Mirrors, Truths, And Tea-Parties

The next morning started out with the beeping of an alarm clock—a different beeping than usual. I opened my eyes to look up at the purple ceiling; that was different from usual, too. I looked down at the bedsheets; they weren’t usual, either.

I reached my hoof out and turned off the alarm on the bedside table. I slid out from under the bedsheets, hooves plopping on the cork with a dull thud, a shiver of pain running up one of the front limbs. Taking a long look around, I recalled the night from before.

This was Tornado Bolt’s room. I had stayed the night, slept in Tornado’s bed, without my Mom’s permission.

I bolted down the stairs. If I still had the time, maybe I could visit home for a bit, just to ensure her that I was okay. She was probably worried sick about me.

When I reached the bottom step, the first thing I noticed was the smell of pancakes. Somepony was already up, making breakfast. The second thing I noticed was that I was directly behind the cash register.

The house was probably not soundproofed whatsoever because I could hear Lyra talking upstairs—though, her voice was a little muffled. “Hey, Tori, it’s time to get up!”

“But I don’t wanna!” Tornado groaned.

“Yeah, me neither. Think we can get away with sleeping in another hour?”

“Absolutely not!” I heard Bon-Bon shout from the kitchen. “You two are unbelievable!”

“Aww! C’mon, Ma!”

“But Bonnie!”

Bon-Bon giggled. “Come on, you two! You’ll miss breakfast!”

“Don’t care! Sleep’s more important!” Tornado said.

I grinned. Tornado had a very active family, apparently. That didn’t surprise me, though. Her mom was called Looney-Lyra, after all.

Bon-Bon stepped out into the store, a plate of pancakes on her hoof. I’m not sure how she had developed the strength or balancing skills to do that, but it was pretty impressive. “I made pancakes!” she sung.

“Never mind! I’m getting up! I’m getting up!”

After laying the plate down on a circular table, she turned to look at me and smiled. “Good morning, Snailsquirm! Did you sleep well?”

Extending my magical field from my horn, I kneaded my eyelids and yawned. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry for staying on such short notice.”

“Oh, it’s fine! I called Carrot Top last night. She’s alright with it.” She chuckled quietly. “She’s just glad to know you’re safe.”

“Oh, thank you,” I exhaled. Looks like I wouldn’t have to run home after all.

“Oh, and since you’re here, do you want to have breakfast with us?” she asked. “I’m sure Tornado would be thrilled by that.”

“Uh…I don’t wanna be a burden or anything…”

She waved my hesitation away with a hoof. “Oh, nonsense! Here, why don’t you sit down? I’ll get the rest of the plates.”

“Well…okay, then,” I acquiesced and sat down in one of the seats. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Still smiling, she strode back into the kitchen, leaving me to my own devices.

Soon, startlingly quickly, Tornado and Lyra came bursting down the stairs. Panting, they both sat down at the table, Lyra to my right and Tornado across from me.

They were both tapping their hooves together underneath the tabletop; I could tell because of the light click-clacking noises they were making. I noticed that Lyra had started first, implied by the movement of her shoulders, and wondered if it was some kind of inherited impulse shared from mother to daughter.

Speaking of Tornado, she, ruffled mane, tail, and all, bowed her head at me and said, “Hey, Snails, how’re you doing?”

I shrugged. I didn’t have much to say, and the little that I did have to say I didn’t want to, and wouldn’t express. “Fine, I guess.” I stopped, considering that there might be more nuance to that question. “Why?”

“Well, it’s just that you were acting really weird last night.”

Lyra gave me a questioning look as if to silently ask ‘what’s she talking about?’ She didn’t say anything, though.

“You were crying in the bathroom and you said something about mirrors and drawings and dresses, and you were pleading for something but I couldn’t understand much of what you were saying. It’s obvious that something’s wrong.”

“Sorry about that.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m just curious.”

