Chapters “Hey, hey, hey, it’s eight o’clock and good morning out there! This is your DJ Talk Radio comin’ at you from Canterlot here to wake you up with our Coffee Hour! Tune in for two hours of music, weather, and laughs to get you started on the right side of the bed. Let’s jump right in with a little feel-good tune from alt-rock band Revenant Wings’ new album, ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’. This is Radio Station PNY, FM 94.5, Equestria’s number one rockin’ and talkin’ radio...”
An upbeat guitar, bass, and drum started blaring from the alarm clock sitting next to the caramel-colored pony’s bed. A hoof lazily fumbled out from underneath the blankets, tapping the alarm clock a few times before finally hitting the snooze button. The song stopped and the room returned to its former silence; only the soft hum of a fan sitting in the open window remained. Caramel groaned and opened an eye sleepily at the alarm clock and radio. A bright ‘8:03’ shone on the blue face, along with a blinking picture of a bell.
The bed creaked as Caramel sat up and surveyed his room. It was a small bedroom with a full-sized bed, a bookshelf with a few books and mementos on the shelves, a desk with a leather journal and some pencils, and an armoire with pictures of him and his brother. A picture frame seemed to have fallen off onto a green and blue rug in the middle of the floor, the glass broken and the frame splintered.
Caramel sniffed and rubbed his nose for a moment and blinked his eyes stupidly. He gave another irritated groan and got up off the bed, moving for the door, careful not to step on stray glass shards. He’d clean up the broken frame later, but for now he needed to get ready for work. He went to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and a washcloth from the closet, and stepped into the shower.
Ten minutes later Caramel exited the shower and brushed his mane back before heading to the kitchen. He turned on the radio where the DJ had started a weather report and began to make himself a pot of coffee and some toast, pulling out some whole wheat bread and a seedless strawberry jam that was nearly empty. He reflected he might need to go to the store either tonight or tomorrow.
“...And it’s looking like it’s going to be a beautiful day out there today. Celestia’s keeping the highs around 75 degrees for Canterlot, 72 for Baltimare and Manehattan, and for our southern cities, we’ve got 94 for the Dodge Junction and low 80s for Los Pegasus stretching into Ponyville. Ponyville’s expected to get some cloudy skies this afternoon in preparation for a rainstorm tonight that will lead into a light fog and haze in the morning until about nine-thirty, while Canterlot is going to be nice and sunny.”
The coffee finished and Caramel went to pull down one of his white coffee mugs. He yawned while he was grabbing it and accidentally released his grip, sending it crashing to the floor and Caramel’s eyes widening in shock. He muttered something obscene and gingerly pulled out another mug, realizing he had yet another mess to clean up tonight.
He was much more careful as he pulled down a second coffee mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. He dropped two cubes of sugar and some half-and-half into the glass and stirred it as two pieces of toast came up. He pulled out the toast and placed some strawberry jam and a little honey on it and went over to the countertop to eat. He munched the toast, thinking that the bread was slightly stale, yet another thing he’d have to get at the store tomorrow.
There was a knock at the door and the sound of his metallic mail slot flapping open and closed. Caramel got up and went to the door and opened it to find the mailpony had already left and had placed a copy of the ‘Foal Free Press’ on his doorstep. He picked it up and brought it inside before checking the mail slot. There was a small postcard-size note with a small message in hastily-written hoofwriting.
Caramel:
I want to talk to you as soon as possible. Meet me at Sugarcube Corner today around 4:30, or whenever it is you get off work.
Roseluck.
Caramel read the note and exhaled loudly. “What did I break now?” he asked himself.
He and Roseluck had been going out for almost a little over a year and three months. It had been a happy one, unlike his previous relationships. They had gone to the park, to Sugarcube Corner for donuts, to the theater, and even to Canterlot on a trip once to see the flower gardens. Things had slowed down a bit lately, but otherwise Caramel thought they had been going on alright.
Well, maybe ‘alright’ isn’t the right word for it, Caramel thought. The picture frame I ended up breaking was of me and her.
Caramel set aside the note and finished drinking his coffee and eating his toast. After putting the dirty dishes in the sink, he packed himself a small lunch. While the bread was stale, it was good enough for a lettuce, tomato, and avocado sandwich. He packed some apple slices, carrots, chips, plain cookies, and a small bottle of milk and put them into a paper bag. Finally, before leaving, Caramel rinsed and refilled a bottle of water and placed the bottle and his lunch into a saddlebag before heading out the door.
Caramel's 'house' was one half of a small duplex in the center of Ponyville, close to the main square, the marketplace, the larger shops, and a train station with multiple trains to and from Canterlot and Los Pegasus. It was the biggest place he could afford with his small budget from his job at Sweet Apple Acres, shared with a unicorn stallion named Rare Find, who was quiet and usually kept to himself. It wasn’t terrible, but it was small and didn’t give him too much freedom.
Caramel walked through Ponyville to the outskirts of town. The sun was shining, but up ahead Caramel could see the weather pegasi beginning to bring clouds over. Two pegasi seemed to be leading them: a cyan mare with a rainbow mane and tail whom Caramel recognized as Rainbow Dash, and a darker grey stallion with a bright blue mane and tail whom he didn’t recognize; the longer Caramel looked, the more the mane seemed to be arranged almost like a mohawk. Six other pegasi were busy moving the clouds, three to a cloud, and were slowly moving the clouds into place, starting by the town hall.
For a moment, Caramel looked up and watched the pegasi move around. He wished he could fly like that; he was just a simple earth pony who wasn’t that strong nor as good as growing things as others were. His cutie mark of three horseshoes was related more to luck than it was to any particular strength or skill, and while he wasn’t dumb he certainly wasn’t that smart.
He wished he was at least a pegasus. It wouldn’t matter then if he was strong or fast. He could feel the wind beneath his wings as he soared and flapped through the sky, gliding gently on drafts that could take him from Ponyville to Cloudsdale and beyond. He would have a cloud-house somewhere in the sky and wake up to the early morning sun and watch as it slowly crawled over the horizon.
And the freedom. He wouldn’t be stuck in a small town in an unskilled job with a meager salary anymore. He could go where he wanted; work at good pay for the weather factory, or as a mail pony, or as a courier. He could go between earth and sky as though it was nothing, fly above the highest peaks or across windswept plains. If he wanted to explore anywhere, all he needed was a direction and a good draft.
Caramel found himself jumping a few times, trying in vain to fly and flapping wings that weren’t there. But it wasn’t long before he’d accidentally tripped over a large stone in the middle of the road and fell flat on his face. He figured it could have been worse; the only thing he did was cause a small cloud of dust to cover his coat. It could have been mud. Caramel picked himself up, brushed off the dust and the feeling of everyone staring at him, and continued.
* * *
Sweet Apple Acres was at the far western edge of Ponyville, one of the farthest spots away from the growing cloud cover. Caramel arrived at the entrance of the farm shortly before nine and knocked on the door of the two-story farmhouse among the apple trees.
Out came Applejack, wiping her forehead with a wet rag and her hooves wet as though she’d just finished washing them. “Hey, Caramel,” she said. “I’ll take that for ya.”
Caramel handed over his saddlebags to the orange mare and waited politely at the door while she went inside. This was a well-established routine by now; Applejack would take his saddlebags and place them in the cooler for his lunch. She would go get her hat and talk to her brother Big Macintosh about what needed to be done, then relay the instructions back to Caramel.
A few minutes later Applejack came back out with Big Macintosh in tow. “Big Mac says we’re almost ready for harvest, but there’s a few things he needs to do. However, we do need some weeding in the smaller gardens while he checks the orchard to see what comes next.”
Caramel nodded. This was relatively simple work that was easier for him to do. He and Applejack went to the barn and attached small carts to their back before heading out to the gardens behind the farmhouse. Caramel and Applejack walked alternate rows of wheat, cabbage, carrots, lettuce, and potatoes and pulled out any weeds that had cropped up with their teeth, tossing them into the cart on their backs. Big Macintosh never trusted any sort of weed-killer and so all the work had to be done manually.
