Darkness, self-induced from my eyes being closed in a long blink, like a late night microsleep. I sniff the sterile and stagnant air and open them.
Oh! A party!
My eyes widen to large saucers, taking in all the lovely sights: ponies, punch, balloons, faces wearing warm, glowing smiles. Cheery upbeat music fills the large room, and my heart dances along with its lively rhythm. Blending with the music is the general friendly chatter of what feels like a hundred happy ponies. There is a delightful column of multicolored balloons, strung together under an axis from which streamers radiate outward in gentle droops before rising back up to the ceiling where they're stuck to it with clear tape. Long rectangular tables draped with red tablecloths are stocked with drinks, snacks, and disposable cups and plates. Smaller round tables are surrounded by chairs, and my attention lingers briefly on an out-of-place wheelchair.
I know it's a birthday party, but I forget who it's for. I used to not like parties until somepony introduced me to them, but that is a distant memory. I don't even remember who I was with at the time, as silly as it may sound. But since then, parties have really grown on me, and this feels like it might be the best one ever!
There's a pink pony dashing about, seemingly meeting every pony that she can, spreading unsolicited greetings like a pink bee in a field of colorful flowers. I know her from somewhere, but the memory escapes me. I can hear everything she says as clear as day, but nopony else seems to be saying anything that I can understand, like radio chatter garbled with static. And their faces look vaguely familiar; they must be acquaintances or something.
"It's nice to see you again!" she says to a gray mare with unclear facial features, as if I can only see them through peripheral vision even when looking directly at her.
I see the gray mare's lips move as she replies, but I can't hear it.
"How is she?"
Another silent response.
"Yeah, I can't believe it's her birthday already."
I strain to listen, but the pony she is talking to is simply inaudible.
"Ooh, nice. Guess I'll go in and see her now."
The pink one approaches me slowly, smiling. I notice that it's kind of a sad smile, but I'm not sure why. It pulls at my heart to see her upset, and I feel a strong connection to her, like she is a pony I am close to.
"Hey," she says softly, "how ya doing?"
I laugh gently. "All is well enough. 'Tis a lovely party, possibly the grandest I have seen," I say. For some reason, this only wilts her smile.
"Ya thirsty at all?" she asks me.
I consider for a moment and realize that I could use a sip or two of punch. With a dry swallow and small flick of my tongue over my cracked lips, I nod. And then we're immediately next to a red-covered table, and she has a glass of punch in her hoof. As jarring as the change of position is, it feels normal to me, even if unexpected. She presses the glass to my lower lip and tilts it up. I drink, and the punch tastes like prune juice. Some dribbles from the sides of my mouth and I feel embarrassed, but she doesn't seem to care that it's making a mess, and has a dry towel ready to dab at my chin and chest.
"There ya go," she says warmly. "Want more?"
I shake my head. "Nay, child, 'tis plenty. Tell me, this party – is it for you?" I ask.
Her smile dies a little more.
"No... it's for you," she says.
"Me? Oh, what ever for?" I ask with a tilt of my head.
"Because it's your birthday, silly," she says, her grin returning just a little bit.
"Oh, okay," I say with a smiling nod as I accept her explanation. Today is my birthday? When is my birthday? I chase the memory, but it disappears around the corners of my mind like fleeting glimpses of a dog's tail before it slips away behind dark and ill-defined obstructions. I realize I'm still nodding and consciously stop myself. "Yes. Okay."
"So, whatcha been up to lately?" she asks.
I rack my brain, searching for the answer to her question. A fuzzy idea forms, and while it doesn't feel concrete, I hope it'll be satisfactory. "Work on the farm has been hard, but we must count our blessings. We must rotate the andesite again before winter arrives," I say. Her smile wavers, threatens to break, but cements itself in place once again, and she nods.
"But you're happy, right?" she asks. I can sense it is a very important question to her, so I take my time to again search my thoughts. As before, the idea feels incomplete and distant, blurred by time, but it's the only one that presents itself.
"Yea, verily. Living with Igneous has been a wondrous experience. We were chosen by the Pairing Stone, you know. He is a good stallion. I love him with all my heart. He is a good stallion," I say.
She sighs, making an attempt to disguise it as just a bigger-than-normal breath, but I catch it. The music's pitch lowers by a hair and slows down and the colors of the room feel just a little bit muted. Ponies' smiles flatten ever so slightly. The walls seem to close in a bit, too.
"I'm... glad that you're happy," she says. She doesnt sound convinced.
"Yes. Igneous is a good stallion. I love him," I say in an attempt to cheer her up. It doesn't seem to work. "Tell me, young one, what troubles you?"
"Nothing," she says, and I know she's not being straight with me.
"Listen and listen well, child. If your desire is my happiness, then you too must be happy," I say, reaching out a comforting hoof and rest it on her withers.
"It's just..." she says then pauses. She looks afraid to continue, and I nod at her encouragingly. "Do you know where you are?"
I laugh softly. "I do. 'Tis somepony's birthday party," I tell her.
