The farmer’s daughter was not Rarity's friend. Her hooves were never clean, her mane was always a mess, and the way she spoke was so… well, Rarity didn't want to be mean; a proper lady was not mean. Her accent was unique and unlike anything Rarity had heard, until meeting the girl’s parents. Upon asking Mother and Father why she spoke the way she did, they had told her it ran in her family. Rarity didn't quite understand that logic; afterall, she sounded nothing like her own parents.
At school, Rarity would reel back when the farmer’s daughter would pass her by, as chaotic and dangerous as a tornado, a flurry of long pale hair and restless hooves. It didn’t stop there, as the farmer's daughter popped into Rarity's life even outside of the classroom, much to the filly's annoyance. She came along with Buttercup and Bright Macintosh whenever her father had made a rather ambitious order of apples, which happened once a month or so. At first, the farmer's daughter had tried to engage her in playing and rough housing while their parents made small-talk during deliveries, but Rarity snubbed out that mentality as soon as she had the chance. The filly seemed taken aback but had obliged; Rarity assumed it was a peek of that “Southern Charm” she had read about in books and magazines. From there, the farmer's daughter had tried to strike up conversation. Rarity had made an effort, truly she had, but the two of them simply had nothing in common. While the farm filly had tried to awaken Rarity’s interest in agriculture and nature, it hadn’t worked in the slightest. Dirt and apples did not hold a candle to fashion and culture. Eventually, the farmer’s daughter resigned herself to standing awkwardly next to her parents during these visits, sparing Rarity a glance every so often as she went about her business, pretending the other girl didn’t even exist.
The farmer’s daughter was in a constant state of joy. Her green eyes danced with humor and she always spoke with a bubble of laughter in her throat. She cracked jokes about everything and she never failed to receive an abundance of laughter from her audiences. Rarity would be lying if she said she hadn’t chuckled now and then but she still held disdain for such a careless sense of humor. Joking was fine, but one’s entire life should not revolve around it.
The farmer’s daughter was exactly seven minutes late to class and, despite not caring much for the filly herself, Rarity couldn’t help but be worried by her tardiness. Since starting school, the farmer’s daughter had been consistent. She was always sat at her desk when Rarity walked into the classroom and she was always the last to leave after the final bell has rung. She brought the same lunch every day and sat on the left side of the same wooden bench on the playground to eat it. But she was exactly seven minutes late, and it didn’t feel right. The farmer’s daughter was not Rarity’s friend, but she served as a focal point in Rarity’s school routine.
The farmer’s daughter was exactly one hour and six minutes late when a knock on the classroom door pulled their teacher out of the room. The second the door closed behind him, the foals in the room burst into chatter, except for one. Rarity’s gaze swept back and forth between the clock above the teacher’s desk and the chair where the farmer’s daughter usually sat. The room felt chilly, despite the warm Sun splashing the classroom with light from the window.
One hour and eight minutes late.
Their teacher walked back in, a frown on his face and his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Rarity grit her teeth as she watched him shuffle to the front of the room and a hush fell over the students. Something was very wrong. She glanced at the empty chair again.
The teacher spoke of loss and how it affected ponies differently. He described grief as a hole in one’s heart that would mend over time but would never completely fill again. As he spoke, Rarity realized that one could describe a silence to be utterly deafening. His voice seemed to echo in the room as every foal watched him with wide eyes and undivided attention.
“Go home,” he sighed. “I’m not the one to be having this conversation with you. Go home and be with your families.”
Rarity sat still as the rustling of students gathering their things filled her ears. Her eyes were fixed on her desk, mentally tracing the polished grooves of the wood as her mind raced with the thoughts she couldn’t keep track of.
The town had gone eerily quiet. Vendors stood at their various stands but they didn’t smile or wave her over as she passed, the flowers seemed to droop and pale with every frowning Earth pony who passed them by. Finally, her curiosity carried her hooves to where the Apples always set up shop and her heart sank.
On a normal day, she would have been met with Buttercup’s smiling face and Bright Mac’s hearty greeting. Sometimes Big Mac would try to talk her ear off while a small yellow baby clung to his neck. The farmer’s daughter would sell her an apple without a word, assuming that Rarity’s rule of no communicating followed her everywhere. Today, however, there was none of that. The stand itself was hidden by a lumpy, brown tarp that barely brushed the ground. Rarity anxiously shifted her hooves on the dusty floor as she stared up at it, ears twitching uneasily. The sun was shining and breeze was warm, but… why did she feel so cold?