It wasn’t backbreaking work, but it was tedious, taking small steps back and forth among the rows and picking out all the weeds. It took almost an hour before the wheat was done and they dumped the carts in the compost pile before moving onwards to the cabbage. By the time they had finished with the potatoes it was one and Big Mac was ringing a bell to come in for lunch.
They took lunch in the barn. Applejack brought out Caramel’s saddlebags and sandwiches for her and Big Macintosh. Caramel immediately opened his water bottle and took a large swig of it, letting the ice-cold water run down his parched throat and letting it wash out the taste of dirt and weeds out of his mouth. He took his sandwich and ate it alongside Applejack and Big Mac in the shade of the barn.
Applejack turned to Caramel. “You guys going out tonight?” she asked.
Caramel shook his head. “Roseluck... wanted to talk to me after work.”
Applejack looked away thoughtfully for a moment before turning back to Caramel. “You... don’t seem to go out much lately.”
“Nope,” Big Macintosh agreed, looking at Caramel with an expression the latter couldn’t quite understand.
Caramel chewed on a carrot a few bites too long until there was nothing more than tiny crumbs that were getting stuck between his teeth. “I haven’t been feeling up to it lately.”
Applejack’s face became a concerned frown. “Big Mac’s been worried about you lately. Wonderin’ if there wasn’t anything goin’ on with Roseluck. Or if he said anythin’ wrong.”
“No, nothing’s wrong,” Caramel said. “I just... I don’t know. Feels like I’ve been thinking about things a lot lately.”
“Like what?”
Caramel looked up. The pegasi had started their covering of the Acres a bit earlier than Caramel had thought. “I’m just... sort of wondering if I haven’t gotten myself into a dead end.”
Applejack nodded and smiled kindly. “Feels like you’re just goin’ nowhere, huh?”
Caramel nodded back. “Sounds about right. My job is nice but doesn’t pay well, I live in a tiny duplex, and my relationship potentially is in trouble.” Caramel leaned his head back and quietly thumped it against the side of the barn. “Sorry. I just... I guess it’s all getting to me.”
“It’s alright,” Applejack said. “Mac was balancing the budget and we’ll probably afford to give you a raise after the harvest. I know it’s not much and it won’t fix everything, but it may help you out a bit. You’re reliable and hard-working. But we are concerned about you.”
“Eeyup,” Big Macintosh agreed.
“It’s just a phase,” Caramel said, waving a hoof dismissively. “I’ll get over it soon.”
Applejack did not seem satisfied, raising an eyebrow at Caramel and slightly frowned, but she said no more. Caramel was grateful for the gesture; Applejack could spot a lie better than anyone, but she kept quiet about it out of respect. She moved on fairly quickly and said they needed to fix a few broken drain pipes leading to a water cistern as the afternoon work and helped him place his saddlebags back into the house.
“Go get the tools, Caramel,” Big Macintosh said when Applejack went inside.
Caramel went and got the tools from their usual place: a pair of modified saddlebags hanging on a nail inside the barn. He went and got them and went back over to Big Macintosh and helped him settle the saddlebags in place. Caramel followed Big Mac outside the barn and over to the wall where the first of the rusted pipes was located.
“If it’s a phase,” Big Macintosh said, “it’s been going on for a while.”
Caramel sighed. He didn’t want to go into detail about it. “Yeah, a bit.”
“I think you’re lonely,” he said. “You only spend time with Roseluck lately. It wouldn’t hurt to come over for a drink every once in a while.”
Caramel nodded as they approached the wall and Big Macintosh propped himself upright, hooves against the wall. Caramel grabbed a wrench from the belt with his mouth and went over to the other side and they started loosening the bolts on the piece of metal holding the pipe in place. “Who usually comes over now?” he asked through the wrench.
“Usual crowd,” Big Macintosh said. “Time Turner, Baritone, Clean Sweep.”
Caramel gave off a “hmmph”. “Maybe, I guess. But not tonight. When’s the next time you all are thinking of getting together?”
“Next week, same time.”
“I’ll probably be free, then.”
They had by now removed the metal piece holding the pipe to the wall and now went to work removing the rusted pipe. The bolts were a little stiffer, but Big Macintosh had brought out some oil and quickly applied it to the bolts and they moved a little easier. They were quiet for a long while as they worked, Caramel taking out two bolts before moving to hold the pipe while Big Macintosh went to loosen the remaining bolt.
“We’re worried about you, Caramel,” Big Macintosh said. “I don’t know how to explain it. Just that... you don’t seem as happy as usual.”
“What do you mean?” Caramel asked. “I’ve got plenty to be happy about. I’ve got a decent job, a good boss, a home of my own, and a marefriend.”
Big Macintosh paused for a minute, raising his eyebrow at Caramel for a moment before continuing. “You were complainin’ about all that not too long ago.”
“I mean, yeah, but it’s not too bad when I think about it.”
“Yeah, but you don’t focus on it bein’ ‘not too bad’ very often.”
Applejack returned with a few spare pieces of pipe as they managed to remove the first pipe from its place and the two stopped. It wasn’t long after that when one of the pegasi – the dark grey one with the blue mane in a mohawk – came down and addressed Big Macintosh, hovering a few inches above the ground. Caramel watched him in fascination.
“Hey, Big Macintosh!” he said easily. “How are you this evening?”
“Not too bad,” Big Macintosh replied. “What do ya need?”
“Well you know about the rainstorm coming in tonight. On behalf of the Ponyville Weather Team, I was just wondering if there was a particular area you wanted us to focus on with the rain or if there is any area where you wanted us to do lighter.”
“Nothin’ in particular, I think.” Big Macintosh raised his hoof and scratched his chin in thought. “Thanks for comin’ down and askin’ though.”
“Not a problem,” the pegasus asked. “It’s part of my job, and since you’re a big part of Ponyville’s economy, it’s only right you at least be asked.”
“Thank ya kindly,” Big Macintosh said. “I can always contact town hall or the Weather Team’s offices if I want anythin’, but right now, I think we’re good. But again, thank you.”
“Any time. Again, contact the Weather Team offices if you need anything. Either I or Rainbow Dash will be happy to answer any questions you might have.” And then he saluted and flew off into the increasingly grey sky.
Caramel followed the trail of the pegasus as he flew back to his job. He looked up and watched the pegasus go about his work. Sometimes he merely directed the other pegasi and sometimes he actually moved the clouds into place himself. He glided around so easily and effortlessly, riding the currents like it was nothing. He was watching him so intently that he didn’t notice when Applejack brought the metal pipe over to him and jumped, slipping off the side of the barn.
“Oh, sweet Celestia!” Applejack gasped. “Are you okay?”
Caramel surveyed himself. No broken bones, no awkward twisting; just a bit of a hard landing on the soft dust and dirt. He picked himself up, testing to see about pain. Nothing much besides a bit of a bump on the side of his head and a scratch under his hoof, nothing a little cleaning and bed rest when he got home wouldn’t fix up.
A breeze picked up. Caramel looked skywards at the sky, now totally covered in grey clouds.
“Caramel...?” Applejack ventured.
Caramel didn’t respond right away. “I wish I could fly...” he said.
Applejack and Big Macintosh just looked at him, confused.
* * *
Caramel left Sweet Apple Acres at four. The wind hadn’t picked up much but a definite chill had set in while he walked home and he felt cold. Even though it was still early Ponyville’s streets were already clearing, any evening’s events having been put off or lessened by the scheduled rainstorm.
When he got to Sugarcube Corner, Roseluck was nowhere to be found. He double-checked the note she wrote him, followed by the clock hanging behind the counter. The note said 4:30 while a nearby clock said 4:18. Caramel shrugged his shoulders, unperturbed by the time, and ordered two small cups of hot chocolate with a lid. He paid the bits and left a little extra as a tip before heading outside with both hot chocolates and sat on a bench outside, sipping and trying not to shiver.
Roseluck came walking down the street at a few minutes before the time she said she would.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” she said as she sat down on the bench next to him.
“About eight minutes,” Caramel said. “Do you want a hot chocolate? It’s kind of cold out.” He pushed the other drink towards her.
