Growing up with a house full of brothers, and going to a school chock full of jocks, is sort of like being a scrawny guy in a room full of cannibals—the second you show signs of weakness, they’ll eat you alive.
I trudged up the walkway to my front door on a late afternoon, sweaty, weak and exhausted. I pulled out my keys and unlocked my door before lumbering through it, closing it behind me. The place was empty, and Dad was probably out drinking. Again. I stank and ached all over, so the obvious first choice was a shower. I put away my keys, wallet and pocket change, made my way to the bathroom, undressed, and climbed into the tub. A quick turn of the knob, and steaming hot water pelted my weighty, sweaty body (I’m chubby, but not in an unhealthy way). The heat of the water soothed my aching body, sending a wave of comfort through my skin and bones. It felt so relaxing, I almost collapsed from relief right there in the shower.
I wish it could do the same for an aching heart.
I spent ten minutes or so washing up, making sure I was completely clean of sweat and other unmentionable things that were a part of my grueling day at school. After another five minutes of just standing there under the stream of heat and moisture, I decided not to let the warm water go to waste, and twisted the knob back, cutting off the stream. I stepped out and began to dry myself, wrapped the towel around my waist, and shuffled to the laundry room. Laziness with laundry had its disadvantages, but it had its perks, as well—I could always count on my dryer for having some clothes ready for me, old and cold as they were.
I threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and made my way to my room, and I felt my heart swell a little bit. I opened the door, looked inside, and there she was, sitting loyally on the bed as she always had. Her eyes wide, her smile brightening my mood, her very presence the only light in my life.
Rollie! You’re home!
I smiled as I walked up to her and sat beside her on the bed. She’s the only thing on this planet that could get away with calling me “Rollie”, instead of my given name, Roland.
“Hi, Fluttershy. I missed you, today.”
I picked her up from the bed and held her tightly in my arms. She was always warm and fluffy, and hugging her always made me feel better.
I missed you, too. Did you have a good day?
That’s when I set her carefully down. I looked back into her luminous eyes and sweet grin, not wanting to tell the aching truth.
“Not really, Fluttershy. In fact, this has been one of my worst days.”
Oh, you poor thing! What happened? Did somepony hurt you?
That was a surprisingly difficult question. While I had no physical injuries (unless the usual aches that came from the job counted), I still felt pained. Just like with my brothers, or at a job I hated, or with a girlfriend that expected more masculinity and received only disappointment. I’d gotten a brutal reminder of it today in school. All of it.
But should I tell her that?
It’s okay, Rollie. You can tell me. Let me help you. Pretty please?
I sighed, not wanting to disappoint her, even if it really didn’t matter in the end. She deserved to know, and I had to tell someone.
“Well, it started out just another day at school, right?”
You didn't have another Gym class today, did you?
I sighed miserably before answering. "Yes. Today was basically no different than my day job."
You know you deserve better than to work with those big, sweaty meanies down at the gym.
“They’re no different than the ‘big, sweaty meanies’ I grew up with, remember? I’m used to it. And the extra hours mean better pay, so I'll finally be able to afford a few more My Little Pony DVDs, posters . . . other plushies . . . t-shirts . . . it’s always been just frivolous before, and . . . well . . . ." I didn't have the heart to tell her that it was starting to feel like it didn't help anymore.
So that’s why you’ve been working so hard lately. Is that extra work why you always come home weak and tired?
“Yeah, that’s part of it.”
I’m so sorry, Rollie. Even so, I’m glad you prefer to come home for your showers instead of showering at the school locker rooms or that icky old gym. That way, I get to see you sooner. Yaaaay!
I knew she couldn’t help but mention, at least indirectly, my aversion to public showers—another quirk I picked up as a direct result of my torturous experiences in school.
“But that’s not even the worst part.”
What happened, Rollie?
I sighed and continued, “I . . . I’d gotten a message from my ex on my phone just as I was getting dressed after Gym, so I answered it in the middle of the locker room. Of course, that’s when someone decided to look over my shoulder and see my phone’s wallpaper . . . .”
Oh, dear . . . .
It didn’t surprise me that she knew what my wallpaper was, or at least had an idea.
“They saw it . . . the picture of you dancing with butterflies . . . they know I’m a Brony . . . .”
Well, isn’t that a good thing? I mean, I never understood why you had to hide it from everypony. Now that they know, you can tell them about us, and about friendship, and love and tolerance—
“It doesn’t work that way here, Fluttershy. People aren’t as ‘loving and tolerant’ as ponies are. In fact . . . people can be real assholes . . . .”
Rollie! That’s such a naughty word!
“I’m sorry, but it’s true. They were on my case about it all day. It was just like growing up with my brothers all over again . . . .”
I felt the tears begin to well up, but I stayed strong, for Fluttershy. She wouldn’t have cared how strong I looked, but I still held them back. For her.
What did they do to you?
I sighed again, not wanting to recount the whole ordeal after it was still so fresh in my head.