What happened? What happened what happened what happened what happ--
“Sad, isn’t it?” A voice next to her ear brought her thoughts to a screeching halt. She jumped and looked up to see a frowning blue mare next to her. Mrs. Cake, Rarity remembered. The filly didn’t answer, instead turning back to the stand as the mare continued, “It’s hard to believe. I…” the mare took a shuddering breath. “I can’t wrap my head around it.”
Finally, Rarity spoke the question that had been burning in her throat like bile. “What happened?”
Buttercup and Bright Macintosh were dead. Nopony knew what happened exactly, except for the farmer’s daughter, but nopony had been able to get her to say a word since it had happened. All the town knew was that the parents had left the farm one morning with a cartload of apples, and only the farmer’s daughter had returned.
Rarity had always admired the eyes of the farmer’s daughter; so vibrant and green they put even Rarity’s brightest emeralds to shame and, under different circumstances, she would have noted how well the dark black dress complimented their glow, but all she could focus on was how different the other girl looked. Dark circles surrounded those sunken eyes that stared at nothing. Her mane was unkempt, but not in the way it usually was. Rather than being messy because of her work, it was messy simply because of lack of care. She didn’t respond to anypony’s words of sympathy, looking through them rather than at them. The rest of the family looked exhausted as well and it tugged at Rarity’s heart, like a necklace catching a stray hair of her mane.
The farmer’s daughter was alone. She sat in the back of the classroom now, at a desk that had previously been unoccupied, and it nagged at Rarity that she was no longer in her direct line of sight. When Rarity did get to look at her she felt her anxiety swell, in the exact same way it did when she handled a worn piece of fabric; all the farmer’s daughter needed was one pulled thread to fall apart. She stayed inside during their break, ignoring her packed lunch and the teacher’s concerned inquiries.
The farmer’s daughter had returned to being the axis which Rarity’s world revolved around, but not in the same way. Rarity used to wake up wondering what the filly would do to annoy her at school that day, instead she awoke wondering if she had eaten the night before, or talked to her brother, or played games with her baby sister. She caught herself chewing her lip in worry during the teacher’s lectures, thinking of the farmer’s daughter and the sound of her voice. What did her voice sound like again? Rarity couldn’t remember, the farmer’s daughter hadn’t spoken in what felt like eons, but she felt as if she’d give anything to hear it again. Oh how she now regretted all the times she had pushed the poor girl away and shushed her babbling; she longed for that now. She mentally screamed at her to talk, to yell, to sing, to do something that wasn’t blankly staring at a wall or her desk.
Rarity now eagerly looked forward to every order of apples her family made, hoping to see the farmer’s daughter. She needed to make sure she was okay, she had to be okay.
But she wasn’t, not now. Nopony in school talked to the farmer’s daughter anymore. Her old friends had tried for a few days after the funeral, but to no avail. They might as well have tried to conversate with a brick wall. Now they were wary of her, tip-toeing around her and whispering her name to each other. And it drove Rarity mad, watching the other foals abandon her. But was Rarity herself any better than them? She had not abandoned her, but… she was never there for her to begin with.
… change begins with one pony.
The bell which signalled their school break rang out boisterously, snapping Rarity back to reality; she’d been so caught up in her own head, thinking about what to say to the farmer’s daughter. Sweet Celestia, what could she say in a situation like this? She looked out the window to the playground to see her friends staring back at her, a curious look on each of their faces. She gave a simple shake of her head and waved them off with a grin before turning her back to the window and facing the back corner of the room.
There she sat, lunch bag untouched, hooves folded on the desk, studying a crack in the ceiling above her. Taking a deep breath, Rarity strode forward and felt her teacher’s eyes pierce her scalp like needles as she pulled another chair to the front of the small desk. The farmer’s daughter looked away from the ceiling to face her and she looked -- dare she think it? -- surprised. It was the most emotion Rarity had seen on her face in weeks.
For a moment that could have lasted a thousand years or a single heartbeat, neither of them spoke. They just stared at each other, both trying to read the emotions on the others face. Rarity hoped she looked more casual than she felt; her stomach was tied into knots. At last, she smiled and took in a breath.
Change began with one pony, with her.
It began with a word.
Author's Note
Like Applejack, I lost a parent when I was kid. It truly changed me and struck me with what I can only describe as overwhelming sadness, utter dismay, pure terror. At the age of 13, I was scared to face each and every day of the rest of my life without my mom. I became cold and distant, I was angry and I hated the world. I just wanted my mom back, and nothing pissed me off more than knowing that it wasn't possible. My friends left me because they didn't want to deal with someone as miserable as myself and, honestly, I cannot blame them for that.
But then, a new kid showed up at school. They could see I was angry or depressed, and they wanted to know why. They talked to me, they gave me encouragement, and they are still my best friend even 8 years later.
All it takes is one act of kindness to help someone out.