“Thanks.” Roseluck shivered a bit as she took a few sips.
For a long time, she was silent and they quietly sipped the hot chocolate. “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?” Caramel asked after a while.
“Yeah. It’s a little hard to start, though.”
“You can say whatever,” Caramel said. “I won’t be offended.”
Roseluck sniffed. “Alright. If you say so. Um... I don’t think I want to keep seeing you.”
Caramel nodded. The edges of his vision became blurry and he wondered if a few pieces of dust hadn’t been blown into his eyes by the wind. “Okay...” he said, unsure of what to say.
Roseluck looked over at him, apparently distraught. “That’s... it? ‘Okay’?”
“Roseluck, I’m sorry, but I don’t even know what to say.” Caramel threw his empty hoof up in the air. “I... I thought things were going pretty well. It’s not like I expected this. I just received a note from you saying to meet with no context. The last thing I expected was you telling me you wanted to break up.”
“I was going to write more,” Roseluck said apologetically, “but I figured it’d be better if I did it face-to-face.”
“Well, thanks for offering me that decency,” Caramel said. “So, any particular reason?”
“It’s... hard to explain,” Roseluck said. “We were doing really well. We had fun, you took me on that wonderful trip to the Canterlot Gardens, we even slept together at least twice. But... lately you’ve been a bit neurotic and, quite frankly, depressing.”
“It’s not my normal, Roseluck. I swear. I just... I don’t know what it is going on right now.”
“Caramel, you have to understand it’s been going on for a while now. You... you were worried about your job, worried about your education, about your home, about us. It’s been going on for a while now. And... I don’t think I can continue like that.”
Caramel sighed and lowered his head. He fidgeted with the coffee cup in his hooves. “I wish I could deny that,” he said quietly. “But I can’t.”
Roseluck tried to smile sympathetically, but it quickly faded. “I... I’m sorry, Caramel.”
Caramel finished his hot chocolate and drank until there was no more liquid. It felt warm compared to the chill in the air. “How... how long have you been thinking about this?”
“Only the past couple of weeks,” Roseluck admitted. “We... you stopped for a little while after we slept together. But as time went on, you went back to being neurotic and depressive. I tried, thinking it would go away again, but it didn’t.”
“...have you been seeing someone else?”
“No one.” Roseluck sniffed. “I... I love you, Caramel. I still do. I don’t want to, but I think it’s best if we don’t see each other for a while.”
“If you don’t want to, why don’t you want to see me?” Caramel asked, someone biting.
Roseluck wiped her forehead and an eye with a hoof. “I... I just think I don’t want to see you romantically.”
Caramel nodded. “I... I understand.”
“But please,” Roseluck said. “If... if you need anything, write me. I’ll... I’ll do what I can. I don’t like seeing you in this state, but I want you to get better. If you need my help with anything, please, let me know.”
Caramel nodded. “Okay,” he said. “At least... at least we had some fun.”
Roseluck nodded. “Yeah...”
Roseluck looked like she wanted to say more, but she trailed off and nothing came. She opened her hooves and wrapped them lightly around Caramel. Caramel returned the gesture for a moment, but was the first one to release.
“Well, I’ll see you around, then?” Caramel asked.
“Yeah.” Roseluck coughed. “Yeah. Thanks for the hot chocolate.” She got up, shivered a little bit, and trotted away.
Caramel watched her until she disappeared behind a row of houses before sighing quietly. There was a short rumble of thunder and Caramel wondered if it would get any worse. He got up off the bench and trotted home before it could; it went as well as it could have gone, but it still stung nonetheless.
The rain waited until after he’d gotten home and turned up the thermostat before coming down in a gentle shower. Caramel cooked a dinner of vegetable soup with fresh bread and ate at the counter, staring out into the darkening skies and the rain. Rain didn’t depress him much or make him irritated; it was another art-form of the pegasi, and he was content to sit and watch as he turned on the radio and listened to an evening news broadcast while he waited for a teleplay to come on later that evening, the weather a whole show in itself.
It wasn’t until he went to bed that night that he realized he forgot to go to the store on the way home.
2 - Opening the Hangar Bay
Caramel awoke at a quarter to eight the next morning. It was not due to his alarm but his own volition and the presence of a small idea in the back of his brain. For some reason he couldn’t go back to sleep, so he sat up and got out of bed. The broken picture frame was still on the floor and he stepped carefully over it to get to the shower.
Caramel took a little longer in the shower than normal but still left the room at five minutes after eight. The Coffee Hour was back on playing from the radio alarm clock in his room. He went in and shut it off before heading to the kitchen to make himself some coffee and toast and make himself lunch.
It was then that he remembered why he had a persistent thought in the back of his head. He’d forgotten to go to the store the previous day and a few crucial parts of his morning routine were thus disrupted. He didn’t even have enough beans to make a single cup of good coffee and didn’t have any good bread to make his lunch or have some morning toast. Caramel sighed and refilled his water bottle and decided to hit up a coffee shop along the way to Sweet Apple Acres.
The sky outside was grey and the air was chilly as Caramel left. There was no breeze but the air hung thick and smelled heavily of rain under the deep grey clouds. The sun was still hidden by the clouds to the point where Caramel could not pinpoint its location. There was no breeze but it felt cool and comfortable outside and it seemed like it might be cooler overall than yesterday was. Caramel trotted quickly down the street and made his way to a small coffee shop owned by a middle-aged couple from Canterlot who had decided to try and expand their business.
“Coffee and Cream” was a small store with a few circular wood tables and a granite counter for seating and lit by a few overhead ceiling lamps with fans that slowly rotated even when it was cool outside, with large windows looking out at the street corner where it stands. One part of the counter was filled with pastries and a small chill case held crackers with cheese, various patries, and cold bottled drinks. Behind the counter was a small kitchen offering a mild assortment of hot food and various types of coffee and pastries baked in-store. The menu was printed in very neat hoofwriting on a chalkboard above the register, currently manned by a light brown pony with a darker mane than Caramel wearing a green apron and boasting a cup of cappuccino for a cutie mark.
The store was mostly empty. One of the tables was occupied by a dark-brown earth pony stallion with a blonde mane drinking a coffee and reading the paper, while a purple unicorn mare was eating a bagel with cream cheese at the farthest edge of the countertop from the door. Caramel walked up to the register and took a quick look at the menu as the beige pony washed his hooves.
“Welcome to Coffee and Cream!” the brown barista pony said with a patient smile as he approached the register. Caramel looked at him; a white name tag read “Coffee Cream” in black print. “What can I get for you?”
Caramel went back to staring at the board. “Uh... I would like a... egg and tomato sandwich on a... wheat bagel with tater tots. The... a small cup of the hot caramel latte, and the fruit salad.”
The barista pony patiently waited for Caramel to finish thinking through his order before quickly ringing it up and giving his total. “Is that all?”
“Yes,” Caramel said. “No... give me an orange, too.”
“Okay. Do you want that for here or to go?”
“Here.”
The barista pony gave him a small white card with a red number and finished ringing up the order. Caramel pulled out the bits needed and handed them over before taking his card and sitting down at the first available table and sat looking out the street. He could see the distant clock tower and saw it was eight fifteen, enough time to eat his breakfast before leaving for Sweet Apple Acres.
The barista pony came out with the order on a green tray a few minutes later and set it down, picking up the white card from the table. Caramel openly thanked the barista, who smiled politely at him before leaving, and quietly thanked his efficiency and speed. Caramel took a sip of the coffee, strong but still sweet, and tested the egg sandwich, warm and fluffy with a unique blend of spices, and settled down to eat his breakfast in peace.
Caramel had not been eating for long before another pony entered the small coffee shop. Caramel heard the door opened and looked up just out of curiosity and was somewhat surprised to see the pegasus from the Weather Team that had been at Sweet Apple Acres; the dark grey stallion with the light blue mane that looked like a mohawk. He went up to the barista and started chatting pleasantly with him, though Caramel could not hear what they were saying and soon went back to his food.
