Like Splits in the Skin
© Scribbler October 2017
Scootaloo reclined against the pillows and wished percale didn’t itch so much. It was hard to scratch with her foreleg in a cast and the nurses wouldn’t let her kick off the blankets. She had tried twice already and both times a different nurse arrived immediately like a psychic pillow-fluffing, blanket-pulling machine.
A hundred and thirteen. The number of ceiling tiles in this room. Sixty-four. The floor tiles. She had lost count of the hearts on the curtain around her bed around six hundred. Air from the open window made the fabric billow, which made counting accurately impossible.
“Nurse Featherheart?”
No answer.
“Nurse Trueheart?”
Nada.
Scootaloo sank further into the pillows.
“I’m boooooooooooored.”
Bupkiss.
Hmm. If nopony answered or came when she called … Daringly, she pushed the horrible green blankets down. The fur on her hind legs was matted and clumped with sweat. She wasn’t a fan of bath-time but even she felt icky after three days of not washing. She glared at the cast. It was spoiling everything.
The gently swirling curtain acted like a pendulum, tricking her eyelids into thinking they were sleepy. She drifted, forcing her lids open a few times before the curtains won.
When she emerged on the other side of her nap the curtains were still, the window shut and the room much dimmer than before. It wasn’t quite dark, so she hadn’t missed supper, but evening nipped at the heels of the day.
There was also a voice muffled by the room’s sole door. That hadn’t been there before, had it? Scootaloo blinked, her brain gummed with sleep.
“Of all the irresponsible, neglectful, lazy things you’ve ever done, Winter –”
The voice was sharp, anger gilding its edges.
“Don’t you talk that way to me! You don’t get to walk in here like you own the place and talk to me like that!”
Scootaloo blinked. Daddy? What was Daddy doing here? The nurses had said he was too busy to come. She pushed herself upright and strained to listen.
“And how should I talk to you? Should I sing your praises for letting this happen?”
“It was an accident – ”
“It was negligence!”
“Oh here we go again. You really like that word, don’t you?”
“Are you serious? I hate that word. I hate that I’m having to use it right now. I wish you’d shape up so I could compliment your parenting instead of having to criticize it.”
“And you’re all about criticizing me, aren’t you, Summer? You always have been.”
“Don’t start.”
“Don’t start? Don’t start!? Oh, we’re way past starting, Summer. Remember, you’re the one who decided to start throwing insults at me in a freaking hospital of all places.”
“Exactly. We’re in a hospital. And we’re here because of you!”
“Wrong. I’m here because Scootaloo fell. You’re here because you never know when to keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you.”
“She does concern me.”
“No she doesn’t!”
Scootaloo shrank back. It was never a good idea to make yourself too visible when Daddy’s voice took on that tone.
“She’s none of your freaking concern, Summer! She’s my daughter! Mine!”
“Then why did you let this happen?”
“It was an accident! Kids have them all the time!”
“Is that really the line you want to go with?”
“Just go home Summer.”
“You sound like them.”
“Oh, cry me a river. I know you like her but this is pathetic. If you’re so interested in backseat parenting, why not just have foals of your own and get on with it!?”
A heavy silence pulsed through the door.
“That was a low blow, Winter.”
“Yeah, well … you forced my hoof.”
The second voice took a shuddery breath no door could stifle. “Look … I know we’ve had our differences over the years … but can we focus on the here and now for a while? Specifically, Scootaloo?”
Something about the way her name was pronounced made Scootaloo’s stomach tighten.
“What about her? That cast will come off in a few weeks; a month tops.”
“Was … was she trying to fly when she … fell?”
“The heck should I know?”
“Well maybe if you hadn’t been … no, no, I said I’d focus on the here and now so that’s what I’ll do. It’s not safe for her in Cloudsdale, Winter. Not with her … condition.”
“She’s going to fly someday,” Daddy bristled. “Don’t you dare imply she won’t.”
Scootaloo’s stomach unclenched.
