Coinky-Dink Worldby Split ScimitarChaptersPut on a SmileLaugh Yourself A WhileCome On, Take A Whirl In A Loud CrowdSitting All AloneTake A WhirlPut on a Smile“Hello?” I answer rudely woken up, having landed only a few hours ago from dropping Rosalina back off in Hawaii. “Hi! Pinkie Pie here! Care to meet me in Miami?” “Opa Locka or Lauderdale work for you?” “Don’t you own a house on Star Island?” ‘’Two actually, and I rent them out. I also control most of the real estate on Dilido.” “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” “What?” “You’re the Lord of the Dildo?!” “If you want to put it that way. Aunque, por eso lógico, si tuviera una tienda de sexo, pero no es así.” “¡¿Hablas español?!” “No, pero ¿cómo lo dicen?, ‘enough to be peligroso.’” “You’ll always be the Lord of the Dildo to me!” “Is that what you’ll call me?” “Now that you mention it…” “God damn it.” “You. Are. A. LAUGH RIOT, MAX!!!” “What can I say? I make jokes when I’m nervous. And I’m always telling jokes.“ “Aww. Don’t be scared of me. I don’t bite.” “Sorry to say, you’re one of those types I need to mentally prepare for.” “Well, could you do that while coming down here?” “Do you have transportation needs?” “Yeah! I need a quick hop home and back.” “You transporting big stuff?” “I’m bringing a car, and some other big things.” “Okay, so would you want to relax in passenger seats or sit in the cockpit with me?” “What good would I be sitting in the passenger cabin? I’d get SUPER bored.” “But you wouldn’t be able to stretch your legs if you don’t have a passenger cabin.” “The flight to and back is only 2 hours. I doubt I’d want to stretch for that. Besides, I’d rather have someone to talk to anyway.” “I won’t argue.” “Can you come ASAP? I’m kind of lonely over here.” “The minimum charter request period is 4 hours plus compensation for time zones and flight time. Can you hold for the next 7 hours?” “I’ll try.” She says with some disappointment. “Sorry. Can’t break the speed of sound.” She sighs and says, “7 hours it shall be.” “I promise I’ll try and get as much energy for you as possible.” “Hooray!” “I look forward to seeing you.” “Aww!!! Me too! Bye Max! See you tomorrow!” “Bye.” KVCV HELDE V12 HEC J6 DRK J231 NABOB J74 CNX J15 IAH J86 LEV Q100 SRQ.FORTL7 KUBIC WUDIP KOPF “Douglas 306FE, turn right at C, Where are you parking?” “Atlantic, 6FE.” “N306FE, C N E to Atlantic.” “C N E to Atlantic, 306FE.” Ushered in to park, I soon head in, pay the fees and order a couple hundred gallons of fuel. I then back out the car and make sure she’s secure before I head for the streets. Because it’s Miami, there’s no better car to rock than an American Classic. And there’s no better American Classic than the 1st Generation (C1) Corvette. Even though this car has a 4-speed manual, the car has the license plate ‘2SP AUTO’. (It was next to impossible to find one with a working 2-speed when I bought it). Since I don’t have Bluetooth, I call Pinkie the old-fashioned way, via EarPods. “Hello, Lord of the Dildo.” “¡Jajaja, qué funny!” “¿Dónde estás?” “I just left the airport. Your place or mine?” “Um… mine.” “Be there in 15 minutes.” “I’m waiting for ya!” “Cya!” In 13 minutes, 57 seconds, I park in her driveway. When I reach up to knock on the door, I feel two taps on my shoulder timed perfectly with my knocking. I turn around to the sight of Pinkie smiling wide and exclaiming, “Hi!” “Hi Pinkie.” I respond flatly, pretending to act unfazed. “Oh, how great it is to see you!” She says hugging me tight as Applejack. “Yeah.” I wheeze out in her death grip. “It’s nice to see you too.” I finish as she lets me go. “So, now that I’ve got you here, what do you want to do while you’re here?” “Did you charter me just so we could hang out?” She only grins ear to ear, the sound of a squeaky toy in the back of my mind as she squees. “Why didn’t you just say so?” “Well, I wanted to make sure you were available because I do need to pick up some things from home before my next big party this weekend.” “Rockford, right?” “Yep!” “Anytime after tomorrow’s good. Or we can go today. It’s up to you.” “Meh, we’ll go later.” “I’ve heard you’re the best party thrower in party central.” I say as she opens her front door. “My reputation precedes me.” “Yay. I have an excuse to pick up smoking again with an imminent divorce on the way.” “Aw.” She deflates slightly. “That’s precisely why I called you here. After Dashie told me about your little get together with the Blue Angels, and your wife returning to Hawaii, I didn’t want you to be alone.” She says patting her couch. “I would’ve been just as fine alone.” I respond dryly. “I’m very antisocial.” “You’re not antisocial, you’re just lonely.” “Lonely? I’ve been married to Rosalina for all these years.” “But soon you’re gonna be single and lonely and sad again!” “No I won’t.” “You’ve found somebody else?!” “No!” I shout before sighing. “After 3 failed marriages, I think I’m ready to call it. The married life was never meant for me.” “Your past marriages don’t define you.” “Whether they do or not, I’ve been nothing but a terrible husband in all of my marriages. Even so, somehow Rosalina doesn’t want to lose me.” “Then why are you getting a divorce?” “Why does everybody ask that question?” “If you two will always have each other, then why would you get a divorce?” “Because sometimes, Pinkie, one needs the other, but not the other way around. In our case, I needed her, but she didn’t need me.” Even more confused than before, Pinkie asks, “what do you mean?” “Um, she was meant for me, but I wasn’t meant for her.” “Oh. Well, that makes sense. You fell in love with her, but she never was in love with you. Or maybe she loves you, but isn’t in love with you.” “Couldn’t‘ve said it better myself.” “Aww…” She deflates again as her worries confirm. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. But I’m not here to hang out with you so I can whine on about my personal life. I’m here because you wanted me to.” “Well, it’s just you and me. You familiar with DJ Vinyl Scratch?” “She publish on YouTube?” “Not sure. She‘s big on SoundCloud. She’s got some serious talent.” “I’m sure.” “And a friend of mine is a friend of yours.” “As long as I’m cool enough.” “Please, she’s nice. She’ll like you.” “I’m a band geek. My musical tastes are the antithesis of her work.” “She’d probably like you, quiet and reserved as you are.” “I’ll look forward to it if she’s in town.” “Yeah! She’s the emcee at most of my parties!” “Yay.” A few hours later, after Pinkie changes and I wash my face, we hop in and I fire the thing up. Before I put the car in gear, I ask where we should go, and immediately, she suggests lunch, even though it’s already almost 15:00. “You’re still on Pacific, and I’m actually kind of hungry anyway.” “I left home at 7:00. I haven’t eaten much if anything, but I don’t really need to adjust.” “You haven’t eaten anything at all today?” “Not much outside of some peanut butter right before I took off.” “Well, are you feeling anything in particular?” “Not really, but there’s this really good Colombian place in Lauderdale.” “Ooh. I prefer Cuban, but all the Latin American places are great.” “We are in South Florida after all.” “Which place?” “Las Orquideas.” “Oh! I’ve heard of them!” “Yeah? If memory serves me right, they’re owned by a family friend of my brother’s. I was very glad to have tried it. If you’re craving fried yuca, black beans, or anything like, let’s go.” I say putting the car into first gear. The Gallant Old Engine getting a stretch, we roll in and park right in front, but a furniture truck is taking up most of the parking lot, taking on a load from one of the stores next door. An okay parking job for a lot with tiny spaces, we head in and get a table, Pinkie’s Spanish much dwarfing mine, some of the wait staff do throw some español my way, which I refute back. Quickly, we order, the food arriving as we start talking about our lives. “So, you grew up in Rockford.” I begin. “What’s your story?” “I’m a farmer. Well, rock farmer. We harvest geodes.” “Nice. That life clearly not cut out for you then, pardon the pun.” “Hahaha! Yeah, pretty much. What about you? You seem like a family rebel.” “Everything but the kitchen. I love my family to death, but there were some major events that kind of soured my lineage. I was disowned for not going into the medical field, or as they liked to put it, “a profession with a guaranteed high salary, but...” I pause to catch my breath and fight back tears. “Max, you don’t have to bring it up if it still hurts.” “Why shouldn’t I? You’re my friend. I trust you, and I need to get it off my chest, so you can understand where I come from. Plus, it’s always easier to face your problems head on. Can’t solve your problems by running away from them.” “Oh... well, I’m sorry your family treated you like that. While I may not quite understand exactly where you’re coming from, I’m still sorry your family was so petty.” “I know I’ve painted them as bad, but they’re my family, though. I don’t want you to see them as bad people.” “I can understand that.“ “Look, I’ve been told many a time that I’m too upfront and open, and I’ve been very intrusive to do so. I’m sorry if that’s how I make you feel.” “It’s okay. I‘m glad you can be open about it.” “Hence why I’m more comfortable with my reputation preceding me. Thus, Rarity, Applejack, Rainbow Dash and other ways you’ve found out about me.” “You know, Max, your story reminds me of my own. My family didn’t let me do anything apart from harvest rocks and follow in my family’s footsteps. For the longest time, my parents would have meltdowns because I was so rebellious, and my sisters would get mad at me for hurting them, because one gets bored harvesting rocks, rocks, and more rocks; really quick. Planning parties quickly became a way for me to deal with my boredom. Then, one time, I was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I longed for something amazing to happen as I finished harvesting ahead of a loud and heavy thunderstorm. When it passed, I saw a rainbow. After the day I had, this rainbow was extra special. I needed a way to channel this immense wave of happiness that overcame me in the only way I could. So, I threw a party in one of our empty silos, and finally, after what I thought would’ve been another failure, my sisters and my parents actually smiled! I was so happy!” She finishes with tears at the thought. I smile in empathy with her as she relives one of her happiest childhood memories. That high quickly drops when I decide to pose the question, “pardon me for asking, but are you still close with your family?” “Absolutely!” She gleams back. “I love all three of my sisters and my parents. They accepted me for me and they’ve always showed me unconditional love even when I scared them with my first parties.” She pauses happily, but slowly returns to reality and quickly tells me, “I’m sorry I can’t say the same for you though.” “Don’t be. Even if I was a part of the family, I probably would be that relative that they never talk to. Somewhere between estranged and ‘that’ uncle.” “Eww!” “See what I mean?” I say mostly to myself. “Of course I do, silly!” She says as we finish up and get our dishes bussed. Pinkie and I both skip out on dessert, so I take care of the bill here before we head to one of her favorite bakeries, and first employer from when she moved to Miami, Sugarcube Corner. Now a co-owner for her contributions to the family business, Pinkie has been a dear family friend to the owners from her first days as an employee, and doted on by the owners’ twins, who handle all of the business transactions now as their parents direct all their efforts to their products. We exchange pleasantries before Pinkie orders her usual. I ask the twins to surprise me with no restrictions or allergies, so after Pinkie foots this bill, she grabs a metal table outside the shop, only because all the booths and tables indoor are occupied. “I love this stuff!” She exclaims opening the box. “Not dissimilar to one of the Cuban bakeries I love going to at home.” “Ooh! Cuban bakery?! We have to go when I’m in town!” “Absolutely.” After we finish, we take another drive further up the peninsula; past Pompano, halfway to Palm Beach. Oh yes. “Welcome to Boca Raton!” The sign we pass says before we jump off Highway 1. “You pack for the beach?” She asks. “No. I’m still travel dirty anyway.” “Well, you may as well get dirtier, right?” “Except this car is worth way too much to get dirtied.” “Oh… right. Well, at least let’s drive by so you can see where my favorite beach is.” “Don’t we just go all the way down… what road is this?” “798. Yeah. Follow the road to Ocean.” “Blvd?” “And the body of water. Of course, don’t take the car all the way to the water. Unless you want to mow people over and completely submerge the car.” “The only people I want to mow over are my friends that harassed me to fly for Southwest so I could get them free tickets to Hawaii.” I quip to myself. “What?” “Just a scar from my past bursting open.” “Tell me about it.” She says as we turn back towards ACH. “When Southwest Airlines began flights to Hawaii, I used to get hounded by friends with messages like, “what’s your airline of choice? Southwest going to Hawaii now 😬. Still makes by blood boil to this day.” I immediately take a deep breath and sigh. “Look, I’m sorry, I’ve