Phantom Love

Fresh air. Breathe in. Breathe out. I'm fine. You're not.

I just need to talk to Big Mac, air this out. You're using him as a distraction.

Just a few moments to breathe. You're thinking too much.

Breathe.

It had only been a sliver of time. Standing outside the door of The Boutique, and my hands are shivering. My body is trembling as I take the next step towards the orchard. Doing what I said, doing what you thought I would do. To get away from you, for now.

I breathe deeply, shaking through the clouds of my inner mind, trying to find the sun that shines brightly on this cloudless Spring day. I shift my focus to the path in front of me, the first reach of many. Step by step on this ground I walk, a brown path that weaves in and around the stalwart trees of the Apple Farmstead.

I have been here before, once, with you in tow. But now, being alone, walking through the forest of trees, setting a distance between me, and her and you sets us apart for what seems to be an eternity. A lovesick puppy left astray, to get this damned sickness quelled for now.

For now.

The quaint property of the Apples reminds me of a time when I visited her farm. Her name was Veronica, or Vert, since she reminded me of the color green. No, she was not an ogre who believes onions are representatives of a mammal's layers. No, she reminded me of a new day, a new time to just jump out and be free together. She and I ran through the cornfields that encompasses the majority of her property. There was a dirt track that she and I used to ride on, since she was a tomboy that loved dirt-biking, but the best memories was made sitting under the big ol' Oak tree. Our first kiss, and our first time—under a tree. Au naturel, mon amour et moi. In the eyes of the beholder, a giant orb in the sky shining the last moments of creation, wrapped in a promise to stay there, hold her, love her, forevermore.

Yet, yanked away from reality like a feather—

"—plucked from the universe's wing, Tia."

Shivers from before flourished within me. I am sensitive to even the single touch from the gentle caress of nature's breath, gliding across the hairs of my arms and legs.

Each step feels like I'm crossing a minefield full of antique, worn S-mines, still waiting for that one unaware foot to press its button, to send that man into the sky, a direct passage to the stairway called Heaven's Reach. Soaring through the sky, arms not torn out-stretched, eyes wide to the light that keeps the distance between I and her—

"—he may never return to his home planet, sister." Downtrodden her gaze. "Once the mind is struck with a new frequency, it descends into a rather… new form of malice. Until Scott is free from what plagues him, he—"

—forever stagnant, the light so close to reach, but the storm that covers it soon after strikes me every time with a new bolt, a new shock that knocks me back to Equis, to a mesh of an Earth far removed from the current timeline of Earth itself.

My head pounds the same old tune. I hold my head momentarily as it pulses and pulses to the memories of my arrival.

"Tia, please keep him still. His body has not readjusted—!"

On my shirt, the name I hold dear falls to the ground before disintegrating into a black ash.

"Veronique…"

And mine falls in too, fusing into the mess called the past.

The sunlight beats down on me, despite it feeling formidable weather. I walk down to the giant farmstead, my body no longer quaking. My friend, Big Mac, is standing outside, hauling a basket of what I can only assume is part of the latest harvest over to the barn. I call out to him, in hopes of getting his attention. Thankfully, Big Macintosh is not a jumper, or the poor pony could've jumped right out of his own hooves. Luckily, he turns his attention to me, and with a smile, walks over to me, basket set near the porch of his family home.

"Howdy, partner," he greets me. "What brings you 'round these parts?"

I withhold a hearty laugh, only showing him a smirk. "You know I live in town, right?"

He laughs. "Eyyup, I just foolin'. Still the same question for ya, though."

Oh. "Just wanted to see if you needed any help with the harvest. Heard it's been pretty hefty work for you and AJ."

Although these two don't like to admit it, they do need some farmhands. I hear Rarity always chattering about these two hardworking ponies handling the whole orchard almost by themselves. They do sometimes ask for help, sometimes from Apple Bloom, their little sister, and from other friends, but they insist that they don't need any outside farmhands. I think the problem lies within the fact that they do not want to pay another farmhand. It's a family farm, after all. But see, back on Earth, even family businesses hired others into the lot. Sometimes they weren't even family, but yet they hung that banner on the front of the store, just to attract those folk who fancied the "locale" feel. Grocers did it mostly, attracted those who knew the family, and those who didn't want to traverse several intersections both large and small just to reach a Walmart or Jewel. Either way, they make due, sometimes extremely well. So, caving in would be nice, especially in AJ and Big Mac's case.

"Nope, not at all," he replies, before beginning to turn around.

"Why's that, might I ask?"