I’m not sure just what brought me to do it—maybe it was what happened last night—but I decided I would tell her. “…Alright, I’ll talk about it, later…alone. Meet me at the maple tree after school.”

She beamed. “Sounds like a plan to me!”

Bon-Bon tapped back into the room with plates and silverware. “So, what’d I miss?”

Oh, nothing much—just the beginning of the end of my life.

⁂

The school day went by really quickly.

I remember, in Elementary Magic, Tornado and Sparkler’s discussion about chase-discord and the applications of its essence to unbalanced magical wells. I hardly understood anything that the two had said; they were going far too fast for me to follow.

I wish that I could think at a normal pony’s pace; is that so much to ask for?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Classical Mechanics went almost the same as it did on Monday with the exception that I didn’t make any new lunch-pals. Tornado and I sat at the back of the classroom while Dinky was at the front, talking more about Lagrangians and Hamiltonians and derivatives. It had been just as confusing as the last time, so I had just doodled until the end of the period.

Everypony, in both classes, of course, just nodded, an indicator of their understanding, which made me nervous because, quite frankly, if they could understand it and I couldn’t then I’d just look absolutely stupid during the exams.

I don’t like it when ponies call me slow or stupid. Yeah, I know I’ve called myself stupid and slow before, but I don’t like it any more because of that. I just don’t like the idea of having either of those qualities. I also don’t like the idea of the general public having that perception of me, but it’s already too late to fix that now.

Sorry, I’m getting off topic. I do that sometimes.

Anyways, with the first two periods out of the way, in came lunch break with Dinky and Tornado.

Today, we were all pretty quiet. Dinky had asked something that was a little unsettling, which pretty much killed all conversation soon after. Needless to say, it was completely unexpected, and I was anything but prepared for it.

“Snails, I know you lied about your drawings, and the mirror. Why?”

I stared at her dumbly. “Uh…—“

“It’s personal, Dinky,” Tornado interjected. I had to thank her later. How did she know that the drawings were personal, too, though?

Oh, right…last night.

“But he—!”

“Dinky,”—she frowned—“he’ll open up when he wants to.”

Dinky crossed her front hooves and, defeated, she huffed, “Fine.”

“…Sorry, Dinky,” I mumbled.

She just glared at me as if to say ‘this isn’t over yet.’

We finished our lunches in silence and headed to our third-period class.

⁂

Nothing much had happened during third period today. There was one particular thing that really interested me, though: Diamond Tiara and the Cutie-Mark Crusaders were being very talkative with each other about something, and they were blatantly excited about it, too. That was somewhat surprising to see, considering that Diamond Tiara and her friend, Silver Spoon, had aggressively bullied the Crusaders in elementary school, poking fun at their ‘blank flanks’ as if they had some kind of disease. They were pretty ruthless to them, shoving them into mud ponds, framing them to look like they were passing notes in class, and, apparently, they had even forced them out of their own treehouse and then chased them around town. It was so bad that the Crusaders had even written their own song about it: Bad Seed.

Their excessive talking, of course, had frustrated the teacher—the previous Ponyville mayor, Miss Mare—a bright-hazel-coated, blue-eyed, grey-maned pony with an image of a scroll on her flanks, a frilly green ascot hanging from her neck, and a pair of brass-framed glasses resting on her muzzle.

She had a certain venom in her voice when she said, “Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, Diamond Tiara, I’d like to talk to all of you after class, today. Until then, please stay on topic.”

I hoped that she would never see me zoning out in class as I usually did.

During the period, I decided to think over what I’d say later today. Luckily, she didn’t notice.

I didn’t have a set plan, or anything, but I’d rather go in with at least a little bit of an idea of what the conversation would be like—then I wouldn’t panic and say something I’d probably regret later on in the future.

I looked down at my saddlebag. I could start with those, maybe. It’s worth a shot, I suppose.

No.

Maybe the mirrors would be a good starting point?

No. …Ugh.

The first, though…maybe that’d work.