been going through a lot, and having these bad memories resurface isn’t helping either. I really want to spend genuine quality time with you, I really do. But I feel like all I’ve been doing is venting and projecting my feelings onto you.” “It’s okay. I know you’re having to deal with Rosalina and her moving back. And I want to do everything I can to make you smile. And none of this “oh, funny, jaja” stuff. I mean a pure smile, straight from the heart. But I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.” “Thank you for bearing with me. I can’t apologize enough for being such an asshole. I, just, I’m mad at the world, you know?” “Me too.” I put the brakes on in two forms at a traffic light as I exclaim, “wait, what?!” “You don’t think this cheery persona came from being showered with love as a kid, do you?” “I know you had an oppressive childhood, and that rainbow gave you a renewed zest for life. That’s what I could ascertain.” “That much is true. But guess what, Max? I was in your position too.” “You, Pinkie Pie, were suicidal at some point in your life?” “More depressed than suicidal, but yes. I felt like I was being punished for…” “Being myself.” We both say in unison, but me phrasing it more as a question. “Jinx! Jinx again!” We continue in sync before sharing a good laugh. Pinkie then sighs and finishes with, “When I got out of it, I vowed with all my life never to go back, and to make sure no one, and I mean NO ONE! EVER AGAIN; goes back to that place! That includes you! You hear me?!” She says poking me on the last two sentences. “If I couldn’t, I’d be dead.” “That’s the Spirit!” When we return to her house, she jumps out, rolls out her Nissan Kicks and has me park in the garage. Even though I have a house just a few minutes down the road, which I remind her of, Pinkie insists I stay with her. Even though she seems to know that I’m not someone who will easily smile, she won’t let up. Or maybe that’s why she isn’t. “That car is pretty, but maybe I should do the driving.” “That’s fine. I love cars and driving, so I’m always one to say yes to the reigns. I’ll give it up if that’s what you want.” “Eh? Why not?” “Hooray!” As Pinkie does her usual afternoon chores, I hang out on her porch and have a smoke. “You smoke?” She asks. “Only recently. This is super low nicotine. Anyone else would probably hate it. It’s just a lung humidifier.” She asks for it anyway, which I oblige. When she takes a huff, she hands it back and says, “meh, I’ve had worse. There’s still a reason I don’t smoke.” “Saving for the coke, heroin, meth, and pills?” “No! I don’t do contraband!” “How have you managed to survive? People want to get turnt on the illegal stuff.” “I plan and throw parties that are all about having a good time. What I don’t throw are raves.” “Doesn’t that directly contradict most of what the party culture of Miami represents?” “Not really. I’m on good terms with the police.” “Probably because donuts from Sugarcube Corner.” I say smugly taking another huff. “Very funny Max.“ Pinkie responds unamused. “Don’t lie, there is some truth to that.” “I mean, when I started at Sugarcube Corner, the Chief always had his early shift breakfasts there. He and I would always talk.” “Glad you maintained such a positive relationship with the police, especially here, where the permeating culture is all “fuck the police.” Pinkie nods as she takes a sip of her drink. “Is that Coke?” “No. It’s Fanta.” “Eh? Coke product.” “You’re funny. You know, I don’t get how your family could treat you the way they did when you’re such a joy to be around.” “When you retaliate against them for your own interests getting in the way of theirs, then attempt suicide because they refuse to listen to you, it’s pretty easy for them to see that ‘I wanted nothing more to do with them.’ So, they took it upon themselves to make it easier for me, by just disowning me so I wouldn’t them.” “That’s so sad.” “Don’t be. My life, my choice, my deathbed.” I finish with a certain fervor on the last word. “Stop it, Max. You’re bumming me out.” “Sorry, but you asked.” “I didn’t ask. I only pondered.” “It’s easier for me to be upfront with you about that. Makes it easier to be honest with myself and about myself.” “No wonder you like Applejack so much.” “Thanks.” I spit back with a hint of venom, taking another huff. She shrugs defensively then gasps loudly and exclaims, “you’re in love with Applejack!!” “Say what you want. It’s not my fault she decided to coddle me in Chicago.” “But then you confessed to her!” “Wha… uh. H…how would you know?” “She told me.” “Hmph!” I grunt in contempt. “Well, I don’t know who she’d turn to for advice like that.” “Anyone except for Rarity or Rainbow Dash, or Twilight?” “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” “Eh, well. Tell you what, let’s set up for my next party. That’ll take your mind off AJ.” “Fine.” “Let’s go, we’ll use my Escalade.” “What does a typical party run consist of?” I ask after belting up. “Confetti, snacks, raw materials for my homemade snacks, and of course, the venue.” “Where do you usually hold your parties?” “It varies from time to time, but it’s usually just at my place.” “And how do you deal with collateral and such?” “I have my ways, so don’t question them.” “I won’t argue.” When we head out and go shopping, I text Applejack, “Hey, did you tell Pinkie Pie that I had feelings for you? I’m not mad, I just want the truth.” After I hit send, I tune out with my own soundtrack as Pinkie turns up the radio. Of course, she tries to get me to dance in the car with her, so I smile at her antics and let my mind wander. *text* “I didn’t tell anyone anything.” “Ok, thanks.” My expression goes rife with confusion as we stop at a light. “What’s the matter?” Pinkie asks. “Applejack told me she didn’t tell anyone anything, but you just told me she told you. Something’s not right.” “Well, I can assure you she told me everything.” “What’s the story you’ve heard then?” “Well, you had been working on the farm for about a week, and after they decided your help was no longer necessary, you came clean to Applejack and left.” “Surprisingly accurate, though you left out the parts where I rendered her speechless after I told her, and that Apple Bloom kept teasing the two of us whenever she saw us together, which is part of why I decided to just tell AJ the truth.” “That’s funny. That’s exactly something Apple Bloom would do.” “Of course it is.” “You know we could be related.” “Really?” “Yeah. Fourth cousin twice removed by a fifth cousin, but we’re all family anyway.” “Absolutely.” “Speaking of family, what else can you tell me about yours?” “What would you like to know?” “Well, who?” “Who what?” “When where why how?” “Where do I start? One brother, one sister, two first cousins - also one of each, loads of second cousins, 7 from my dad, another handful from my mom. No direct-direct (Well, first) cousins from mom, she’s an only child. Full Filipino on both sides, with like 1 or 2 percent Chinese from my dad’s side.” “Nice! Full blooded!” “Indeed. Unfortunately, because I’m Filipino, my most likely cause of death will be a heart attack or something cardiovascular. Every single relative I know, with some exceptions, have died from heart attacks or strokes. The exceptions: 1 from cancer, 1 from sleep apnea, and the other, was a prisoner of war - lost during the Bataan death march of World War II.” “Wow.” “Yeah. It’s kind of scary to think about, especially because my knowledge of my family tree goes back 4 or 5 generations. I used to joke that I won’t need to save for retirement because I’ll die of a heart attack before I have to retire.