It wasn’t for a while that Caramel was vaguely aware of someone nearby. He looked up from his meal and noticed that the stallion had come over to him and was smiling kindly at him. “You’re that stallion from Sweet Apple Acres, aren’t you?” he asked. His voice was a little surfer-dude-from-Los-Pegasus, but quite friendly.
Caramel wondered how the stallion recognized him. “Yeah,” he said, not quite sure of how else to respond.
The stallion motioned with a hoof – holding his own white card with a red number – at the seat across from Caramel at the table. “You mind if I sit down with you for a while?”
Caramel was not quite sure what to think. He looked around at the other tables just to make sure that there were open spots and that the pony had come here quite deliberately. What reason that was, he didn’t know. But he seemed friendly enough and decided there would be no harm. Especially considering he was a pegasus. “Uh, I guess...” Caramel said.
The stallion smiled. “Cool.” He sat down across from Caramel, looked at his card for a minute, then placed it at the edge of the table.
Caramel for a while continued eating, thinking about what to say if anything. He opened up a small plastic bag containing a fork and started poking at his fruit salad and his tater tots. A small container of ketchup was present and he dipped them into it, for the most part ignoring the stallion sitting just across the table.
“Are you related to the Apples at all or do you just work for them?”
Caramel heard the tiny ‘plop’ of ketchup dropping down onto the tray as the fork with the tater tot stopped right in front of his mouth. He looked up to find that the stallion was looking at him with even blue eyes. His tone was more conversational than anything, that of finding a somewhat familiar face and discussing the weather just to waste time until something more comes up.
Caramel himself was almost flabbergasted. Sure, Ponyville was a friendly town, but even so you didn’t just meet ponies at a coffee shop one day. “I just work for them,” Caramel said. “Odd jobs, whatever they need me to do.”
“That’s cool.” The stallion smiled gently. “I see you around there often. Just thought I’d ask.”
“I’ve heard ponies think I could be their cousin,” Caramel said, a little easier than before. “Not really. I’m just a hired hoof.”
The barista pony brought around the other stallion’s meal, which seemed to be rather similar to what Caramel himself had ordered. Caramel wondered if it was coincidence or if it had been intentional but didn’t bring it up and took the moment of silence to eat his own food.
“You know Big Macintosh pretty well, by any chance?” the other stallion asked.
Caramel shrugged. “As much as one can for someone who’s rather quiet,” he replied. “We sometimes go out. Drink, eat, play cards, whatever. There’s a few others who join us.”
The stallion nodded. He took a bite of his own sandwich. “Oh, I almost forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Thunderlane.” He held out a grey hoof towards Caramel.
Caramel cautiously set down his fork and extended his own. They shook hooves gently before Caramel took his own hoof back. “I’m Caramel,” he said. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, why’d you ask?”
“I deal with the Apples often. I sort of act as a liaison for the Weather Team and speak with them often. I’ve seen you there often but never really talked with you.”
Caramel scratched the back of his head and felt his cheeks get warm. “There’s not really much to talk about,” he said. “I just... my life is not that interesting.”
“I don’t care,” Thunderlane said. “I just like making friends and meeting new ponies, you know?”
“N-No, not really,” Caramel said. “I mean, at least you’re not like Pinkie Pie and bouncing around all the time, but I generally prefer to be alone more often than others.”
“Hey, if I’m bothering you at all, just tell me,” Thunderlane said. His smile was still friendly and his tone was gentle. “I promise you won’t offend me.”
Caramel thought about it. “I guess you can tell me why you’re here at a coffee shop in Ponyville instead of in Cloudsdale.”
“My little bro goes to school at the Ponyville Schoolhouse, so I thought it better to live here on the ground,” Thunderlane replied. “And I’m currently on fog duty. I’m waiting until ten to start clearing away the fog and haze.”
Caramel nodded understandingly. “Don’t see too many pegasi really around here,” he said. “It’s mostly earth ponies and unicorns.”
“We’re close enough to Cloudsdale I’m surprised pegasi aren’t more common,” Thunderlane said. “It’s only a fifteen minute flight with a good draft.”
Caramel hummed thoughtfully. He looked at his empty tray and at the clock on the wall. It was eight forty-nine. “I’m sorry, but I have to head to work,” he said, rather grateful for the exit strategy as he put his trash on the empty tray. “It was nice talking to you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” Thunderlane offered a hoof again and Caramel hesitantly shook it. “I’ll see you around, Caramel.”
Caramel didn’t respond. He just picked up the tray with his mouth and threw away his trash before leaving the coffee shop. Thunderlane seemed nice, but he still questioned why the pegasus wanted to talk to him.
But as he drew closer to Sweet Apple Acres, he regretted the conversation ending and wished he would have let it go on a little bit longer. He wanted to ask him some questions about what it felt like to fly. But he also wondered if it would be awkward to ask a pegasi those questions and decided it was best that he didn’t.
Caramel put those thoughts away and went to work without incident, reminding himself to go to the store afterwards.
* * *
A week later had clear and sunny skies. If there were any pegasi around, they were either grounded or out of sight of Ponyville, leaving Caramel undistracted at his work.
They had started harvesting apples. Big Macintosh had brought out a large wooden cart and a giant stack of barrels and he and Applejack had placed the buckets around the trees before Caramel showed up. Caramel now helped Applejack buck the apples off the trees while Big Macintosh came around behind and picked up the barrels and placed them into the cart.
Bucking apples was rather precise work. A pony had to hit the tree in precisely the right place with a strong enough force in order for the tree to shake and the apples to be released from the branches. But pony hooves were fragile, and too strong a buck could result in either the tree or the pony’s leg breaking. It’s possible to get all the apples off the trees by tapping it, but conservation of energy says one good strong buck is better.
Caramel did not have to worry about bucking too strong to break his legs or damaging the tree. He often took two and sometimes even three bucks on one tree to get all the apples to drop, more often two. Applejack mostly needed just one, and Big Macintosh could tap the apples off the tree with one hoof. Caramel was often more worried about splintering the bark from an imprecise buck than being too strong, and often focused as hard as he could.
Big Macintosh came around once while Caramel was about to give one tree a second buck. Caramel raised his back legs and pushed out hard against the middle of the tree. The tree shook and soon the apples came falling out one by one in a steady stream. Caramel inspected his work and found two small hoofprints in the bark and no other marks.
“You’re getting better,” Big Macintosh said. “You probably could do one buck soon.”
“I’m still not strong enough,” Caramel said. “You’ve been doing this all your life. I’d need at least that long before I get one buck like Applejack.”
“You’re learnin’ just fine. Try another one.”
Caramel went over and positioned himself at the next tree. Big Macintosh watched as Caramel raised his hooves and struck out once again in precisely the right place. Two small hoofprints were all that showed in the bark as Big Macintosh counted the number of apples on the tree.
“I’d say that’s seventy-five percent of the apples in one buck,” he said. “Based on averages. You might be able to harvest them all in one buck in a year or two.”
“Better than I was thinking,” Caramel said. “Especially considering I only started about five years ago.”
“You don’t give yourself credit sometimes, Caramel,” Big Macintosh said. “You’re doin’ just fine.”
Caramel sighed and bucked the tree again. A small scratch appeared in the bark, but the rest of the tree’s apples fell neatly into the buckets.
“I wanted to ask if you were goin’ with out with us tonight,” Big Macintosh said as Caramel went to the next tree.
Caramel shrugged. “I should,” he said. “Were you going to have it here or go out into Ponyville?”
“The Salt Lick Tavern’s havin’ an open mic night. Poetry and music. You should take your notebook along; maybe read one of your poems.”
Caramel thought about it. “Maybe,” he said. “I wrote a new one after I broke up with Roseluck. When it was raining.”
“You’ve got a decent collection. You should send them off to the Foal Free Press. Have ‘em publish one or two.”
“None of them are that good.” Caramel went silent as he bucked the next tree. Most of the apples fell off, but not all. “They’re just ramblings. Things I come up with on a whim.” He repositioned himself and bucked again. “I don’t think they’re good for publishing.”
