Tell Me What's On Your Mind
Memories can be cruel, sadistic things. Like a long-decaying tooth, they lie dormant for ages unnoticed. Then something triggers them; the mentioning of a name, for example. Then the pain often returns full force, which drives some of my clients literally to their knees.
But that’s part of my job, you see. In the town of Ponyville, I help ponies deal with personal issues that their friends and neighbors would never guess at.
I’m also a changeling. One who once looked like a blue-eyed demon, dark and forbidding as a midnight forest. The reformation of my species somehow led me to have a bright green body and purple eyes. Now we are as colorful as the ponies we work with.
It had been a long work week for me. Plenty of tears, screaming and shouts. The dumpster out back was littered with wet tissues from the especially tearful sessions. A few fresh dents, from those ponies who wore their anger on their sleeves, had been pounded into the walls of my office. I would have to get those either fixed or covered with pictures.
My secretary had gone home, so I had to lock up by myself. I had opened the front door without looking outside as I fumbled with the door keys. That’s why I didn’t see her.
“Oh!” she chirped in surprise. “I’m sorry!”
When I looked up, I was so startled that I almost dropped my keys. It was Twilight Sparkle, one of the ponies that my deposed ruler, Queen Chrysalis, had managed to imprison.
She smiled politely, her ears turning down in embarrassment. “Listen, I know it’s late, but I thought I’d drop by and see if the rumors about this place are true.”
“What rumors?” I asked. “Nothing bad, I hope.” Stepping into the waiting room, I held the door open for the alicorn as she walked in. Tucked under her left wing was a small satchel.
“A few friends of mine tell me that you are kind of a . . . therapist?”
“Well, the sign out front says ‘Grievance Counselor’.”
Looking around the room, she tilted her head curiously. “What is that, exactly?”
Since I had been asked that nearly a hundred times since I opened this place, I recited the usual cover blurb while I led her to my office. I had a feeling that this mare’s visit was going to be a two coffee-cup affair. The timing of her visit made me wary. No witnesses, for one thing. “I am what you might call a psychic punching bag, Princess Sparkle.”
She waved that title away like a bothersome moth. “Just call me Twilight, please. Are you saying that you get paid to have ponies . . . hit you? You don’t look hurt.”
Brewing a cup of coffee, I replied, “I’m not. I make all my clients sign a release form that states that if I do ever get assaulted in a fit of pique, as it were, then I call the police and ban them from my building. I deal with the grieving, not the bad-tempered.”
Sitting in a chair, studying the wall-dents, she admitted, “I still don’t get it.”
“I use my shape-changing ability to look like ponies my clients have issues with. Deadbeat fathers, divorcees, idiotic bosses, that sort of thing.”
“Is that all you deal with here?”
“Not always. One colt asked me to mimic a mare that he was wanting to propose to. He needed to practice asking her hoof in marriage. A mare once asked me to mimic a flat-haired version of herself, calling my disguise her evil side. She had issues to hammer out with her dark half and she needed my help. I cannot say which pony, of course. Client confidentiality is my top shelf policy.”
“Just like with any doctor.” Her brow furrowed a little as she fidgeted in her seat. “Look, I know that I helped sign your citizenship papers so you can live in Ponyville, which also allowed you to own your own business. I’m just not sure that what you’re doing here is the right thing.”
Pouring a cup of coffee for Twilight, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“How do I know you aren’t just opening old wounds? How does this place benefit anypony?”
Sitting down in my own chair, I replied, “Do you know what is one of the biggest sources of misery in your race’s lives? Pain avoidance. Show me someone who claims to have no regrets and I’ll show you a liar. Or a psychopath. My grievance counselor methods give ponies the opportunity to vent their frustrations on someone other than their spouses or friends.”
Rubbing her chin thoughtfully, she said, “I suppose your methods would work better than yelling at a mirror, which is what my dad did when he got stressed out.”
“Something tells me that you need something other than a mirror, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Twilight smiled half-heartedly. “Is it that obvious?”