“ “Aww.” “It’s a joke, because I’m still here. I’m my own punchline.” “You’re funny, but far from a joke.” “Thanks.” “Call from: Vinyl Scratch,” the screen shows as her Bluetooth lights up. “Is it personal?” “No. I don’t mind.” “Cool.” “Hello?” “We at your place on Friday night?” “Yeah.” “Cool. The usual?” “Yeah.” “Alright.” “Same time, same place!” “Rock on!” “Later.” “Bye.” We soon pull into her first stop, where we head in and stock up on various groceries; if by groceries, you mean snack foods and chips and dip. After she fills the cart with groceries, she grabs a big bag of flour, sugar, salt, vanilla, lemons, and chocolate, the lot of it. “Cookies? Lemon bars?” I think to myself before exclaiming, “Cake!” “Cupcakes, silly!” “Uh huh. Cookies and lemon bars on the menu too.” “Yep!” When the cart is ready for checkout, I cover for “tax” purposes, so when we head to the next store, we pick up confetti, and a lot of it. Because this is a party store, we also grab balloons and streamers. Next stop: Illinois! “Ok Max,” she says after backing her Escalade in to the drive. “Let’s unload these things, then we’ll head to Rockford.” “Ready in 2 hours.” Author's Note Spanish translation: “If you want to put it that way. Although, by that logic, if I had/owned a sex store, but that isn’t so.” “You speak Spanish?” “No, but how to say it? “Enough to be dangerous.” Dilido is actually Italian, meaning “of the beach,” or “Del Mar” for the hispanohablantes. (Spanish speakers). In the context of the scene, Pinkie Pie lives in Miami, and Dilido is one of the Venetian Islands in South Beach. “¿Dónde estás?” = “Where are you?” Ja is the Spanish way of writing Ha, as in funny, haha. Laugh Yourself A WhileKOPF MIA6.WINCO LLAKE J85 INPIN J91 ATL J89 BVT PERCY.SODOR6 KSMG “Opa Locka Clearance, Smile 5280, IFR to Gusty Garden.” “Smile 5280, cleared to the Chicago Gusty Garden airport via as filed, cross WINCO at or above 10,000. Miami Departure frequency 119.45, squawk 1760.” “Cleared to Gusty Garden as filed, WINCO at or above 10,000. Miami Departure 119.45, squawk 1760, Smile 5280.” “Smile 5280, readback correct. Ground 120.025.” “5280.” Area clear. Engines start. 3 alight! Stable, temps good. Flaps 15 for takeoff. “Opa Locka Ground, Smile 5280, Atlantic, taxi IFR.” “Smile 5280, Opa Locka Ground, information X current, wind 100 at 9, altimeter 30.01. Runway 9L, taxi via E N.” “Copy X, E N, runway 9L, Smile 5280.” As we taxi, I find Pinkie asleep with her headset on, so I decide to isolate my radio. “Opa Locka Tower, Smile 5280 short of 9L, Ready for Departure.” “Smile 5280, Opa Locka Tower. On departure fly heading 093, runway 9L, cleared for takeoff.” “Cleared for takeoff 9L, 093 on departure, Smile 5280.” And arming the autopilot, I gently edge the throttles forward. 80 knots. V1 Rotate. V2 Positive rate, gear up. Flaps up. “Smile 5280, contact Departure.” “Over to Departure, talk to you soon, Smile 5280.” “Miami Departure, Smile 5280 off Opa Locka, 1,900 for 10,000.” “Smile 5280, Miami Departure. Turn left direct WINCO, remain clear of Fort Lauderdale Class C airspace, climb and maintain 10,000.” “Left Direct WINCO, 10,000, remain clear of Lauderdale, Smile 5280.” “Smile 5280, contact Miami Center, 134.75.” “34.75, Smile 5280.” “Miami Center, Smile 5280, 9,200 for 10,000.” “Smile 5280, Miami Center, climb and maintain FL220.” “220, Smile 5280.” 50. 40. 30. 20. 10. Touchdown. Spoilers up, brakes on, 3 in reverse. Standard route to A1. Clean up, call up, wake up Pinkie. “Wow, that was fast.” “You’ll remember that my airport is in Peotone. I’ll cover your tolls and I’ll drive if you want me to.” “Yay.” She responds with just as much vigor as when we left Miami. After we park, I shut everything down, call the jetway by Bluetooth control, and hook up ground power. When Pinkie follows me down the jetway, we back her car out and brim the tank before exiting through the garage, where Pinkie turns on the radio as I keep my EarPods handy in case of any unexpected calls. I then check to see that I have plenty of pocket change. Pinkie then reaches into her hair and pulls out a little jar. “I’ve gotchu.” She responds as she shakes it to rattle the coins inside. “You really are an Illinoisan.” “Well, duh!” “More so than me. I only spent the first 2 years and 10 months of my life in Illinois before we moved to California. I’m a Californian from Chicago. You’re Illinois born and raised.” “Eh, fair enough. But your knowledge of the city is very abundant.” “That’s because of my pride. And if you know a Filipino, that pride carries well beyond being Filipino. I have a stronger connection to Chicago than most. Though that may just be my own personal biases getting in the way.” “That’s still pretty cool. I don’t have that feeling with either Rockford or Miami, but I do love where I live.” “Fun-loving, tropical climate, great place to be. Yeah, there’s the pretty good hurricane from time to time, but overall?” I ask. “Probably wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.” “How ‘bout it.” I respond as she adds power for the interstate. Plenty of tolls later, we reach the Pie rock farm, where in one of the garages, Pinkie reveals two midsize trucks, a White Tacoma TRD Pro, license plate ‘MMM HMMM’, and the Frontier she had in Chicago, license plate ‘BOULDER’. There’s a third space in the garage, but it’s empty. “Nice trucks they’ve got there. Especially that TRD Pro.” “That’s my twin sister Marble’s. She’s just a few minutes younger than me.