Yeah, that’d work. I’m sure of it. I mean, it’d be a good starting point because it is the starting point.

I found it funny that this all started with a mirror in elementary school. I found it even funnier that I had managed to remember that years and years afterwards. I only have an average memory, so it’s a little weird, at the least. I suppose not everything has to make sense. I mean, nothing makes sense now, so why should it ever?

Yeah, the first mirror would work. Then I could drag in everything else.

Everything would be fine, I told myself. Everything would be fine.

⁂

It was time.

The school day had ended and I had slowly made my way to the maple tree.

The entire time, I had been shaking. I begged for it to stop, but it wouldn’t, which only made me even more anxious than I already was. Here I was, progressing towards a tree, about to confess my insanity to a pony I had just barely met. I wondered how she would react.

I had to remind myself that she was a kind pony. I told myself that she’d probably accept me; she didn’t seem like one who’d intensely judge someone—but looks and first impressions can be very deceiving. Even the kindest of ponies are capable of feeling anger and disgust.

Maybe she’d run away?

Maybe she’d make fun of me.

Maybe…she’d punch me.

Under the maple, it was cold—but not the usual, dynamic kind of cold one experiences when outside in autumn without a coat; it was a stagnant kind of cold: fear.

Shivering, I told myself not to surrender to it—to think happy thoughts—but my stomach twisted regardless. I thought of running far, far away, but…it was too late for that; Tornado Bolt’s mane had already appeared at the edge of the hill, followed by the rest of her soon after.

She was here.

“Hey, Snails,” Tornado said. She quickly noticed my twitching, trembling, and hoof biting and my messy mane and standing-on-end fur and winced. “Um…are you alright? You look like a mess.”

I nodded violently. I didn’t need her worrying about me; things like that only made me feel bad. “Y-yeah! I’m fine! Don’t worry about me!” Then, I realized that I was lying and shook my head. She wanted honesty, and it would make me feel even guiltier for not giving her at least that. “N-no, actually; I’m really…really scared.”

She tilted her head. “You’re…scared? Of what?”

“I…I’m sorry. I’m just scared, I guess.” I poked the ground with my bandaged hoof and circled it in the dripping grass; the pain was kind of calming. “L-look…just…p-please…promise you won’t talk with anyone about what I’m about to say. It-it’s embarrassing and…really personal.”

She nodded aggressively. “Cross my heart and hope to fly”—with her right hoof, she drew an invisible cross over her heart. She then lifted what seemed to be an imaginary cupcake and jammed it into her open eye—“stick a cupcake in my eye. I won’t tell anypony; I Pinkie Pie swear.”

I sighed, an awkward smile on my face. “A-alright…thanks, Tornado. It means a lot.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal.”

“N-no…it’s a huge deal to me. This’s the first time I’m telling anypony about this stuff, ever.”

She grinned, though in a much calmer manner than usual. “Snails, saying it’s no big deal is my way of saying you’re welcome.”

Well, this was awkward. “Oh…uh…alright. …Sorry.”

She shook her head, seemingly amused with me. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I figured it might be a good time, if any, to finally talk about what we came here to talk about—“Uh…well…anyways…so…uh…”—but I couldn’t find the right words.

Ugh.

Tornado reached into her saddlebag, pulled out the blanket from before, and laid it out on the ground before sitting on it. “Something tells me we’re gonna be here for a while.”

I sat across from her. “…Y-yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Snails; I don’t mind it. Take your time.”

For the next five minutes, we just sat there as I thought of a good way to talk about this, but I really couldn’t. I knew that I wanted to start with that first mirror but I wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it.

For some reason, the fear returned, my heart pounding, and I choked on its intensity. “I-I’m sorry. I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

Tornado’s face fell towards the ground. “…Oh.”

I really wanted to punch myself—with my bad hoof. I felt like an idiot.

⁂

I’m not sure why I couldn’t say what I wanted—what I needed to say. Actually, that’s wrong; I knew precisely why: I was afraid. The reason I was afraid that much, though, was a complete mystery to me. Regardless, I had a solution in mind.