“Of course, of course, but … until then … maybe traditional learning methods aren’t … the best approach for her.”
“Say what?”
“Maybe … maybe it would be better for her to start on the ground and fly upwards instead of … the other way around. Like this time.”
Daddy growled. “You’re talking about moving back to Ponyville aren’t you?”
“Only for the short-term. You could commute to the weather factory pretty easily and with Lofty’s real estate discount and I could help you find a nice place with a reasonable rent –”
“No way.”
“Winter please –”
“No. Way. I said I would never, ever move back there and I meant it, Summer. There’s nothing in Ponyville for me anymore except bad memories.”
“And me.”
Daddy snorted like he had heard a really good joke. “Sure. And you.”
“Winter … I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m sorry I didn’t … protect you better when we were kids. But … but they’re both long gone now. And your daughter … she can’t cope with Cloudsdale life.”
“Says who? You? Because she’s been fine so far.”
“So fine that she’s in hospital with a broken leg and bruised ribs?”
“She’s a kid. Kids take tumbles sometimes. It toughens them up. A few scrapes and bruises are good for a foal’s development. Didn’t so us any harm when we were her age.”
“You … can’t possibly mean that.”
Suddenly Daddy’s voice became very small, the way Scootaloo’s did when she had been caught stealing cookies before dinnertime. “I … I…” Just as suddenly his tone snapped back like a rubber band. “Just go away, Summer. Leave me alone. We’re coping just fine. I’m coping just fine.”
“You’re not, Winter, and we both know it. I … I know you miss her.”
“Piss off.”
Scootaloo pulled the uncomfortable percale bedsheets over her head. She knew that tone. It wasn’t accompanied by the clink of glass or that familiar musty smell but she knew it all the same.
“Let me help, Winter. I can’t replace Spring Sky but I’m not trying to. I just want to help – Scootaloo and you.”
“Just piss off!”
“Why won’t you let me help you?”
“Because I don’t need your help!”
“She nearly died, Winter!”
“No, she –”
“Yes, she did! I heard the doctor. What would you have done if she had broken her neck instead of her leg? Gone home and opened the fridge again?”
“Piss … off …”
“No. No, I’m not going anywhere. You need me. I don’t even care if you hate me for it. You need me and I am going to help you. This is not going to be like when we were kids, do you understand me? I. Am. Going. To. Help. You. Understand?”
Scootaloo strained her ears. She was used to listening to arguments through walls and floorboards. She knew what to expect next: more shouting, the smash of glass, maybe even the meaty thwack of hoof against flesh and the slamming of a door.
She did not expect the crying.
“Winter …”
“She just … she didn’t even leave a note, Summer. Not even a n-note.”
“Shhh, shhh, I’ve got you.”
“I don’t know how to raise a kid on my own.”
“You’re not on your own.”
“But I c-can’t go back to Ponyville. All those … memories …”
“Shhhhhhhh, we’ll work something out. I’m here. I’m always going to be here for you. I promise.”
As if a switch had been thrown, Daddy burst into great wracking sobs that had Scootaloo cowering so far under the covers that she nearly fell off the end of the mattress.
“Lofty’s mother works in a rehab clinic. She can ask her to fast-track you into a program. In Cloudsdale. You won’t have to come back to Ponyville.”
‘B-but Scootaloo … she’s the only good thing in my life, Summer. I can’t just … give her up …” Daddy sniffed loudly. “She looks so much like Spring Song … Celestia damn it, it’s hard to look at her sometimes …”
“We’ll figure it out, Winter. Don’t worry. We’ll figure out something that works for both of you.”
….
Scootaloo jumped when someone said her name and tapped gently at the bedsheet. She must have dozed off again. Carefully, she peeped out.
“Aunt … Holiday?”
The soft pink mare smiled down at her. “Morning, sweetie. You ready to go?”
“Go?” Memories swam through the fog of her mind as she yawned. She blinked. “Where’s Daddy?”