“I don’t want to sound like I’m whining.”
Not entirely untrue: complaining about the bullies was just one more thing that would make the illusion of a ten-year time displacement more vivid.
But, Rollie . . . I don’t want to see you sad . . . please talk to me . . . .
Oh, great. Now I’m about to make Fluttershy as sad as I am. Just what I needed to compound my misery: guilt.
“You sure you want to sit here and listen to me piss and moan about my rotten day?”
That’s what I’m here for. You need somepony to talk to. And I’m here for you, Rollie.
I shrugged and finally gave in. It’s pretty sad how I could never say no to her.
“Well, the first guy who saw it screamed ‘FAG IN THE LOCKER ROOM! FAG IN THE LOCKER ROOM!’ and pointed at me. He said I was a Brony, and then all the other guys started laughing. I’m not even sure whether they were laughing at him or me.”
That’s terrible!
“Yeah . . . and it kept happening over and over all day. One guy yelled ‘Fag!’ every time he walked past me in the halls. One girl saw me, looked like she was panicking, and ran off. Another guy said he was going to report me to the principal for being a deviant.”
All because you like ponies?
I was starting to grow tired of explaining everything, but she asked, and I was in far too deep to stop now.
“Yes,” I continued. “And it just kept getting worse . . . .”
Oh, no! What happened, Rollie?
“Well, I went to do my short shift at the gym today, and this girl that comes every Tuesday to work out was there today. She’s really cute, and I’ve been trying the last couple of weeks to talk to her and get to know her.”
Awww, that’s sweet!
“Not really . . . the guys from the locker room showed up today, and they all started up all over again. 'FAG IN THE GYM! FAG IN THE GYM!' They said it all. About how I have a picture of you on my phone. About how I'm a Brony. So now, everyone at work knows."
But that's not as bad, is it, Rollie?
"Worse. When I tried today to talk to her, she said, ‘You’re the guy they were talking about, aren’t you? The Brony?’ I didn’t answer, but she saw the look on my face, so she didn’t really need to hear it. She stood up, scoffed, called me a pervert, and walked out the door.”
No!
“Yes. It’s like . . . it’s like she rejected me for being unmanly. Inadequate. Just like my . . . .” I didn’t want to admit it. It was too painful to admit. But I had to be strong. I couldn’t stop now. I had to press on. She deserved strength, and I was determined to show it, no matter what.
Oh, you poor baby! Rollie, I’m so sorry. You deserve so much better! You deserve better than those ugly bullies picking on you all the time. You deserve better than people judging you and making terrible assumptions about you. You deserve to be happy, Rollie!
I sighed, feeling a pain clench over my heart. “No, I don’t. People do this to me because I deserve it. I’ve taken it for too long to believe anything else.”
But it’s just not true, Rollie! You’re a good pony, and you deserve kindness, and happiness and friendship.
I tilted my head down to stare at the floor. Even after all that, I still felt weak and in agony. “Do I, though?”
Of course you do. You’re a good pony, Rollie. And you deserve a good life. Besides, if they judge you that way because you’re a Brony, then don’t pay them any mind. They just don’t understand. You know about Bronies better than they do. And if they’re not willing to understand, then they don’t matter.
I took a heavy breath and kept staring at the floor. Was that right? Was I a better person than I knew? I never was sure, even as a kid. And for a guy of seventeen, like me, it didn’t pay to take chances. Especially considering my current company, and how much of my guts I’d already spilled.
“I’ll . . . I’ll have to look for another job. If it keeps up, I won’t be able to take the harassment down there anymore.”
Oh . . . w-well, if you think it would be best, then I hope it works out . . . .
“I’ll give my brother a call tomorrow. Maybe he can help.”
It’s always best to trust in family! I’m glad you two are talking again!
“Oh, right . . . no, we’re not. We haven’t spoken much since he moved out . . . maybe my ex-girlfriend could help me out, instead.”
You mean you’re not mad at her anymore?
“How can I be? We broke up a year ago. I can’t stay angry forever, even . . . even if . . . i-if she did . . . ch-cheat on me . . . .” I sighed again. “I just really hope this works, Fluttershy . . . I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t live this down . . . .”
But Rollie, you know you always have me.
“I know, I know, but . . . .”
But, what?
“It’s just . . . it’s just that . . . it would be better if . . . .”
What, Rollie? What would be better? Just say so, and I’ll make it all better, I promise!
“If . . . if . . . if I could hear you.”
. . . What?
“It would just be better if . . . if you talked to me . . . .”
I don’t understand.
“Please . . . just talk to me . . . .”
What are you talking about, Rollie? I’m always talking to you.
“P- . . . p-please . . . .”
I always talk to you, Rollie. And I’m always there . . . .
I picked her up, held her close, and lay myself down on the bed, letting the tears overtake me. “Please . . .” I sobbed, squeezing Fluttershy close to me, too hard for any living thing, “. . . p-please . . . please talk to me . . . .”