Slamming the door behind me, I darted through the kitchen, past my mother—she seemed disappointed by that—then upstairs, flying straight into my bedroom, sliding into the chair at my desk. I aggressively pulled open a cabinet, grabbed a pen and a stack of blank lined papers, pushed the pen down, and, rushing, I wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and continued to write even after my horn started aching from over-exertion.

The finished product was not easily readable. My hornwriting was unusually large and messy—as if it was from a crazy pony—and it grew more and more unsteady over time. Occasionally, my pen slipped out of my magical grasp and fell to the table, leaving behind long, unintentional streaks of ink across the paper; I wrote as if they weren’t there at all.

When it was done, it was nine-pages-long and double-sided, yet I didn’t feel as if I had been excessive with my words. Regardless, I decided to refine it—to shorten my sentences and remove any unneeded information. After another two hours or so, I had rewritten it, reducing it to five pages and replacing the large chicken-scratch with smaller, more legible print.

I smiled. I had to thank the creators of written language sometime. Ink and paper would never betray me, even when my mouth does.

Reaching into another drawer, I pulled out a stapler and used it to bind the papers together, then, after putting the stapler away, rolled them up and put them in my saddlebag.

Apparently almost ready to go, I moved over to my bedroom window and pulled open the curtains and sighed. The first thing that I noticed was that it was currently nightfall. The second thing I noticed was that apparently the pitter-pattering noises were not imagined; it was raining outside—and by raining, I mean pouring. Not only would I have to use a light spell with an already tired horn, I would also have to hold an umbrella overhead—with the same tired horn—at the same time.

I made my way back downstairs and to the front door, lifting an unopened umbrella from my saddlebag and stepping outside. Opening the umbrella and igniting my horn, I began my ice-cold walk to Bon-Bon’s Confectionary.

⁂

When I finally arrived at the Confectionary, it was around seven o’clock P.M. By then, Bon-Bon had already closed up shop for the night. I wasn’t there to buy any treats, though; it didn’t bother me all that much though, even if some more licorice would’ve been a nice bonus to the visit. They would probably answer the door regardless, which was more than good enough for me.

I’m not sure why I wasn’t quaking as I had been before; maybe I was just too worn out for any more of that. Maybe it was because I just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Don’t get me wrong; I was definitely uneasy but not enough for me to grind my teeth or chew my hoof, and certainly not enough to shake like that—at least, not out of anxiousness or fear. Instead, I was shivering because I had been mindless enough to not bring a coat to protect me from the frigidness of the rain-cooled, nighttime air.

I lifted my un-bandaged hoof and knocked on the door. I didn’t get any response the first time, so I did it again.

“One sec!” I heard Bon-Bon say. Just a moment later, the door inched open and a cream-colored muzzle popped through the crack, accompanied by the face and head of the confectioner, and then the rest of her body. “Oh, hi, Snails. How’re you?”

My horn lit up and pulled the papers out of my saddlebag, levitating them in front of me. “I’m fine. Can I talk to Tornado? I have something I need to give her.”

“Sure. One minute.” She turned around, lifted her hooves to her muzzle, and shouted, “Tori! Your friend’s here!”

“Who is it?!”

“It’s Snails! He wants to give you something!”

After some thumping noises, presumably from her hooves hitting the carpeted stairs, Tornado joined us at the doorway. Her work now done, Bon-Bon trailed back into the house, leaving the two of us alone at the doorway.

“Hey, Snails! What’s up? You said you had something to give to me?”

“Yeah.” My horn lit up and pulled the rolled-up packet of papers out of my saddlebag and floated it over to her. “Sorry about earlier.”

She grabbed it with a hoof and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I understand you’re not ready to talk about it yet.” She tucked the papers away underneath one of her wings. “So, what’s this all about?” she asked.