“The Foal Free Press will take almost anythin’. Doesn’t have to be good. And ain’t poetry subjective anyway?”
Caramel did not reply. “I’ll take the notebook,” he said. “But no guarantees I’ll be reading anything.”
“That’s all I ask.”
After work was over, Caramel headed home and jumped in the shower. He washed off the sweat and dirt of apple-bucking and gently ran a brush through his mane and through his coat along his back. He reheated a bowl of soup from last night and ate it with a slice of garlic bread before getting a small purse with some bits in it and his small brown leather journal and heading out the door.
It was early evening and the sky shone gold and orange that faded into a soft, dark blue. Already Caramel could see some stars coming out in the distance and the lights of Ponyville turning on to welcome the cool dusk. It was a lovely night out and various artists were setting up stalls to sell their pieces in the middle of town. Stores were staying open later and a small advertisement for a four-piece classical set in the town hall was posted in the window of Sugarcube Corner.
The Salt Lick Tavern was the only drinking establishment in Ponyville, which would otherwise be considered ‘dry’ until the cider season. It sold light food items and major brews from Canterlot, Los Pegasus, and Manehattan after six o’clock, and during the day operated as something of a soda fountain. It held various events every other week, most commonly a music performance, an open mic night, or a new comedian who needed the extra publicity.
Tonight was open mic night. Any portable act was allowed so long as it took less than ten minutes. Caramel saw a medium grey stallion with a guitar slung over his back, a young filly with the laughing drama face in a spotlight, and many others gathering outside and heading in. He avoided the gaze of most of the others and beelined towards the medium grey pony.
“Hey Baritone,” he said. “Have you seen Big Macintosh?”
“Hey, Caramel,” the medium grey stallion replied with a patient smile. “I think he’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Oh. I see you’ve brought your guitar. Did you learn a new song or write one?”
“Learned a new one,” Baritone said. “It’s been a while since you joined us. How are things going?”
“I... just broke up with Roseluck last week,” Caramel said, averting his eyes and pawing the ground. “I wanted to spend some time alone.”
“Pity,” Baritone said sympathetically. “You two were cute together. You talk to her at all since then?”
“No,” Caramel replied. “We agreed we should spend a little time apart. Probably better anyways. H-How are things with you and Amethyst?”
“We’re doing pretty good,” Baritone said happily. “She’s sick tonight, so she can’t join us. We were thinking of going to the free concert in the park in Canterlot next weekend.”
Caramel smiled as hard as he could. He wanted to feel good about Baritone’s relative success, but couldn’t help but think of his own failed relationship with Roseluck and his lack of talent in writing and music like Baritone had. He said nothing in response and managed to come up with a smile, but it quickly faded.
Big Macintosh came by a few minutes later. “Clean Sweep won’t be coming with us,” he said. “He’s visiting family for dinner.”
“Well, that sucks,” Baritone said. He motioned inside. “We should probably get ourselves a table, then. It’s filling up pretty quick.”
They slipped inside the small dark room, lit up by four lamps in the corners and a spotlight. The spotlight on a small stage with a microphone on a stand, an amplifier, and a small stool. Big Macintosh’s size easily parted the crowds and Caramel and Baritone slipped behind him. They found a spot at a table somewhere in the middle of the crowded room and sat down.
“I’ll get drinks,” Baritone said. “Canterlot cream stout, everyone?” And without waiting for an answer, he left.
Big Macintosh looked over to Caramel. “You bring the notebook?”
Caramel held up the brown leather journal. “I don’t know if I’ll read one,” he said. “I’m not much for this sort of thing.”
“That’s alright,” Big Macintosh said. “I never said you had to say one. But you should consider it.”
Caramel nodded as though he understood. But there was the slight idea in his mind that he respected Big Macintosh, and that somewhere in between being his closest friend and his boss, ‘considering’ often had the implication of eventually ‘doing’. And so he sweated slightly and gulped despite not having anything in his mouth, still not entirely sure he wanted to. At least the crowds were thick; they couldn’t see him go red down here off the stage.
A few minutes later, Baritone returned with two large glasses of a dark-colored beer and one glass that appeared to be a little smaller; Caramel recognized it as an eight ounce glass as opposed to the others’ twelve-ounces. Caramel quietly thanked Baritone for remembering he normally got the smaller glass.
By the time Baritone returned with the beers, the open mic night began in earnest. The filly that Caramel had seen earlier went up and did a small comedy act that garnered a few laughs, followed by a ventriloquist act that hardly anyone paid attention to. Baritone took his guitar up there and sang a couple songs – including Rara’s new song ‘I Am Just A Pony’ – while playing. He had a deep but smooth singing voice and was greatly applauded when he was done. Baritone returned back to the table after heading to the bar again and getting them a second cream stout plus some homemade chips and a pile of celery sticks.
“Good job up there, Baritone,” Big Macintosh said.
“Good to hear,” Baritone replied. He wiped some sweat off his brow with a hoof. “I thought I missed a few notes and hit a flat in one place.”
“I didn’t hear anything wrong with it,” Caramel said. “It sounded alright to me.”
“Well, if it sounded alright to you two non-musically inclined ponies, I’m sure it’ll be good to the rest of them.”
Baritone proudly drank a few gulps of his cream stout and sighed happily. As he was setting down the glass, he noticed Caramel’s little brown journal sitting somewhat inconspicuously on the table, hidden behind his beer glass. Caramel noticed where Baritone’s eyes were looking and tried hiding it further behind the plate of chips, but he was too slow and Baritone pointed to it.
“Big Macintosh tells me you write poetry,” Baritone said. “You should go up there and read one. Certainly would break the monotony.”
A young orange colt was doing a tap-dancing act onstage. There were frequent ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and clapping from the rest of the tavern’s occupants. Caramel noticed this and quickly shrunk down. “N-No, I think I’ll be good.”
“Give him time, Baritone,” Big Macintosh said before the medium grey stallion could push the issue much further. “He’ll go if he wants to.”
Caramel was grateful to Big Macintosh for the out and quietly said so, unsure if the stallion would hear among the crowds.
Big Macintosh looked at him and gave a patient, knowing smile, leaving Caramel to question if he heard him or merely assumed that was the case based on his mumbling.
As the evening wore on, more ponies came up on stage. As the evening approached nine o’clock, three acts had stood out in particular as highlights of the evening: the tap-dancing colt, the young comedian filly, and Baritone’s solo guitar and singing, the latter two actually managing encore performances as good as the first. After Baritone and the filly had gone for a second time the audience looked for the tap-dancing colt but he had long since retreated and was nowhere to be found. The audience began to lose interest, and by nine o’clock and a third comedian hardly anyone was paying attention.
The comedian finished and there was something of a break where no one went up on stage. Caramel and the others were having a third beer and were thinking about leaving; others were already filtering out despite the open mic night going on until ten and the tavern closing at eleven.
Baritone looked over to Caramel. “You should go up there,” he said. “Read one of your poems.”
“Eh...” Caramel wanted to say he didn’t feel comfortable even with fewer ponies in the tavern, and was afraid he would trip over his words with three beers in him. But none of that came out and he trailed off.
“Pick a short one,” Baritone said. “Doesn’t even have to be two minutes. You go up there, read one, get down. If no one likes it, you’re already done. If they like you, read one more.”
“...are you sure? I mean, it’s not like poetry is that interesting. Heck, they could boo me off the stage.”
“...did you even hear the last comedian? If you didn’t, you weren’t alone. If you did, you couldn’t possibly be worse than him. Really, he was quite demented. Wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t go up again ever. But he wasn’t booed.”
Caramel looked at the little notebook sitting on the table in front of him. He tended to keep that to himself, a little side project that helped him process his emotions moreso than an actual pursuit. He didn’t consider himself that good, and wondered if it would be a let-down to Big Macintosh and Baritone.
Caramel looked at the two. Both had an encouraging smile, though Big Macintosh’s was clear while Baritone seemed just a little drunk. Caramel felt the heat in his own cheeks and the sweat coming down his forehead. He took a sip of water that had been brought to the table and checked his nerves. They seemed steady enough, or at least the beer kept them from all firing off.
