.
"Alright then, see ya, Twilight."
"Bye," I said, turning away from the apartment.
Dazed, I thought about the last few minutes as I shuffled my way back out the building, still confused on what Sunset had wanted when I began to leave. Maybe I should've stayed longer?
Shaking off these thoughts, I spotted a blue minivan parked across the street. Immediately, I knew it was my mother’s because she had what was most likely the only vehicle in existence with an “I Break for Grammar” bumper sticker. Like always, I lightly slapped the side of the car and waited for an audible click before hopping in.
“So,” I spoke up coolly, “get any work done on…”
“NDA,” my mother said nonchalantly as she started the car with a flick of the wrist.
I chuckled. “And here I was thinking I’d get you this time.”
“So how about you?” she asked. “You look like you’re dancing on clouds.”
According to the rear-view mirror, I was still blushing from my conversation with Sunset. “I’ll only tell you if you tell me the secret project you’re working on.”
My mother only smirked and kept her eyes focused on the road. “A little persistent, aren’t we? Fine, but all I can legally say is ‘Bravely Blue’. Now, tell me. What’s got you so happy?”
I gripped the safety handle weakly, suddenly feeling my face heat up.
“I, uh, think I have a date.”