“ “Well then. What’re’ya looking for?” “Found it!” Pinkie exclaims as she pulls a tarpaulin off a trailer with something very large and strange looking. “Is that…?” “My party cannon!!” “What’s it doing here?” “I stopped using it after one of my parties got shut down before it was time.” “Hmm. Police raid?” “Yep! Busted a dealer. But now I can bring it back! You know how to hitch up a trailer?” “4-pin or 7?” She only smirks at me and tosses her keys. “Bring her back here.” I do as told. Soon enough, the trailer is hooked up, we do the brake and signal tests, and Pinkie does some arbitrary speed tests. Onto I-90 we go. Careful not to exceed 65, unusually high for a trailer of its weight, plenty of tolls, fortunately manned, do little to her jar, but when we reach Veterans, I cover this portion much to Pinkie’s surprise. Given that we have strange and mysterious cargo, some of the booth attendants give us strange looks, but seem to be okay with the simple “confetti cannon.” In no time, we reach the airport, so I file and do the preflight. I guide pinkie onboard and position it to best fit the CG as best as possible, so once we secure the load, Pinkie jumps into the right seat and grabs the yoke, pretending she’s a fighter pilot by clicking the A/P disengage and going “pew, pew, pew!” I chuckle as I head out to do my walk-around. No anomalies to report, I disconnect the jetway, turn on the APU, open the garage, and push her back. After I run back onboard, I start the engines after I check to see if Pinkie messed with anything. Fortunately, she didn’t, so we soon get going. Airborne ahead of schedule, we should expect holds closer to Opa Locka for flow into both FLL and MIA. Sure enough, our whole IFR Clearance gets thrown out the window as we descend into the thick of South Florida airspace. “Smile 5280, hold west of OKANE, 2,500. Maintain 170 knots, EFC 35 minutes.” “Hold as published at OKANE, 2,500, 170 knots, 35 minutes EFC, Smile 5280.” “Well, looks like we’ll be holding for a while.” “Why?” “Flow control. They’re metering into Laudermare and Mareami.” Pinkie then looks at me then bursts into laughter. “Did you just say Laudermare and Mareami?” “Yeah. They both have flow control in effect. They’re metering traffic, which for whatever reason we’re caught in the crossfire, being situated between the two.” “Wouldn’t we be out of their way?” “I guess, but we’re over an approach fix for Opa Locka specifically. No idea why we have to hold for them.” Just a few seconds later, it all makes sense. “Smile 5280, sensitive Coast Guard operations at Opa Locka. The airport is closed at this time. Understand no alternate filed, so where would you like to divert?” “Smile 5280, we’ll need a runway with a minimum of 6,500.’” “Smile 5280, roger. Say fuel.” “3 hours, Smile 5280.” “Smile 5280, roger.” “Smile 5280, actually, we can go to Boca.” “What’s going on?” Pinkie asks. “Smile 5280, roger. Stand by.” ATC responds. “Coast Guard closed Opa Locka for a training exercise.” I say to Pinkie. “We can’t get into Miami or Lauderdale because they’re metering traffic, so we’re diverting to Boca.” “Hmm.” She responds as she stares out the window. “Smile 5280, cleared to Boca Raton airport via direct Fort Lauderdale, then radar vectors to KISEC. Climb and maintain 3,000. Opa Locka altimeter 30.04.” “30.04 at Opa Locka, cleared to Boca via Fort Lauderdale, Radar vectors to KISEC, climb and maintain 3,000, Smile 5280.” “Smile 5280, readback correct. Proceed direct Fort Lauderdale.” “Direct Lauderdale, Smile 5280. Confirm RNAV GPS RWY 23 at Boca?” “Smile 5280, affirmative.” “Roger, 5280.” Short runway, we’ll have to land with flaps 50. Set flaps 15 below max permissible airspeed. “Ooh. Pilot stuff! Let me help, let me help!” “Okay then…” I respond hesitantly. “Hold this.” I say handing her my iPad, which already has the approach plate. “Let me configure the autopilot and then I’ll walk you through what I want you to do.” “Okie dokie, Loki!” Altitude 3,000, speed 180 knots in prep for Vref. Flaps 15. Approach brief. “iPad please. Follow along with me, Pinkie.” I say as she leans over and follows me. “RNAV GPS RWY 23 into Boca Raton. Primary navaid WAAS enabled GPS, which checks and works. Approach course inbound 229. Please set the dial that says “course” to 229.” She does as told as I read. “5,898’ of runway available, airport and touchdown zone elevation both 13 feet.” “Pinkie, here’s where I will need you to help. Get ready for this.” She gives me a thumbs up before I continue. “We’re going to hold at KISEC as published here in this racetrack pattern at 3,000, right between 2000 and 6000 feet. When we get cleared for the approach, and we pass KISEC, which you’ll see and I’ll call out, I’ll need you to respond with the next altitude, which is 1,500. Okay?” “Past KISEC, descend to 1,500. Got it!” “Okay. Also, pay attention to your flight display. The number on the left, currently about 170, is our airspeed. The number on the right, at 3,000, is our altitude. The altitude control knob is on your side, which is currently set to 3,000. When we get cleared and pass KISEC, I need you to set that to 1,500, Okay?” “Okay.” “Now. Just in case I forget, when we reach 1,500 and intercept the glideslope, I‘ll need you to arm the autopilot in case we need to go around, which is if we get told to by ATC, or I otherwise say so. Set altitude to 2,100 at that point, I’ll take care of the rest. Make sense?” “Yeah!” “Okay. I’ll walk you through each step too, just in case you’ve forgotten something.” “Smile 5280, contact Palm Beach Approach on 125.2.” “Palm Beach 25.2, Smile 5280.” “Palm Beach Approach, Smile 5280, level at 3,000.” “Smile 5280, Palm Beach Approach, roger. Proceed direct KISEC, RNAV GPS RWY 23 Approach, report established in the hold.” “Direct KISEC, RNAV GPS 23, will report established, Smile 5280.” “Let’s bring speed back to 160, in anticipation of flaps 22 in the hold. Pinkie, all I need you to do is set the altitude bug to 1,500, then on my mark, set it to 2,100.” “Okie dokie Loki.” Passing KISEC, hold parallel. Autopilot takes care of everything except airspeed and altitude. Flaps 22. “Palm Beach Approach, Smile 5280 established in the hold over KISEC.” “Smile 5280, roger. Cleared RNAV GPS runway 23 Approach. Radar service terminated. Contact Boca tower on 118.425, great day.” “Cleared RNAV GPS 23, over to tower, thanks for the help, Smile 5280.” “Landing gear down please.” “This lever?” She asks with her hand on the big lever that, um, says “landing gear.” “Yes, that one.” “Down!” She says as she brings it down. The pitching up moment corrects itself by George, and I reduce the speed bug to 140. “Boca tower, Smile 5280, at KISEC, RNAV GPS 23.” Flaps 35. “Smile 5280, Boca tower. Wind 260 at 5, altimeter 30.01. Runway 23, cleared to land.” “Cleared to land 23, Smile 5280.” “Vref 135 knots. Touchdown at 128. Make note of that. Once we get to 1,500, we’ll fly the approach at that speed.” “Okie dokie. When do you need me to set the altitude?” “Right now. Passing KISEC, 1,500’ please.” “Got it!” She calls as she sets autopilot. “Speed 135 on the bug. Glideslope intercept 1,500.” When we level off, I check the GPS and hand fly the approach. “There’s our glideslope intercept. Altitude 2,100 please.” I say as I set flaps 50. “Okie dokie, Loki!” She responds as she sets the bug. Autothrottle adds some extra thrust to compensate for the lost airspeed. 