“...I’ll try,” he said. “But just one. Then I’m getting off.”
“That’s all I want you to do. Try more if you think it’s going well, but start with one.”
Caramel nodded, picked up his little notebook, and walked over to the stairs off to the right side of the stage. He walked slowly as though waiting for anyone else to come up first. But there was little rush to get to the stage; anyone else might have been scared away by the reception to the last comedian. And so when Caramel got to the stage there was no one else trying to beat him up there or even approach the platform.
Caramel slowly walked on stage. A few eyes turned his direction upon noticing someone else was coming up on stage, but most were still paying attention to their drinks. Caramel walked to the microphone and blinked a few times; the spotlight was blinding and he could hardly make out Baritone and Big Macintosh sitting in the crowds. They were there and looking at him, though, both giving him approving nods.
Caramel went up to the mic, pushed it down a little to reach his mouth, and spoke. “Hi. Uh...”
A ring of feedback came around and Caramel flinched along with the ponies in the audience. Someone came up and turned down the volume on the amplifier until the feedback had stopped, then turned it back up to a manageable level. The issue with the feedback, however, had caused the noise level in the tavern to stop and focus on Caramel. He smiled sheepishly.
“Um, hi. M-My name’s Caramel, and I wanted to share a piece of poetry I made. I wrote this a while ago after breaking up with my marefriend of a little over a year. Um... I call this one ‘Heart Be Not Proud’.”
There were a few appreciative claps, and Caramel opened his notebook and began to recite from one of the pages.
Heart, be not proud For you have experienced loss. Mind, be not pleased For your wit is now gone. Legs, do not run For you have no energy left. Arms, do not rise For you failed to display your strength. Eyes, do not stare For all they shall see is shame. Head, do not look up For you have fallen into your own trap.
Caramel was only halfway through the poem, but here he gulped and suddenly froze. The spotlight was not only blinding but it was hot. The three beers were beginning to get to him and he felt himself sweat. His legs began to shake underneath him. He could barely see the audience, but he could hear slight murmurs coming from them all and wondered if they were discussing how bad he was.
He found five sets of appreciative eyes. Two of them belonged to Baritone and Big Macintosh. The others, hidden in a far corner away from the spotlight, he couldn’t recognize. Whoever they were, the five appreciative glances were enough.
Heart, be not yet proud For one day soon you will win. Mind, be not yet pleased For now is the time for reflection. Legs, do not yet run For one day your stamina shall return. Arms, do not yet rise For soon you shall hold the world. Eyes, do not yet stare For one day you shall see them as equals. Head, do not look down For you shall one day pick yourself up again.
He stuttered and missed the beat every once in a while, but was pleased when he got through without another giant pause. Without waiting for the audience’s reaction, he closed the notebook and took off back towards the table with Big Macintosh and Baritone. He panted as he sat himself back down and gently tapped his forehead on the table.
“That was pretty good,” Baritone said. “Really, it was.”
Caramel heard a faint rumbling sound and looked up to see a few ponies applauding. No one seemed to see him, but no one else was on-stage yet and they seemed pretty satisfied. He calmed down a little bit but his nerves still racked him a little bit and he said nothing in response.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Baritone said. “Don’t worry; if you want to do it again, it gets easier.”
Caramel shook his head. “No, I... I-I think I’m good, thank you.”
“You really should think about doing more readings,” Big Macintosh said. “Expose yourself more often. You could publish one or two if you wanted.”
Caramel did not reply. “I... I think I want to head home.”
He barely left the table when he saw a figure approaching him. It took a minute in the darkness of the tavern to get the details, but approaching him was a dark grey stallion with a blue mane in the shape of a mowawk. Even in the dim light of the tavern, Caramel remembered him as the pegasus whom he had met in the coffee shop a week ago.
“Hey!” the stallion replied. He raised a wing in hello. “Caramel, was it?”
“Yeah.” Caramel thought about the stallion for a while. “Um... what’s your name again? I’m sorry, I remember seeing you in the coffee shop, but I’m terrible with names.”
“Thunderlane,” the pegasus responded. “And that’s cool. We only talked for, like, somewhere around twenty minutes? I don’t expect you to remember it that fast. Anyways, I liked that poem. It was cool.”
“Thanks,” Caramel said. He could feel himself blushing, but wasn’t sure if it was from the compliment or the alcohol. “I didn’t think it was that good. And I stumbled a lot.”
“But I liked the ideas in it. I really liked the second verse and how you turned it all back around into something positive. It was actually really inspiring.”
Caramel looked over to Baritone and Big Macintosh. “I agree with him,” Baritone said, pointing to Thunderlane. Big Macintosh nodded in agreement with Baritone.
“Oh, hey Big Macintosh,” Thunderlane called out. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Didn’t know you were here, either,” Big Macintosh replied. “I guess you already know Caramel, but this is Baritone.” He motioned to the medium-grey stallion, who waved hello.
“Nice to meet you,” Thunderlane said, shaking hooves with the earth pony. “Do you all normally meet here?”
“Well, Caramel’s missed a few meetings lately, but yes,” Baritone said. “You here with someone?”
“I’ve got a group that’s been sitting in the corner there.” He pointed to the dark corner where a beige pegasus with a shock of a red mane and a purple earth pony with a mint green mane were sitting at a small round table and turned back to Caramel. “They wanted to say they all liked it, too, and we were all wondering if you had any more.”
Caramel clutched the notebook close to his chest. “I do. But I really should be getting home; I can’t read anymore.”
“That’s alright,” Thunderlane said. “But keep it up! You’re doing pretty good. Written Script, a writer friend of mine, said it was good, so it must be.”
“Thanks again. I-I’m sorry, I have to go. Good night, Thunderlane. See you later, Big Mac and Baritone.”
Before they could say anything else, Caramel quietly slipped out of the tavern and headed back home. He ran through the quiet streets until he reached his door, and didn’t settle down until he’d spent a good twenty minutes in a warm shower. He put his journal away in a drawer of the desk and went to bed before ten o’clock.
When the tavern was over and the final acts were finished, the general consensus were three acts stood out among the rest. Baritone’s solo act and the filly comedian were well received, but Caramel’s poem managed to edge out the tap-dancing colt to round out the night.
Caramel heard none of this, as he kept to himself and did not care about what happened that night other than feeling quite embarrassed.
Author's Note
Baritone:
3 - Pre-Flight Inspections
Caramel did not go out again for quite a while. He stayed away from the local stores except to get groceries and did not go out again with Big Macintosh and Baritone. Baritone tried sending him a letter to talk with him and apologizing for his own pushy behavior, but Caramel did not respond to him.
Nearly a week after the reading at the Salt Lick Tavern, Caramel was working at Sweet Apple Acres. The harvest was still going on and the weather was clear and warm. Caramel enjoyed bucking the apples and eating lunch under the cool shade of the trees. Birds chirped, bees buzzed around in the trees, the grass was cool under his hooves, and the sun made his coat warm, making the whole day feel drowsy.
Caramel had finished his lunch and was bucking again when Big Macintosh came up to him. “You want to go out with us again tomorrow?”
Caramel ignored him and focused on the buck. He didn’t want to talk, and since Big Macintosh was a pony of few words, he figured he would drop the subject shortly.
“You have nothin’ to feel embarrassed about,” Big Macintosh said. “Everyone liked it.”
“I thought Baritone did pretty good,” Caramel replied without really replying as he went to the next tree. “His picking was smoother than the last time he played up there.”
“But they liked you, too,” Big Macintosh commented, trying to re-rail the conversation as Caramel bucked. “They applauded you. Not bad for a poetry readin’.”
“What about that filly comedian, though?” Caramel paused as he bucked the tree a second time. “Her delivery was impeccable and timing was fantastic.”
“Caramel...” Big Macintosh’s voice was actually starting to sound irritated. Caramel walked over to the next tree a little quicker than usual, but Big Mac kept pace behind him. “I’m tryin’ to say you did good up there.”