“You don’t have an appointment, you waited until my secretary left before showing up and you keep fidgeting. I am not here to judge you, Twilight. No one will ever know you were here, I promise.”
Sitting up straight, taking a deep breath, she replied, “Good. You know how I’m known as the Princess of Friendship? Well, that’s . . . not strictly true.”
I put my front hooves together under my chin, slipped into counselor mode and asked, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I generally have a pretty good reputation for being warm and friendly to not only my close circle of friends, but with nearly every pony in this town. “
“That’s what I hear.”
“There was one special somepony I was seeing for a while.” She sipped her coffee and frowned. “But he . . . I mean, I . . .”
“Take your time, Twilight. The first visit’s always the hardest.”
Her ears flattened as she blushed. She lifted her left wing and rummaged around her satchel. She pulled out a photograph with her magic, but kept the blank side turned towards me.
“I’m going to show you his picture. I don’t want you to imitate him just yet, though.”
Turning the photo towards me, I saw a young colt smiling shyly and holding a castle guard helmet. Wincing, I said, “Twilight, I know who this is. I read about him in one of the local papers.”
Retrieving a stapled stack of papers from her satchel, she replied, “Hopefully not the gossip press. They made up half of what they say about me. And him.”
When she dropped the paperwork on my desk, I asked, “What is that?”
“A script. Been working on it ever since I heard about your line of work. How good an actor are you?”
“Uhm, Miss Sparkle? I don’t normally act like a pony. I just imitate them, sit quietly and let my clients do all the . . . interaction, as it were.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do great,” she stated. A bit too loudly.
“But . . . “
She held up a hoof to silence me. “Listen, I know it’s asking a lot, but I need to do this, okay? Just change into him, read his . . . your lines and when we’re done, I’ll pay you double whatever your rates are.”
My heart started to hammer as she pulled her chair closer to me. “I don’t know what Flash sounds like!” I protested.
Rubbing her temples, she replied impatiently, “Oh, just give him a voice like mine, but masculine, okay? Okay.” Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes. “Anytime you’re ready.”
I swallowed while looking over the script. No typos, perfect grammar. Not even a coffee stain. I had been told by one rainbow-maned pony that Twilight had severe OCD when she got stressed. I speed-read the script, studied the photograph and shape-shifted.
In a swirl of green fire, I had become a colt with light brown fur and a blue mane. My cutie mark was a blue shield with a lightning bolt in the middle. Clearing my throat, I used what little acting skill I had to make a male version of my client’s voice.
“Hello, Twi.”
Her eyes clicked open. Blinking a few times, tears began to pillow and stream down her cheeks. “H-hello, Flash. I’m so glad to see you again.”
Taking a quick peek at the script, I said, “Yes, it’s good to see you after so long.”
Nibbling on her lower lip, she cleared her throat. “I miss you, dear. It took me ages to even eat on a regular basis again.”
“Not just hayburgers, I hope.”
“H-ha! Yeah, not just those!” Her front hooves were twitching. The old familiar oily taste of nervousness made me want to gag, but I pressed on.
“I miss your laughter, Twi. Life hasn’t been the same without you.”
“Then why did you leave?” She stared at me critically. “I know that I can be a real details-oriented mare, but that can’t be the reason why you bailed on me. When I first met you, I knew that your lack of ambition would get you nothing but a janitor job!”
“That’s why you forced me to follow a schedule like yours. I wanted you to be proud of me, so I got my act together and got into the Royal Guard.”
“I had to make sure you wouldn’t backslide and make me look like I was dating a dope. I might have acted more like your mom and not a lover.” She bit her lower lip, sniffling. “But everything I did, I did for you! I did everything to bring out the best pony you could be, but your laziness kept creeping back!”
“I didn’t have the temperament to handle your more . . . eccentric side. Patience was never my strongest virtue.” Stealing a glance at the script, I continued. “I guess the military life isn’t for everypony. You just might be better off without me, Twi.”
