Across the Bar
Across the bar sat a beautiful mare. A mare who's name I did not know. A mare who I did not recognize.
A mare who was upset.
She stared at the half-empty wine glass in front of her with red, puffy eyes, the occasional tear running down her cheek, and the ever-growing collection of empty wine glasses to her right. She was upset. Angry. Angry and upset. Whatever illed her must have been devastating, for she has been there, across the bar, for three hours now, but nopony seemed to care.
But I cared.
Nopony should be left alone, especially in a time of need. Whatever her ailment was, I felt I should try to cheer her up.
I’ve never seen her before, which either meant she was moving here, to Bridle, or here for a reason. She took another sip from her glass. The bartender began to start collecting her empty glasses.
I continued to ponder over her ailment and what it could be. Perhaps she just lost something valuable, like an heirloom. Or maybe she got fired. Maybe somepony died?
I watched her as she moved aside an empty glass and then ask for another. Should I talk to her? Nopony should be alone when they're like this, but it's none of my business. Then, she started to cry. Not like earlier, when she had a few tears; her face was streaming. She slammed her head against the bar, knocking over her drink. You could hear her sniffling from across the bar.
The bartender noticed me staring and walked over to me. “You know her?”
“No, sir,” I replied.
“Why’re you staring at her then?”
“Just trying to decide if I should try to cheer her up.”
“I tried, but she won't talk to me. Don't know why; just won't.”
“Maybe she just had a breakup and it'll be fine in a couple of days.”
“I don't think so, I've never seen anypony this upset over a breakup.”
“Should I talk to her?”
“I don't know, it's not my call.” The bartender refilled my empty glass.
After thanking the bartender and a few seconds of thinking I decided that talking to the mare would be the right course of action. How should I go about this? Do I ask what's wrong? Do I ask if she needs somepony? Do I introduce myself?
Eventually, I decide that there's nothing I can do. I leave some bits on the bar, grab my coat, and walk out the door.
Regret instantly washed over me.
I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't. I look back at the bar, then ahead. I could go back and try to help with probably little success, or I could go on with my life.
I continued down the road, but this nagging feeling wouldn't go away.
Why do I care so much? I don't even know her! I look back at the bar again. Besides, she clearly wants to be alone.
I continue down the street, still thinking of the mare I saw. It reminded me of when I was in middle and high school.
I was picked on a lot back then, mainly because I didn't have my Mark until tenth grade, but also for being a filly-fooler (Bridle is a pretty conservative village, after all).
~~~
One day in ninth grade, the day after my mom died, I was eating a sandwich when this colt walked up to me.
Usually, when a pony walked up to me it was to insult me. I had gotten pretty used to that, however, so I continued eating my sandwich as if the colt wasn't even there.
“What's a pretty filly like yourself doing by her lonesome?”
I froze. To say I was confused would be an understatement. Why would somepony want to complement me? I didn't know how to respond.
“Hello?” The colt waved a hoof in front of me.
I swallowed my sandwich. “H-Hey,” I whispered.
“What’s up?”
“Just wondering why you aren't trying to be a jerk.” I took another bite of my sandwich.
He sat down across from me. “Who would want to be a jerk to you?”
He must be new here, I thought. “Well, just about everypony at this school, and those who aren't are either a teacher or don't care.” I continued to tell him about the teasing from other ponies.
“Don't let them get under your skin. You'll probably get a better Cutie Mark than most of them anyways. By the way, I'm Gears.”
We started having lunch together, quickly becoming friends. Ever since then we would, and will, always be there for each other, through both smooth and rough patches.
~~~
It was a similar predicament to that of the mare across the bar. She, too, was alone. Hopeless. Hopeless and alone. Hopelessly alone.
I thought about how nice it was to have somepony who cared for me. How one colt had changed my life forever; about how one pony had changed my life for the better.
I looked back at the bar. Then ahead. Then back. Ahead. Back. Ahead. Stop. Maybe this will end up working itself out. My thoughts didn't sound so certain.
I tried to continue home, by my eyes kept looking back upon the bar.
I looked away from the bar one more time. It was nice to have somepony there for me, I thought, and now it's time to be there for somepony else.
I turned around and bolted straight to the bar. I pushed the big, glass doors out of the way and trotted over to the mare across the bar. I took a seat next to the mare.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
She mumbled something inaudibly.
“Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”
She nodded her head, still having her eyes fixated on the spilled glass in front of her.
“What is the matter, Ms.-”
She wiped away some tears from her eyes. “Rarity.” She spoke barely above a whisper. “M-My name is Rarity.”
Rarity was the name; The name of the mare next to me.
The name of the mare across the bar.