“Right here, hun.” He stepped forward. Even by his standards he looked awful. As if realizing this, he pushed a hoof through his vibrant purple mane, sculpting it into interesting peaks and troughs.
Scootaloo looked between the two of them. There was none of the usual strain that accompanied Aunt Holiday’s visits to their house. In fact, Scootaloo watched in amazement as she slung a hoof around Daddy’s shoulders and gave him such a tight squeeze that it was hard to tell where her pale grey fur ended and his began.
“You’re going to go stay with your Auntie Lofty and Aunt Summer Holiday for a while,” Daddy croaked.
“I am?” Scootaloo looked at her cast. “Um, how?”
Aunt Holiday chucked. “Auntie Lofty is bringing the carriage, sweetie. You’re going to ride in that. We’ll call at your house on the way home and pick up some of your things.”
“Oh. Am I staying for the weekend?” She had never stayed at her aunts’ house before. Daddy always forbade it.
“The weekend and … perhaps a bit more,” Aunt Holiday replied. “Your father is, uh…”
“Going away for a while, hun,” Daddy finished for her. “Kind of a … vacation.”
“A vacation? Why can’t I come?”
“It’s a vacation just for adult ponies, hun.”
“Oh. Like with Mommy?”
Daddy blinked a lot before responding, “Not … exactly.”
“He’ll be gone twelve weeks, sweetie,” said Aunt Holiday.
“Twelve weeks?” Scootaloo’s eyes widened. “But … I can’t miss twelve weeks of school! The new semester starts next week!” Not that she wouldn’t mind the colts and fillies at school not seeing her leg in a cast, but still.
“You’re going to enroll in Ponyville Elementary for this semester, sweetie.”
“I am?”
“Yes.” Aunt Holiday spoke with a firmness Scootaloo had never heard from her before last night. Auntie Lofty was the firm one. Aunt Holiday was usually so wishy-washy you could almost do your laundry in her, or so Mommy had always said. “We can invite your friends from Cloudsdale Prep for playdates and sleepovers but you’ll be attending school in Ponyville for a while.”
“Uh … that’s okay.” Of their own accord Scootaloo’s wings fluttered, as if trying to waft away memories of snide remarks and catcalls at their expense. “I don’t really have any friends at school.”
“Well then, this will be a lovely opportunity to make some in your new class,” Aunt Holiday beamed.
Daddy looked shocked. “You don’t have any friends at school, hun?”
Scootaloo shook her head, staring at the green percale for a moment. “They’re all dumb anyway. No loss. I just ignore everyone and stay by myself like you told me to, Daddy. I don’t need anypony but you.”
“I … told you that?”
Aunt Holiday’s hooves tip-tapped uncertainly for a moment. “Well then,” she said brightly. “We’d better get a wriggle on if we’re going to meet Lofty before she gets impatient and marches right into the hospital to find us.”
“Y-yeah,” Daddy said. He sounded so … sad.
Scootaloo struggled off the bed and waddled up to him, throwing herself at him in an awkward hug that would have failed if he hadn’t caught her.
“Whoa there, hun.”
“Please don’t go if it makes you sad, Daddy.”
“Oh … hun.” He clasped her into a hug of his own. “I have to do this, Scootaloo. For me and for you. But I’ll come back, okay? I promise. Just as soon as I … get some stuff fixed, I’ll be right back for you. Until then, you mind your aunts, okay?”
“Okay.”
A third set of hooves encircled them both. Scootaloo smelled cookies and washing powder from Aunt Holiday’s neckerchief. It smelled nice. Her hug was nice, too.
“Holidaaaaay!” shouted a distant voice. “Where in Equestria are youuuuuuuuu? I’m double paaaaaaaarked!”
Aunt Holiday did not let go but she did sigh. It tickled Scootaloo’s ear. She smelled of strawberry jam and coffee instead of mouthwash and mustiness. It was … nice.
“That mare. Always so impatient. It’s a good thing I love her or that would be so annoying.”
Author's Note
Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material.
~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