“I wish that tap-dancing colt stayed around,” Caramel said, talking a little louder and trying to drown out Big Macintosh as he readied himself for the first buck on the tree. “He was better than—”
“Would you stop changin’ the conversation on me!? ”
Caramel lashed out. The tree shuddered, bark flew, and a deep indent was created. Three measly apples fell off the tree and landed in the bucket. Caramel looked with at Big Macintosh with a mixture of astonishment and fear at the growl that had suddenly erupted from the larger pony’s mouth.
Big Macintosh surveyed the damage, sighed at his own mistake, and went over and gently tapped the tree. In one tap, all the apples fell off the tree and into the buckets around the bottom. He made sure nothing else was damaged and that Caramel’s hooves weren’t damaged from the imprecise strike before finally sighing again.
“Why do you keep avoidin’ the compliments?” he asked, much calmer than before.
“I didn’t do that good!” Caramel complained. “I was stuttering, spilling over my own words, my pace was off, and I’m sure I flubbed at least four lines if not five.”
“No one expects you to do perfect the first time you’re up there,” Big Macintosh said gently; Caramel looked at the ground meekly and refused to look him in the eye. “But you did it and made it through. Baritone had a point: it gets easier. But you just focused on the negative and don’t focus on the fact that you did it . And if you go up there again, it will be easier. And you will do better and make less mistakes.”
“But what if they’re worse mistakes than before?”
“Those thoughts plague everyone who tries something new. But you learn from it. You go back and do it again and take note of what you could do better.”
Caramel looked back up at Big Macintosh, but kept his nose down and put his ears flat against his head.
Big Macintosh sat down underneath the damaged tree. He motioned for Caramel to come over and sit with him. Caramel did so, watching as the red pony motioned to the damage Caramel had done to the tree.
“Do you remember what happened when you came and started workin’ for us five years ago?” Big Macintosh asked. “You’d buck a few times, and I’d say a good seventy percent of the time they’d turn out like this. Do you know what your average is now?”
Caramel shook his head, wondering where Big Macintosh was going with this.
“Just about once a week. Thinkin’ along the lines of thirty trees an hour and four hours buckin’ trees, five days a week? That means you do a dent like this once every six hundred trees. But that’s quite a lot less than when you started. Because we taught you, and you learned. You became better, and every time you bucked the trees, it became a little easier.”
Caramel thought back. Yes, he had done rather poorly at start. But Big Macintosh and Applejack had helped him out, and while he wasn’t as good as Applejack or as strong as Big Macintosh, he was doing a lot better compared to how he started out. He looked from Big Macintosh, to the dent, then back to Big Macintosh.
“If you want proof that you did good up there and it’s not just me sayin’ it as a friend,” Big Macintosh continued, “ask Thunderlane. You’ve met him... what, once, maybe twice before that evenin’? And yet he came up and said it was good? And a friend of his wanted to compliment you as well? Certainly the fact that you affected ponies like that even at one reading must mean somethin’ went right.”
“Thunderlane’s just being polite because he found out I knew you,” Caramel said. “Not that he’s afraid of you; he respects you like I do.”
“Then realize that I’m tryin’ to give you a compliment, and so was he,” Big Macintosh said. “And not only that, I think you started good but could do better. You have potential, Caramel, but you need to be willin’ to follow through.”
Caramel’s ears straightened, but he did not look straight at Big Macintosh.
“Just somethin’ to keep in mind.” Big Macintosh sat up. “Come on; we still have a few trees to do before the end of the day. We’ll do it together, alright?”
Caramel nodded, got up, and followed Big Macintosh over to the next tree.
* * *
A few days later, Caramel finally got around to sweeping up the broken shards of glass from the middle of his room. He was surprised that he hadn’t stepped on one of them, as they’d been on his floor for a little over two weeks by now. He gently set a dust pan on the floor and used his mouth to hold a broom, gently sweeping and moving the dust pan with a hoof whenever he needed to readjust or a glass shard seemed rather resilient to leave the carpet.
It was the first day off from work Caramel had in a while. Sweet Apple Acres was particularly busy around harvest season and Caramel was often called out for odd jobs around the farm, from filling the water silo to watering the grounds to managing for weeds to helping repair and graft broken branches. With the majority of the work finally finished and a break until the next weeding and watering, Caramel was given the day off, and was spending the day doing housework.
At nine o’clock, Caramel had woken up and had his usual breakfast of toast and coffee. He finished his breakfast and washed the dishes while listening to the end of the Coffee Hour, which teased a new album coming out by Revenant Wings sometime in the next few months. He’d done a bit of dusting and sweeping in his main room while watching the news and had finally remembered to sweep up the mess in his room.
He had other things he needed to do. He needed to pay some bills and balance his bank account, and he needed to see if Rarity couldn’t repair his saddlebags; one of the straps was frayed and looked like it might tear any moment.
The last of the glass shards picked up, Caramel gently lifted the dust pan and carefully carried it to the kitchen and dumped it into the trash. He put the rest of the frame, which was irreversibly damaged, into the trash with the glass and went back to his room.
The picture of him and Roseluck was still on the floor. On the surface, they looked happy. Roseluck had been, but there were signs of the nervousness that were already coming back; Caramel wasn’t smiling as wide as Roseluck was, and his eyes weren’t as bright.
Caramel gingerly placed the picture next to the brown leather notebook of poetry on his desk before heading back to the kitchen.
From a drawer in the kitchen, Caramel took out his bills and began sorting through them. He picked up a pencil and started looking over various receipts and bills for electricity, water, gas, and his rent – which wasn’t due for another week, but he liked to have it around when balancing to see how much was left when it was paid.
Caramel went through his receipts and carefully balanced his checkbook without incident and reasoned he had enough to pay the bills, and with his weekly check from Sweet Apple Acres due in two days he’d even have a little extra. But as it reached about eleven thirty Caramel began to get restless without clear reason why. He went to go write checks to pay the smaller bills and found himself losing focus and just seeing rows of numbers without real meaning. After a few minutes trying to read through the water bill, Caramel pushed it aside and slammed his head into the table.
What was he doing? Not in the sense of forgetting what task he was in the middle of, but what was he doing with his life? Caramel pondered this over. He recently broke up with his marefriend, hid away after embarrassing himself, and was constantly beating himself up over little things. Something wasn’t right, and even he knew that.
But... what to do?
Caramel decided there was something small he could do. He could go out for a little bit. There was a fresh fruit market and artist’s meet going on by town hall he could walk around. He could pick up some cookies or some donuts over at Sugarcube Corner.
He wanted attention. Not a lot, just some simple interaction. Buy something, participate in some small talk, and move on. The excuse of needing fresh vegetables and hay bacon for dinner was enough to convince him to go out.
...after the bills.
Caramel focused on doing his bills with renewed energy and finished them quickly. Once he’d written checks and put them into envelopes, he gathered his saddlebags, put the mail in them, and headed out the door.
He got to the post office and realized he needed to buy stamps to send the bills. He went to the first available cashier – a beige pegasus with a shock of a red mane, wearing a blue uniform – and deposited the letters on the counter.
“I want to mail these letters,” Caramel said. “But I also need stamps for them.”
“I can do that for you,” the beige pegasus said. “Let’s see... three letters, all government institutions, plus stamps... five bits for the lot.”
Caramel dug out his bit-bag and began counting out five bits. He set them on the counter and looked up to make sure he was good and his payment was accepted. But when he looked up, the beige pegasus now had a curious look about him and was staring at Caramel as though he recognized him from somewhere.
“...weren’t you at the Salt Lick Tavern not long ago?” the pegasus asked.
Caramel opened his mouth, then froze. A vague remembrance came back into his mind of a similar looking pegasus sitting at a table where Thunderlane had motioned to. This pegasus had seen him read his poetry.
“Yeah,” the pegasus said when Caramel had not said or done anything for a while. “You’re the one who went up and read that poem. I thought it was pretty cool.”
“Th-Thanks,” Caramel said. He was about to say he didn’t think he did that good, but remembered what Big Macintosh said. “...I don’t do it very often.”