That gets him to pause, to stop turning around and freeze in place. He turns to face me once again and with a grunt, he adds, "Because, AJ and I can handle it—"

"Big Mac. Rarity and the rest of the girls can see right through you and AJ. Just yesterday, Rarity told me that AJ looked so tired, the rings underneath her eyes had rings underneath them. And, from what I'm seeing right now, you're starting to have the same problem."

Darker tinted fur rings around the slightly lighter rings. And there, the eyes that peer at me, asking why I'm prodding so much, asking why I'm nitpicking, asking why I care stare at me as if they cannot process immediately what they saw, what my mouth movements made. His ears twitch too, guessing they're still registering the sounds that I made, each syllable, each vocal transition, each point of emphasis.

Big Macintosh stares and then he opens his mouth. "You see right through us?"

Nodding is the only response I need here.

He sighs. "I guess ya made your point." He turns around and begins walking away. Is he leaving me here?

He motions to me with his hoof. "You comin'?"

I smile and chase after him. "Of course!"

The varmint chases the farm pony into its own habitat.

It's odd, apple collecting has cleared my mind. Partially because I have to climb the tree, since my kick is not as strong as Big Mac's buck, but maybe that's because he's a pony, and I'm some human with skinny arms and legs. Growing up, part of my own little dig was to climb trees. My friends would watch as they dared me to climb Old Jenkins's tree, who was an infamous neighbor with a bad attitude. He was that cliché grandpa, whose anger for kids climbing on his tree or stomping on his property tripled as his age increased. On this day, though, I got stuck in his tree. Climbed to the top of that tree. Old Jenkins couldn't believe it either.

Still, the process of climbing the tree is the easy part. Plucking all the apples off huge trees? I had to gage my inner ancestors and just swing over to each individual tree. First time doing it too, so I knew I would slip a couple of times. Big Mac helped me back up too, warning me that if I fell on it wrong, that back would be broken, and he would be rushing me straight to the clinic in town if that were the case. Luckily, I didn't break anything yet but man, my back is sore right now.

I walk over to the next tree and prep myself to climb it. Steady, one foot in front of the other, and dismount!

CRACKLE, SNAP!

"Umfph," I sputter between my lips as I land straight onto the ground once again, my back hitting first, pushing all the remaining air out of me. I breathe heavily, gasping for air. Big Mac, who was a few yards away from me, rushes over. His head comes into my vision, and his big ol green eyes peer down at my pitiful effort.

"Fell again?" he asks the obvious.

I nod slowly. My spine is screaming right now. "Fell right on my back."

"Eyyup," he replies, and nudges my head up. I begin to sit up, only to fall back down on that grass again. My back has quit.

"Looks like you're out for the count right now," he begins, taking a seat next to me on the ground. "Might ought to just lay there for a couple winks. You look exhausted."

I frown at the statement. It's true, I am utterly exhausted. I am not going to give up right away. Until this body says no, I keep going on with my day. That's how I've been since I was little, working at home with my pops. We would work on any project big or small. Needed a car fixed? We got you covered. Need to build a gazebo? Home Depot is having a sale on planks, and we got the nails and hammers to do it. Got a leaky pipe under your sink? No problem, just give me a couple minutes and maybe an apple to eat and I'm set. I learned everything from my pops, and I can't respect him enough.

Speaking of apples, Big Mac hands me a fresh apple from my basket. He smiles and says, "Here, might be good to give you a bite to eat, while we chat."

I take the apple rather hesitantly from his hooves. What does he want to talk about? I'll bite into the apple, but that last bit has me worried. So I bite both into my apple, and into my curiosity. "What do you want to chat about, 'Mac?"

He looks out over the expanse. In front of us is the house and the other orchards that have been plucked of their fruits. It's beautiful here. The sun behind us shines what light it can spare as it begins its descent into the background, projecting an orange hue over the landscape. I look over at Big Mac once again, and he sucks in a big breath.

"It's been a while since I had company knocking down apples from the lot," he begins. His forlorn expression has me thinking what's coming is not going to be the best. "I thought that just AJ and I could hold the fort for so long. And, seeing ya like this just reminds me of how I have been." He readjusts that yolk of his, just to show me a mark of where it once was: swollen. "I wear this thing to keep me from losing step, and yet its swellin' up like a balloon. I bet ya that I'm going to have to take off for it if I tell the clinic or what not. But, ya see, we don't got anyone to take this position right now."

I look at him, puzzled by his announcement. Why is he telling me this now?