"Yeah... and what's it like? Can you tell me?" she asks.
I look around, and the entire room wavers, details that felt clear a moment ago suddenly seeming invisible to me. Ponies' faces refuse to make sense when I direct my focus at them. Everywhere I look, I can only glean impressions and general ideas, but not much that I can actually tell her in detail.
"Well, 'tis a grand event, that I know. It seems that everypony is here. There are balloons and tables and snacks and... well..." I shake my head. "You know how parties are."
"Yeah. I do know parties. But you already knew that," she says.
I nod, but I'm not certain why. "You like parties too? Just like Pinkie Pie. That one loves her parties."
The mare's smile vanishes, except it's still there as a mask covering an unseen pained grimace.
"She sure does," she says, her voice quivering slightly. "You remember me, right?"
Again, I nod but can't tell exactly why. "Yes, I remember you. You're..." I say, and stop to try to remember. I feel like I should know her, but as I chase the memory through my mind, I reach out to familiar forms only for them to dissipate and swirl away like smoke in the wind. She's there, somewhere, but the search still yields nothing but more phantoms hiding in mist. I decide to say the only thing I am certain of. "Yes. I remember you."
"Do you remember my name?" she asks. Her eyes sparkle with hope, a fragile optimism hanging precariously over a black pit of sharp rocks and despair. I blink several times, my mouth working but restrained, the words hovering close by where I can pluck them like low-hanging fruit, yet dissolving into sand the moment I do.
I nod again. Then I shake my head.
"I don't know," I say. Her face remains frozen in that optimistic smile, but the life leaves it like an unseen spirit flying out from it. I can almost feel her heart wrenching, as though I'm tearing it from her chest with my own hooves. I try to make it better by giving it my best guess. "Well, I believe you know Pinkie Pie somehow." This only deepens her pain. The party around us further dulls, lively colors becoming flat and gray. Smiles disappear, and the once-merry music slows to a crawl. The walls and ceiling seem to press inward. "I'm sorry."
"No, don't apologize, Mom. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I... don't know," I tell her, shaking my head. She seems on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry if I upset you." I again reach my hoof forward to comfort her, and she takes it in her own, shining her faux smile at me. I can see right through it, and I feel like I always could.
"I'm not upset," she says.
"You need not continue the act for me," I say. Her mask twitches, but she is stubborn. Among the whirlpool of unfamiliar and uncertain ideas that my mind fails to sift through, one truth bubbles up that feels solid. I catch it, cling to it as if it might escape, and let it fill my heart. With each beat, my heart warms it until it melts, then shapes it into words which briefly cool and solidify in my lungs before I speak them with my next exhale. "I love you."
She surges forward and hugs me in a long, tight embrace that feels distantly familiar. "I love you, too," she says against my coat, muffled and emotional. I feel wetness on my chest where her eyes are, and I stroke her mane with one hoof.
Without looking around, I can tell that everypony at the party has stopped their activities and that they are watching us with flat, unreadable expressions. The music has slowed to a dull hum, a single deep note stretching on eternally like the low drone of an industrial fan. The room has become much smaller, and the now-colorless balloons are fewer in number. I focus on the pink pony in front of me, lit brightly despite the fading light. She pulls back, eyes wet.
"So, you do remember me?" she asks with a smile.
My heart sinks.
I simply shake my head.
Her tears, seemingly happy for a moment, shift in the blink of an eye, and are now full of anguish. Her pain resonates with me through the unidentifiable special bond, and I cry too, not sure where exactly it's coming from.
"I'm sorry," is all I can say through an unexpected sob.
"I... I think I have to go," she says and stands up. She seems to have reached her limit, unable to face me anymore. I want to ask her to stay, but I know that I am causing her pain somehow, and I would rather give her the space she needs.
"Okay," I say and nod. She looks uncertain, but I know staying would be torturous for her. "It's okay, child, get your rest."
She nods in silent thanks then turns away. Her head turns as she briefly looks back at me with another smile, pained and quivering and forced.
"Happy birthday, Mom," she says. Then she walks away.
The ponies fade like a photograph left in sunlight, the flat gray colors blend together until nothing makes sense, and the room's light darkens everywhere except on her; she remains untouched and pure. But as she walks away, she too fades, leaving behind a bright trail of silver tears in her wake. And then she is gone.
My heart palpitates and my breath quickens as anxiety overwhelms me. My mind races, running in circles but going nowhere, and my only thought is that I want her back... her who? I find myself unable to remember who I miss so dearly. I close my eyes to try to focus, but even then, I can still see shining splashes of wet tears making a line that leads away from me. At first I try to ignore them, just distractions, but then they twitch and writhe, and I instead give them my full attention.
The small radiant pools of pain widen along the obscured floor, giving it shape despite the blackness. The shimmering surfaces stretch, moving faster as they do, and crawl up unseen walls in liquid tendrils that thicken until every inch of every surface is covered. By the time the room is given definite shape, it looks much smaller than the party room.
I open my eyes.