“It’s…what I meant to say earlier. I wrote it down for you.”

“…You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know.”

⁂

I became very well acquainted with my bedroom ceiling over the last couple of hours. I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t sleep at all. Sure, my eyes burned, and sure, my muscles ached, and my brain was tired, but I just couldn’t close my eyes, I couldn’t go thoughtless, and I couldn’t stop moving.

Every couple of moments, I’d roll underneath the covers of my bed into a different position. One moment, I’d be sleeping on my stomach, and then I’d shift to rest on my sides, and then on my back, and then back on my stomach and on my sides.

If you’ve ever been sleepless before, you’d know that there’s a huge urge to get out of bed and do something. It’s like a tickling in the back of my brain saying ‘C’mon, Snailsquirm, do something with your life!’ Yeah, that little jerk of an urge was currently throwing a temper tantrum in there, screaming ‘I want it!’ and throwing rocks at the wall and all of that.

I climbed out of bed and over to my desk. I had already written enough before—enough so that my horn hurt—but I still wanted to do more and more. Of course, I was an idiot, so I bought into that desire and brought pen to paper once again.

“Entry 1: Monday,” I began.

⁂

I awoke to the very unwelcomed screeching of an alarm clock. I lifted my torso off of the mattress and silenced the alarm with a hoof.

I felt terrible—even worse than before. There was a constant pounding in my head which got significantly worse when my eyes were opened; my muscles, I swear, had a complete opposition towards obeying me, and burned like mad whenever I tried moving them; my nostrils were full of snot, which ran down my throat, absolutely coating it, causing it to itch.

It was too hot underneath the bedsheets, so I pulled them down and off of me; I was surprised that I wasn’t already in a heat stroke.

I turned my head to look at my still-broken mirror and, with a hoarse voice, I groaned. I looked like crap; my mane and fur coat were messy, gleaming with droplets of sweat, and there were visible bags underneath my eyes.

Unsteadily, I raised a hoof. I tried to stabilize it, but that only made it shake more. I sighed.

I felt a ticking sensation in my nose and a raised my front leg up to cover my face and catch my sneeze, which resulted in a layer of mucous covering my elbow. It was gross. I rubbed it off onto the bedsheets.

I lay back down on the mattress.

After a long period of staring into space (in a very not-so-literal manner), I heard my door creak open and Mom step inside. In her hoof was a small loop of rope attached to a small glass of water. “Morning, Snails. Not going to—Oh…Dear, you look really…really bad.” She made her way to my bed and, after setting the glass cup on the bedside table next to a half-empty bottle of pills, placed a hoof on my forehead. “You’re burning up!”

I coughed freshly produced phlegm into my leg and croaked, “Y-yeah. Sorry, Mom, but I don’t think I’ll be able to go to school today.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Anything you need me to get you?”

“Could you get me something to eat? I’m pretty hungry. Oh, and…some aspirin.”

Smiling, she nodded. “Sure. Anything in particular?”

“No, not really. Thanks, Mom.”

“Mhmm!” She left the room, presumably to make breakfast.

I looked back at the bedside table, the bottle of pills, and the glass of water. Regardless of whether or not I was going to school today, it was still a good idea to keep a solid routine, so I sat up and unscrewed the bottle’s lid with a magical field, raised a pink pill-capsule to my mouth, and gulped it down with some water.

⁂

The rest of the morning was very, very slow for me. Mom brought me a couple books to read, but I had a hard time focusing, so I primarily just looked at the ceiling some more, instead. Ceilings are usually not very exciting things to watch—especially colorless ones—so I was about as interested as I would be while seeing paint dry.

The evening was a different story, though.

Around four o’clock P.M., I heard a rapping of hooves against wood from downstairs, and then the opening of a door. I heard a familiar, but muffled voice ask Mom something. Mom gave her own, not easy-to-understand response, and then the door shut. Soon after, I heard the sounds of hooves against wood, tile, wood again, and then carpet, followed by the turning of a doorknob.