“You should!” The pegasus cheerfully collected the bits and took the letters. “We’ll add the stamps and send them out sometime tomorrow. Thank you, and you should go up there more.”
Caramel mumbled his thanks and left.
In one errand, all his previous resolve dried up. He didn’t want to mill around the market or go to Sugarcube Corner, even if he wanted some fresh vegetables or donuts. He walked slowly home, keeping his head down and hoping no one else recognized him.
But his stomach rumbled and reminded him it was nearly lunchtime. Caramel looked around to see if there was a decent place to eat on the way home and saw that Coffee and Cream, the little coffee shop, was open. At first he denied going in there because coffee was hot and it was warm outside, but he realized they sold iced coffee and decided one coffee wouldn’t hurt.
There was hardly anyone in there except for the barista. Caramel wondered if everyone was out or the place didn’t do that good of business. He went in quietly and went back up to the barista, Coffee Cream, who smiled at him as he approached the counter.
“Welcome back!” he said, apparently remembering Caramel from two weeks ago. “What can I get you?”
Caramel looked at the menu above the counter. A few simple sandwiches were available. And they had a meal deal with a small salad and a couple of cookies plus any drink. Caramel decided the low-profile place and the somewhat reasonable price were worth it.
“I’ll take a peanut butter and dual-jelly sandwich on whole-grain wheat with a fruit salad, chocolate chip cookies, and a mocha iced coffee,” Caramel ordered. “For here.”
Coffee Cream rang up the order and Caramel shoved his bits across the counter. Coffee Cream gave him the card with the red number and Caramel went to sit down at the empty counter, his back towards the large windows that looked out on the street. He looked around the counter and thought about ordering a small glass of water.
Coffee Cream came out with his order and set it down. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Can I get a glass of water?”
“Sure.” Coffee Cream pulled out a small plastic cup and brought it over to a space on the prep counter behind the register. He shoveled out a bit of ice in the bottom of the cup before pouring clean water from a tap into the glass and bringing it over as Caramel started to dig out his bits. “Oh, you don’t need to pay for that,” Coffee Cream said. “Water’s free.”
“Oh,” Caramel replied. “Oh, well, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Just curious, how did you hear of us?”
“I just...” Caramel shrugged his shoulders. “I pass by it every day. It’s on my way to Sweet Apple Acres. I’d been meaning to come in for a while.”
As Caramel talked, Coffee Cream had gone over and gotten out a clean washcloth and rinsed it down. He wrung it out as best as he could before coming over and wiping down the counter by Caramel. When Caramel was finished speaking, he nodded. “We’ve only been here a few months; I was on almost right when they opened. I’m trying to get money for community college in Canterlot.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Pharmacy technician,” Coffee Cream answered. “Far cry from being a barista, but I need the work.” He shrugged and went off as a small group of ponies came in, leaving Caramel alone.
Caramel ate in peace while Coffee Cream attended to the other group of ponies. The mocha iced coffee was nice and lightly sweet, the sandwich was a pleasing combination of seedless strawberry and pomegranate jelly with a honey-flavored peanut butter, and the fruit was fresh. He decided to save the cookies for later, as they already came in a bag.
The food was good and Caramel carefully folded the bag with the cookies and placed them in his saddlebags. He threw his trash away before going over to the counter and placing a couple of bits in a tip jar and headed out the door.
He was stopped by another small group trying to come into the coffee shop. At the head was Thunderlane, followed by a lavender-tinted grey unicorn, a purple pegasus with a mint-green mane, and a beige pegasus with a shock of a red mane.
“Whoa,” Caramel said. “Déjà vu.”
It took a second for Thunderlane to recognize Caramel, but a playful grin broke out across his face when he did. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, “I’d think this meeting was rather serendipitous.”
Caramel didn’t know why, but he was surprised hearing the larger word out of the rather fit and handsome pegasus. ...wait, what? Where did that come from? “It’s an accident, I assure you,” Caramel replied.
“Accident or no, would you like to join us for a little bit?” Thunderlane asked. “We were just about to have lunch.”
“I just finished lunch myself,” Caramel said. “I was thinking about going to the market and picking up some fresh fruit anyways and want to go while it’ll be relatively empty.”
“That’s fine,” Thunderlane said. He politely moved out of the way, and his group of friends followed suit. “See you around, Caramel!”
Caramel mumbled his thanks and walked off back home. He had barely cleared the corner when he suddenly stopped in his tracks, remembering again what Big Macintosh had said. Suddenly, he felt like he’d been rather rude to the pegaus; he’d simply come up and complimented Caramel, while Caramel froze, mumbled a few dismissives, and excused himself before he’d given much of an explanation. It wasn’t exactly right to treat the pegasus that way.
Caramel turned around. He looked inside Coffee and Cream and saw Thunderlane and his friends sitting at a table, talking and laughing with one another. They must have already ordered and were waiting for their food.
Caramel sighed and braced himself. He took a few breaths to calm his nerves, then slowly walked back down the street and into the coffee shop.
His first stop was the counter. Coffee Cream looked at him curiously.
“...can I get a glass of water?” Caramel asked.
Coffee Cream smiled politely and nodded, pulling out another plastic cup and filling it with ice water. Caramel gave him a bit – which Coffee Cream immediately put in the tip jar – and took the glass of water. He took a large gulp of it to calm himself again, then walked over to where Thunderlane and his friends were sitting.
The first to notice him was the purple pegasus with the mint green mane. He tapped on Thunderlane’s shoulder and pointed to Caramel approaching them, and Thunderlane turned around with a polite smile.
“...d-do you mind if I sit with you?” Caramel asked.
“I’m sure we’ve got room.”
Thunderlane and the others scooted their chairs around so they were a little closer together, leaving Caramel an open spot between Thunderlane and the purple pegasus. Caramel hooked a hoof around a nearby chair and pulled it to the open spot and sat down with his glass of water, taking out the cookies he had been saving from his saddlebags.
“This is Caramel, everyone,” Thunderlane said politely.
Each of the ponies around the table offered a greeting. Caramel meekly waved back to them.
Thunderlane pointed to each one in turn. “The purple one’s Slapshot, the beige one’s Care Package, and the greyish one’s Written Script.”
“You were the one who read the poetry at open mic night, weren’t you?” Written Script said. “I wanted to applaud you for that myself, but I’d gone off to get us a round of drinks.”
Which explains why I didn’t see you that night, Caramel thought. “Um... thanks. Actually, if you don’t mind, I wanted to talk to you about that, Thunderlane.”
“Of course,” Thunderlane said. “What about it?”
“I just wanted to apologize,” Caramel said. “I was a little shy and maybe even a little rude, and left rather quickly and dismissed your compliments. I just wanted to say I was sorry for brushing you off like that and I wanted to say thank you.”
Thunderlane wrapped a hoof around Caramel’s shoulders. “Don’t get too worked up over it,” he said. “You were nervous and seemed to have had a few drinks. I don’t blame you for that at all.”
Caramel managed a smile. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, you did really good!” Slapshot said. “I don’t even think I’ve heard of a decent poem coming out of Written Script that fast.”
“I mostly focus on short stories,” Written Script said. “Poetry isn’t my thing. I like fiction better.”
“Do you have any more poems like that?” Thunderlane asked Caramel.
“Not with me,” Caramel said. “I have a few that are in a brown leather notebook I have back at home.”
“How many have you written?” Care Package asked.
“About twenty in the last two years,” Caramel replied. “Some could probably use some polishing, though. It’s just a small hobby. I have an idea, I write it down.”
“You could pair up with an artist and have a small poetry book in a few years,” Written Script said. “Those tend to sell rather well.”
“Have you ever read any in front of an audience before the night at the Tavern?” Slapshot asked.
“No. I... I never really had the guts or the nerves for it,” Caramel replied.
“You could do it,” Thunderlane said. “You did pretty well up there. You said you were nervous? I could see that, but you got over it and did it. That was actually kind of awesome.”
“R-Really?” Caramel said.
“Yeah,” Thunderlane said. “It was.”
Caramel found that his smile had not gone away. In fact, it only seemed to grow.