“It’s not that I’m awkward around colts or anything like that!” Twilight swallowed. Her hooves trembled as she fumbled with the pages. “You never understood that I just wanted to make sure you were the right colt for me.”
Her stress was beginning to make me feel queasy. Maybe it was because she was an alicorn, but her rising tension tasted like raw copper in my mouth.
“I was a fool to leave you . . .” I had lost track of the line and squinted at the script.
“Stop!” Twilight shouted.
I looked up and saw her slumped to the ground. The script was torn in half, clenched in shredded chunks within her hooves. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Twilight was whimpering like a kicked dog.
“Stop being Flash, all right?” she pleaded.
I dropped the disguise and slipped out of my seat. I plunked a box of tissues in front of her. She pulled a few tissues out and blew.
After a few tissues were used, she asked, “Aren’t you supposed to say something? An insight or even a comment?”
“I don’t normally talk at all during my sessions. As I said earlier, I’m often simply a target for verbal abuse.”
Nodding and wiping her nose, she replied, “So was Flash. I thought that I was trying to steer him into being a better pony, but all I did was chase him away. I always did have control issues. When I tried to track him down via his military clearance, he quit the Royal Guard in order to . . . to hide from me. The tabloids had a field day with that one.”
“I hope I’m not being too bold in asking, but what exactly was the purpose of this script you wrote? It reads like Flash saying that his slovenly behavior was the only thing that led to your separation.”
Twilight shrugged. “Sometimes ponies find breakups easier to deal with when one thinks of only the bad times.”
“This script didn’t help with that, did it?”
“No. I remember the good times, too. I’m known as the Princess of Friendship, but I’m not always the best friend to have. Just ask Moondancer.”
She was one of my clients, but I wasn’t going to tell Twilight that.
I said, “You can’t avoid your memories forever, no matter how vicious they are. Living a lie, even under an elaborate set-up like this, isn’t the point of my job, Twilight.”
“That’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. I thought changelings feed off of love. How can you stand having ponies yell at you all day? Don’t all those negative emotions make you feel sick?”
“Pain endurance is a skill I was born into, Twilight. My old queen never let her subjects fully understand how emotionally complex you ponies are. Chrysalis was afraid that if we did, we would discover that ponies weren’t just targets, that we all have pain and loneliness in our lives. She never told us that ponies need catharsis.”
She scratched her head, frowning. “I don’t get it. How does a release of bad emotions feed y. . . oh. Oh, I get it.”
“It’s that rarely felt moment of freedom from emotional anguish that keeps me going. It’s far more rare than love. One feeding of sweet catharsis is worth an entire day’s rage and sorrow.”
“Am I making you full yet?” She forced a smile as she blew her nose again.
“Yes. I’m more worried about you, however. I’m still sensing a lot of self-hate within you. If you need another after hours session, I can pencil you in for tomorrow. No more scripts, however. No more self-deception.”
Twilight sat up, her ears still flat. “Yeah, I think I need a few more visits before I can look at myself in the mirror again. The only thing harder than forgiving other people’s mistakes is forgiving your own.”
Smiling, I pointed at her. “That, my friend, is what my services are about. Helping ponies make peace with their memories and the grief that they carry. No matter who is at fault.”
She looked at me and held out a hoof. “Look, I know that I’m being a little forward, but can you come here and hold me?”
I held her in my forelegs for what felt like ages, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t have anyone waiting for me at my home, anyway. That’s why I call myself Mister Lonely Heart. Someday I hope that somepony will seek more than catharsis or pony-mimicry from me.
That dream will probably take a long time to come true. But that’s all right. As long as I can help those that I once preyed upon, I’ll never truly be alone.
And, as a colleague once told me, it’s good to be helping.
Author's Note
Theme song for this story is "Good Night, Day" by Johann Johannsson, from his excellent album "Orphee". Sad music for a sad story.
I hoped you liked it, however.