It was Tornado Bolt. She had a small cardboard box tucked underneath a wing and a cozy-looking magenta scarf wrapped around her neck.

Standing next to the bed, her hooves were shifting underneath her as if she was continuously failing to find a good resting stance. She raised a leg to scratch her other’s cannon, her eyes darting around the room before focusing on me again. Grinning awkwardly, she said, “Hey, Snails. I heard you’re sick.”

“…Mhmm.”

We both went silent.

What was she doing here? After everything I told her, she ought to be at least a little freaked out, right? Also, why did she have a small cardboard box tucked underneath one of her wings?

Tornado glanced around some more and scratched her neck. “So…I read it. …I—” she exhaled “Here; I brought you something.” Lifting her wing, she put the box down next to me and stared at me with a small, sheepish smile.

I looked at her with a questioning expression. What was in the box and why was she giving it to me? Why did she come to visit me if she had clearly read it? She couldn’t want to be my friend still, now that she knows how messed up I am, right? I’m just a slow-minded colt who hates his reflection, fails at school, stares at other ponies’ clothes, and lies compulsively.

“Go ahead; open it.”

Hesitantly, I nodded and slowly peeled off the masking tape that had previously kept the box from opening by itself. I peeked inside, greeted with the sight of a blue, rippled surface: fabric. I lifted it out of the container and internally gasped. It was a dress—that dress—the dress from before—the one I was staring at earlier.

Its design was simple. I don’t really have many words to describe it but what I can say is that it was two-toned, covered in pictures of navy-blue flowers jumping off of a light azure background.

“I—I…don’t understand.”

“I’m giving it to you.”

“…Why?”

“I think you’d put it to better use than I would. It just kinda sits around; it doesn’t really go with my mane and coat that well, so I don’t wear it all that often.”

“I—uh—uh—I don’t—uh—” I shook my head. “I don’t get it. Why are you giving this to me?”

“We’re friends, right?”

We kind of were. I didn’t know her that well but I trusted her enough to at least tell her about this stuff. Not even Snips had heard about this yet.

“Mhmm.”

“And you wanted to try it on, right?”

I nodded.

She grinned. “Well, now you can!”

I stared at the dress for a moment, just drinking in the situation.

When I had written the letter yesterday, I was scared because I hadn’t expected Tornado to react with kindness; I had expected her to shun me—to stop talking to me altogether. After all, who wants a mess? In that moment, though, as I held the dress high with a field of my magic wrapped around its neckline, I recognized that my fear had been nothing but silly; Tornado didn’t seem to be that kind of pony. If she didn’t judge me for liking tea parties, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t judge me about all of this other stuff either.

Everything would be fine.

My lips pulled up into a calm smile. I put down the dress and reached out with my hooves, wrapping her in a hug.

She squirmed, obviously uncomfortable from the gesture. “Eww, sick hugs!”

I let go of her. “Uh…sorry about that.”

“What was that all about, anyways?”

“Nothing. Sorry.”

She blinked. “Uh…alright then.”

There was a brief period of time in which neither of us said anything after that. We just awkwardly stared at each other. I didn’t have much to say to her except one—something important and brief. “…Hey, Tornado Bolt?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She cocked her head sideways, towards one of her shoulders. “What for?”

“Thanks for hanging out with me and listening to me and not freaking out and…stuff.”

She waved my words away with a flick of a hoof. “It’s no big deal. That’s what friends are for, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for being my friend.”

Maybe it was because I hadn’t had many friends other than Snips before, or maybe it was because I finally had someone that I could talk to, but it felt really good to be able say that to someone other than Snips for once in my life. I finally had another friend.

Tornado gave me an insincere grin of sorts. There was a tiny bit of empathetic sadness behind her eyes that I could tell she was desperately trying to mask but couldn’t completely.

“Right…so…I’ll just go.”

“Mm. Okay. Thanks, Tornado.”

“…You’re welcome.”