The watery surface is gone, but the room's form remains the same. The floor, dimly lit by a small lamp, is made of soft beige carpet. The walls are covered by neutral yellow wallpaper, sparsely decorated with printed pink roses. I notice I'm sitting in an armchair, next to a small table; atop it is a wide pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez glasses, a chain of matching gold beads connecting the two ends. Attached to a leg of the table is a long, thin ribbon that stretches upward where it's tied to a large pink balloon that says 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' on it.
My chair is situated in a corner, facing a small bedroom with a single small bed. It's neatly made, a deep green comforter covering the mattress, with two pillows resting against a simple wooden headboard. A bedside table holds a mechanical alarm clock that emits a constant soft tick, tick, tick as it counts the seconds. Above the bed is a window with the curtains drawn, but a sliver of black between them tells me it's night time. Tucked into the far corner is a folded wheelchair, worn but well maintained. There is a quiet, mechanical hum of a ventilation fan keeping deafening silence at bay.
Branching off from the bedroom is a short, narrow hallway with two doors; one on the hallway's side opens into a dark room that is presumably a bathroom, and the other, a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall, is cracked open, spilling a line of bright light onto the wall.
I blink, but the details around me remain the same, and I notice I can focus on them. The unfamiliar place confuses me; it's certainly neither the party nor the farm. I don't recall ever being here before.
My ears twitch.
I can hear voices coming in, low but clear enough to understand.
"–may have moments of lucidity, which can last anywhere from minutes to hours," says a male voice. "There is no guarantee, however. We can contact you immediately if it happens, as long as you're here on the premises."
"I... I see. Yes, please do. I'll be in the waiting area with my family," says a familiar voice, thick with hurt. My ear twitches when I hear her speak.
"Very well. And your name, miss?" the stallion asks.
"Pinkie Pie," she replies.
My eyes widen. "Pinkie?" I say. Nopony seems to hear, so I try again, louder. "Pinkie Pie? Is that you?" The door bursts open suddenly, and I see her there, limned by the bright light behind her, the familiar pink outline of my daughter.
"Mom?" she asks.
"Pinkie? What is this? Where am I?" I ask, shaking my head as if to clear it of dust and cobwebs.
She rushes into the room and embraces me, pressing almost painfully into my chest, eliciting a gasp from me. "Mom!" she says. "You remembered me!" Her face is wet and tear-streaked, but she's smiling as if with deep relief.
I nod and stroke her mane. "Of course I remember you! How could I forget?" I say with an easy laugh. I feel as though I chose my words poorly, however, as she pulls back and looks at me sadly.
"Well, if you do forget, it's not your fault, and I won't ever, never, never, ever be mad at you, okay?" she says seriously.
I expect there's a reason for her doubt, but I can't place my hoof on it, so I just smile and nod.
"Okay," I say simply.
She suddenly gasps. "I gotta go get everypony! Dad and my sisters! They're in the waiting room. I'll be right back, okay?"
I nod again and laugh. She hurries out of the room, yelling for her dad in classic Pinkie Pie style.
I take a deep breath, smelling the air. Sterile and stagnant. I look over and up at the large pink birthday balloon. It's my birthday. When is my birthday? I suddenly feel very tired, so I rest my eyes. The room disappears behind heavy lids, and I breathe the air.
Sterile. Stagnant.
Real.
I remember the rock farm and I feel like I am there. Back in the cozy living room in my rocking chair (made of actual rock), swaying comfortably back and forth. Warm afternoon sun spills through the open window, and the room is balmy and serene. Igneous is probably in the basement tending to the soup rocks, rotating them and brushing them. He always knew how to keep good soup rocks.
Outside, the windmill creaks every so often, as it is wont to do regardless of how well we maintain it. I hum softly as I relax, the hard day's work behind me. My rear hooves click against the hardwood floor each time I rock forward, like a metronome not synced up to my humming, and I gently press back each time hooves meet floor, keeping the momentum going.
A sound gets my attention.
The front door, visible from where I sit, opens, somehow lacking its usual squeak of protest, and five ponies are standing close together in the doorway. A very pink mare is standing in front as if leading them. To my surprise (but not my chagrin), they enter unannounced.
I see their faces, full of hope and joy. Perhaps they are eager to see the farm.
"Hello, visitors, welcome to the Pie Family Rock Farm," I say. Their joy dies, and they look disappointed and hurt.
"Mom...?" the pink one says, a fragile and brittle word.
"Worry not," I say with a reassuring smile. "Igneous should be up from the basement any minute to show you the farm. He and I were chosen by the Pairing Stone, you know. He is a good stallion."
Author's Note
So, this story is my attempt at tackling a very real and very serious problem that affects a large number of elderly people.
Dementia is a terrifying idea, not being recognized by one's own family members. It can sound so distant and clinical when described as a series of symptoms, but the reality of it tends to shatter expectations, and be much worse than it sounds. My goal here was to depict it as believably as possible.
This story was largely inspired by this video. If you have the time, I highly recommend it as a peek into this horrifying disease. It says much more than I could have in this story.