"I think you know by now how we are since Miss Rarity told ya. Eyyup, we're stubborn, but we're stubborn for the right reasons. We want the most for each other and just to live well. We enjoy what life brings." He looks at me and points his hoof at my stomach. "And from what I saw today, you've been struggling with what life is giving." How does he know? "You been punching these trees on this last orchard. Either you're upset that the apples won't fall, or something's eatin' ya up."

I look down at the ground. He's reading me well too. What should I say in response? I'm just doing dandy. He isn't a love expert, or a psychologist. I don't think he'll help me out.

"I can't help you in what's eating ya," he continues, his eyes set on me. "But if you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. I've seen you with Miss Rarity before, and it looks like ya'll are two apples in a bushel, but anypony could put on a mask and wear it well. Besides, after today, I wouldn't mind callin' you a friend."

I smile and angle myself up. I teeth through the pain and lay up against the tree. "I wouldn't mind that either, pal." I bring my hand out to shake his hoof. At first, he looks at my hand with confusion, but, I think he remembers when I did the same to his sister, who grabbed my hand by her hooves and shook it. Maybe he'll do the same.

And surely, with his own hooves, he gives my hand a firm shake. "Glad I got do that," he says with a laugh.

I chuckle along with him. He seems like a great guy to talk to. Maybe I should at least give him a sliver of what I'm feeling.

Maybe I should tell him the truth.

No, telling him the full truth right now would be rude of me. I'll give him a short diversion. Stop prolonging the truth.

"I-I guess you're able to read me well too," I begin nervously. "I came here to really see myself through. I had to get out of the Boutique, just being around her lately has been driving me up a wall. Thought fresh air from the farm would help me clear my head."

I watch as his muzzle scrunches up momentarily like an accordion about to release a long string of notes. And yet, no notes come out. The muzzle returns to its normal state. He brings a drawn out hum to the conversation, and then opens his mouth. "Is she been rude to ya?"

I shake my head almost immediately. "No sireee. She's a wonderful loving pony who wouldn't yell back at me even if she tried."

Big Mac takes pause. Wonder what he thinks of when I say this stuff. Does he believe it?

"Hollarin' doesn't mean rudeness…" Big Mac begins, only to look at me with a slight head tilt. "Shafer?"

I shake my head oncemore. "Scott, but you're way closer than what Rainbow Dash was."

He smirks. "What did she call you?"

I chuckle. "She called me Soarin' by accident. Apparently her head was in the clouds at the time, but she wouldn't admit it." He laughs at what I assume would be the mental imagery of a blushing tomboy pegasus. "She nearly broke a wing with her Freudian slip!"

Full blown gut-busting laughter under these trees. Boy, did I need that badly.

The laughter subsides, and right away Big Mac returns full circle. "My point still stands. I only asked if she's rude, not if she has an angry tone. Is she rude?"

"Nope," I reply lamely and readjust my back on the tree. "Back's feeling better by the way."

He stares at the farm house just below us. "Don't want to rush it. Better just to take a load off."

"Alright," I say. "So?"

"Right, so if she ain't rude to ya, is she at least supportive?"

I think I know where he's prying. "Yeah, she is."

He smiles. "Then what's there to worry about? She'll be by ya side through thick and thin. Knowing her, she'll want the best for you both. So, why not just live through her, not around her?"

I take pause. The question makes sense, in retrospect. I get that she will be by my side, and she always has. I remember specifically when I was told I could never leave, Rarity was by my side, holding me close in a hug that made me begin my love for her. I could tell her all my worries and she would not laugh. She may cry with me, and sometimes she would keep me from worrying about it—she made me a model once. I about died. She poked me a few too many times with that needle of hers.

Regardless, what does he mean by living through her instead of around? Does he mean that I live through the works of what she does? Do I live in the scope of it all? Do I live because she's there, waiting every day for me to come home, to come back to her with a loving kiss on the cheek? Or is there something more to this little question he proposes to me now?

I sift through the questions to reply, "What do you mean by living around?"

Then, I hear it. I hear something within him snap. And then, he says what I need to hear, chilling me to the bone:

"You're not alone in this world."

There, I look up at the now standing stallion. The sun brightens his face, showing his disdain for asking my question. He frowns as he realizes his duty, but the words have already been said. I stand up and I tell him my thanks, before hobbling off. He does call my name once, but I think he knows that there is nothing else that needs to be said. He hit me with a truth punch that hits my gut repeatedly.

I have to tell her tonight. I have to see what she thinks.

I'll tell her at the Boutique.

With a simple plan made on the spot, I walk on, hoping to ease this body of mine. Maybe a visit to the clinic wouldn't be a bad idea after all?