1000 to minimums. 500. 100. 263! Environment in sight, gear down, 3 green, power set, normal maneuvers, normal descent to land, cleared to land. 50. 40. 30. 20. 10. Touchdown! Spoilers up, brakes on, 3 in reverse. Pinkie flings forward in her chair under heavy braking. Firm landing, but at least we stopped in good runway. “Smile 5280, no one behind you. Continue to the end, turn right at H, where are you parking?” “Atlantic, Smile 5280.” I respond as I clean the airplane up. “Smile 5280, roger. Turn right at H, taxi Atlantic via H P, contact ground .8 on P for either a P5 or P4 entry.” “Right H, H P to Atlantic, contact ground on P, Smile 5280.” On H, I turn off all the lights except beacon before turning right onto P. “Boca Ground, Smile 5280, taxi Atlantic.” “Smile 5280, Boca Raton Ground. Taxi Atlantic via P P5.” “P5 entry, Smile 5280.” Flaps up, spoilers retracted, reversers stowed, lights except beacon off, autopilot off and references set but not armed for the next flight. After a lineman ushers us in to park, we shut down and unload. I order a couple hundred gallons of fuel and get Pinkie’s cargo out of the plane. After I get my receipt, I head inside to pay and Pinkie leaves her cargo plane side. After we get pointed to the gate, I drive out to the parking lot where Pinkie drives the rest of the way home. As Pinkie does her driving thing, I break out an e-cigarette and ask, “you mind if I huff? It’s an electronic.” “As long as you’re not setting anything on fire.” “Nope. Just my nose hairs.” “What?!” She exclaims. Just as she looks over at me, I stick the cigarette in one of my nostrils, give a good cocaine-style inhalation and trigger the tip light. When the smoke leaves through my mouth, Pinkie winces and goes “ewww!!!” “Can’t be any worse than cocaine or meth. I’d know.” “I don’t allow contraband, remember?” “Oh well.” I say doing the nose thing again. “Stop that!!! It grosses me out!” “Good to know.” I snicker back. When we get back, I move the trailer to the backyard under her guidance then aim the cannons so that they’re out of the blast area of her neighbors. A few minutes later, as I enjoy some more e-cigarettes, a figure clad in all white with magenta leggings, a pair of hi tops I would wear if I was feeling snazzy, a short sleeve track jacket, and a set of headphones I would love, enters the backyard. Since Pinkie is tending to stuff in the house, I obligatorily greet her. “Hi. You’re looking for Pinkie Pie? She’s inside baking.” She gives me a thumbs up and heads for the glass door. I continue to do my nose thing and go through as many sticks as possible. “Hey Vinyl!” Pinkie shouts as she pulls out some goods from the oven. The instantly recognizable scent of cookies hits me like a pie to the face. Bright pink and glossy like candy floss, Pinkie sets them on a cooling rack as her friend sets her equipment down in the main room. “You’ll love these! Cotton Candy!” “Sweet.” “Vinyl, this is Max, one of my best friends!” “Split Scimitar.” I respond. “I go by Max.” She nods and shakes my hand, to which I ask, “you like Star Wars?” “Yeah! I’m a huge fan of John Williams.” “Sweet. Did you know that the Imperial Death March was inspired by a piece from Gustav Holst’s Planets Suite?” “Yes actually! The opening and first stanza from Episode IV are sampled from Mars: The Bringer of War. And it wasn’t just from Holst: don’t forget about Chopin’s Funeral March.” “Thank goodness I’ve met somebody else who knows that!” I say as I offer my fist for bumping. “Alright!” She says as she bumps my fist. “What’s your favorite genre?” “For mixing, top 40 easily. They say a lot of pop music sounds the same, and it does, because the I–V–vi–IV (1–5–minor 6–4) chord progression is everywhere. Don’t Stop Believin’, Africa, Don’t Let Me Down, 21 Guns, to name a few.” “Absolutely. Are you familiar with the group Axis of Awesome?” “No. I can’t say I’ve heard of them.” “Okay. Well, they’re a musical comedy group that made a song with that chord progression and made a musical mosaic for lack of a better term of songs that use it. The song is called 4 Chords.” “Alright. Let me look it up.” “I have it on my phone if you want to listen to it?” “Okay.” She says as she pulls her earbuds out of her pocket. “Do you need a jack adapter?” “I’ve already got one, thanks.” “No prob.” “Wow, you have a lot of Nintendo on your phone.” “Heh. They’re mostly 30 minute loops to help me keep track of time on long flights or drives.” “Interesting.” As she listens, we head back to the kitchen and she sits on the couch with her equipment. She lets out a couple of good laughs, some “not bad,” and some nods of “Yep, I knew they were gonna go there.” “Nice. That’s pretty sick.” She says as she hands my phone back. “Right?” “Thanks for showing me that. I’m probably gonna have to buy that myself.” “I would. It’s a great laugh, and it makes ya think too.” “Yeah.” “By the way, unpopular opinion: all pop music sounds the same for two reasons: 1. We’ve established all the appropriate chords and vice versa, so that heavily dictates songwriting, which means that 2. There are only so many chords out there. We were bound to run out of them at some point.” “True that.” She says as she nods in agreement and bumps my fist again. “Anyway, I don’t want to hold you, so if you need to set up, you can do that now.” “Thanks.” A few minutes after that, Pinkie offers me one of her cotton candy cookies. I bite into one and am instantly bombarded by the sugariness of it. “Wow!” I exclaim. “You trying to give me cavities? Great recipe, Pinkie!” I wait for a response as she bites into one herself. When she can, she responds, “thanks! Glad you like it!” before she delivers one to Vinyl outside. After Pinkie returns, she checks to see that Vinyl is out of earshot (she’s got her headphones in anyway) before she asks if we can talk in private. When we head up to her bedroom, she shuts the door behind us and sits me down at the side of her bed. “What’s up?” “I just want you to know that no matter what happens, I’m here for you.” “Thank you. Were you aware of what happened in Chicago?” “I kind of picked it up. But I figured you had stomach flu or something bad.” “Did anyone tell you?” “No.” “Well, now you know. I got nervous as I usually do around the holidays. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, what you saw was a combination of things. Mostly a series of sourceless panic attacks.” “Have you considered professional help?” “Hell no! Every psychologist I’ve visited has just driven me further and further to suicide. The next one I visit I’m afraid will send me over.” “Are you on meds?” “No. I don’t want to either.“ “Will a party of mine at least help put a smile on your face?” “I hope so.” “Me too. Max, I don’t know everything you’re going through, but I would hate to see you go so quickly. You have no idea how much I enjoyed that Chicago trip, since I know you were striving to make it the best it could be. And it was.” “Thank you Pinkie. I’m glad you could enjoy Chicago as much as I loved showing her off.” “Yeah! It made me so happy to see you happy.” “You call me showing off Chicago happy? I’d hate for you to be around when I…” “Stop!” She says putting a finger on my lips. She then heads for the door and opens it. “The first guests are here! Vinyl just started playing her music!” “Yay.” I whisper to myself as she runs out the door. When I reach the kitchen and take in the sight ahead of me, I slowly step out into the backyard then stop dead in my tracks. What stands before me is not at all what I expected. Expecting a lively, jumping crowd, what I get is a lively crowd, jumping. Into the pool. “A pool party?” “No, silly. SPRING BREAK!!!!!” She screams as she shakes me wildly. “WOOHOO!!!!!” “Too bad I don’t have swimwear.” I whisper to myself. Nonetheless, I find an empty deck chair to lounge on. As I get comfortable, I adjust an umbrella to block out the sun in just the right places, but the fun soon ends. A single cloud blocks the sun, which is enough to get me to look up. “Oh, look at that. It’s gonna rain.” I chuckle to myself as I continue to lounge. A few moments later, the sun gets blocked again, this time I know it’s not a cloud, as the silhouette definitely shows a bodily figure. I sit up and remove my sunglasses to find out who it is. Author's Note Veterans in Illinois is I-355, the highway for many of Chicago’s suburbs. Come On, Take A Whirl In A Loud Crowd“Hi, Pinkie.” I say as I get up from my reclined position. “What’s up?” “Oh, I’m not Pinkie. You mind if I sit down next to you?” “No. Go right ahead.” I respond making some space on the chair and clearing my eyes. Just as someone cannonballs into the pool, the person sits on the side of the chair and introduces themselves, “My name is Sweetie Drops, but you can call me Bon Bon.” “Pleasure to meet you.” I say, playing the ‘will she, won’t she’ shake my hand. “Pinkie tells me that you’re one of the best pilots out there.” “How can I help you?” “My bestie Lyra and I just had our flight cancelled. I know it’s short notice, but can you make room for two more?” “It won’t be a problem, but I have a cargo plane with me. I can give you a ride, but it’ll be rather uncomfortable.” “I’m not concerned, and I doubt Lyra would be either.” “Okay. Well, first things first: where’re’ya headed?” “I live in Portland, and Lyra lives in the Seattle area.” “Okay, that leaves us with some pretty good options. Where specifically does Lyra live?” “Mukilteo.” “Did she park at Paine Field?” “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.” “Well, it’d be convenient to drop her off at her origin.” “Sure, sure.” “You fly Alaska?” “Yeah.” “I can’t imagine why they’d cancel.” Bon Bon shrugs too. Just a few seconds later, another girl joins us. “You must be Lyra?” I ask. “That’s me.” “Split Scimitar, but I just go by Max.” “Lyra Heartstrings.” She says offering her hand, which I shake. “Pleasure to meet you. Alaska screwed you over, huh?” “Yeah. And so suddenly too.” “When were you supposed to leave?” “Day after tomorrow.” “I have a cargo plane with me, but it does have 3 jump seats. I can get you home, but it won’t be comfortable.” “I don’t sleep on airplanes anyway.” Bon Bon says. “I’m in.” “Oh, why not.” Lyra says. “Great! When would you like to leave? I should ask it this way: ‘when would you like to arrive at either of your destinations?’” “I’m pretty flexible.” Lyra says. “I can afford to take extra time.” “How about you, Bon Bon? Anything that requires you to return ASAP?” “I specifically planned to return two days before I need to return to work, so we can leave as late as 3 days from now and I’ll still be okay.” “Alrighty. Let’s exchange contact information. Do you want to leave later than the day after tomorrow?” “Um, let’s see how tomorrow goes. We’ll have a word for you by 15:00.” “No problem.” I say as we exchange phone numbers. Eventually, I get bored of sunbathing, so I sit poolside to get my feet wet. A few people in the pool pay me no mind, so I let my feet soak for about 5 minutes before I get up and head back inside for a drink. When I head back outside, my chair is occupied and the pool is full, so I decide to walk around the backyard, enjoying the party that contrary to my first impressions, is a Pinkie Pie party. Living in Miami with a rep for great parties does not equal rave. Regardless, after I help myself to some snacks and join a game of half court basketball, I play a couple minutes and mark my departure with a nothin but net from downtown. Finger guns all around in response to their cheering, I keep exploring for Pinkie, who seems to leave for her next post just as I reach her. Eventually, I do stop her right as she reaches Vinyl’s table. “Hey Max!” She says as I get her attention. “What’s up?” “Did you tell Lyra and/or Bon Bon that I could take them home?” “I… might’ve…” “Pinkie, I know you mean well, but I’m not an everyman’s airline. That would undercut the airlines in operation at present.” “Sorry… I thought you would’ve liked to have some passengers with you. They said they’d pay well.” “It’s not about the Benjamins!” “Then why are you so hesitant to advertise yourself?” “Because I don’t want just anybody asking for a private charter.” I then take a deep breath and continue with, “Look, I’m not saying I’m unappreciative of you pointing your friends in my direction. I just… knowing you and your large group of friends, I don’t want you to make a big deal out of it. I’m proud of my career, but that’s different. I just… I don’t want to sound like I’m chastising you, because I’m glad you referred friends to me. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page of ‘I don’t want just anyone to come to me just so they don’t have to travel on an airline.’ You follow?” “Yeah. I do. I know it did seem very sudden for you to just have someone come up to and ask you if you could take them home. I’m sorry about that, but I can’t apologize for my heart being in the right place.” “I know you had your friends’ interest at heart, and that you did mean well in referring them to me. I will gladly take them, but I don’t want just anyone to come to me, you know what I mean? I’m not an airline. That would destroy the industry.” “You were the one that got royally screwed by the airlines. I was doing you a favor!” “It wasn’t the airlines that screwed me.” “Look Max, I know why you’re upset, and I’ll be honest with you: I wouldn’t refer just anyone I know to you. Lyra and Bon Bon are very close friends of mine. I’ve known Bon Bon since I moved here, and Lyra is best friends with Twilight from her childhood.” “Hmm.” I sigh gently. “Look, I’m sorry for lashing out at you, but that’s just a testament to how serious I am about client control.” “I know. I appreciate it.” “If I wanted to fly everybody, I’d be in the airlines right now.” “No you wouldn’t. You’d be your own airline, actually competing in the industry.” “Fine, you win.” I say more out of wanting to end the argument than actually conceding defeat. “I’ll have a word from my passengers by tomorrow, so I’m down to my last day or a few.” “Okie dokie, Loki!” “Can we hug it out?” Without saying a word, Pinkie opens her arms and pulls me in for one of her trademark tight hugs. “I know you’re going through a lot. I’m here for you whenever you need cheering up.” She says before we let go. “Thanks Pinkie.” “Yo, Max!” Vinyl calls out from the table. “Check it!” She then works her magic, cuts the current track, scratches her records a couple times, then drops the beat onto one of her original compositions. As she jams out to her own beat, quite literally, I take a look at the party from this perspective. I however get bored quickly and find myself bored at a Pinkie Pie party. Can you believe it? To try and remedy the situation, I have a couple drinks and hide in the house. Then, on a self dare, I dig in my bag and find some old clothes I can be comfortable taking into a pool. Eventually I find the clothes I wore on my travel day, so putting those on, I build up the courage and the willpower to unleash my inner fun-lover to attempt a stunt. I then check to make sure I leave my stuff like my phone, keys, wallet, and watch before I stoop around the kitchen to see if she has any other drinks laying around. I do some more digging and eventually find some empty slots in her liquor cabinet. Looking at the others on display, I assume the two missing items are out for the taking. Making note of the various kinds of tequila, rum, and whiskey in here, I then head for her drinks table and find something beautiful on the table. Sitting next to the punch bowl is a drink I have never seen outside of Europe. Taped onto the bottle is a handwritten note obviously meant to cover up the name of the liquor. “Spike your own punch!” I snicker to myself at Pinkie’s antics as I pour a shot. The liquor in question? Cosmo. The Green Fairy. Otherwise known as, Absinthe. One shot down, I forget how strong it is, so I chase it with a considerable amount of punch. One more round, I pour in the punch and spike it roughly 20% less. After I down it in 3 chugs, I slam my cup down in the trash can at the end of the table, let the drink course through my system, check my pockets, and head for the pool. With a few lounging about, I still make for the diving board. Trying my best to still appear full function, having just downed 400 mL of Absinthe, I climb on top and survey my splash zone. The few that lounge around pull out their phones and aim their cameras at me. I give them a Shaka and call “clear!” I step back to give myself a slight running start. Now that my mental governor has been delimited, I crack a sinister smile and throw caution to the wind, leaping off the tip of the board and attempting a reverse somersault with as much lateral distance as possible. I reach the apex of the dive but am far from inverted. Trying to torque my body in midair proves unfruitful as I shut my eyes and splash down about 75% of the way around. When I open my eyes, I scan my surroundings as best I can, shake my head to stop the dizziness and push off the floor straight back up to the surface. When I emerge from the water, a small crowd has gathered around and my face drops. The music has stopped, some murmurs echo, and after a few seconds of silence, I perch myself on one of the edges and climb out of the pool. “You good?!” A voice calls from the crowd. “Yeah! Please tell me somebody caught that on video!” I call back rubbing my chest in slight pain. “I did!” A familiar voice calls from the crowd. “How epic a fail was it?” “Come and see!” When I roll the tape, a slo-mo reveals the fault of this attempt. Apparently, I underestimated the elasticity of the board, because just as I leave the board, my knees buckle as the board doesn’t provide the tension I expected. That fundamental problem is why I couldn’t torque my body the rest of the way round. Speaking of torque, in midair, I laugh at myself pretty heartily, because watching me try to whip my way around turned out a lot more “silly salmon” than I would’ve liked. “You should try again!” Lyra encourages. “Yeah!” Pinkie agrees. “Alright!” I say as the Absinthe starts to kick in. This time, I head for the diving board and take a test jump to get a feel for the board’s springiness. Suddenly, Vinyl stops the music and changes it to something a little more adrenaline-pumping. In response to the crowd, I watch as more cameras show up. Now it’s gonna get good. From the back tip again, I have another running start. As soon as I hit the edge of the board, I lock my knees and let the board spring me into the air. Back parallel with the horizon, I torque my legs to vertical and adjust my upper body accordingly. “Ow!” I say to myself as I hit my head on the sidewall of the pool. Shaking my head to regain my vision, I break for the surface. When I emerge, a light chorus of cheers echoes through the yard. Lyra then pulls up the new video as Pinkie hands me a towel. Drawing a semi-symmetrical loop with my feet, I splash down with minimal disruption to the others. After I get the video via text, I dry off and return to the party, greeted by a few people who positively acknowledge my stunt, with equal parts “sweet dive, barely made a splash” to “dude, that first dive was nasty!” Slowly opening up more than halfway through the party, I have a couple more drinks to try and summon the last of my willpower. What happens next, you may ask? Well… Sitting All AloneSuddenly, I wake up upside down in one of Pinkie’s bedrooms. By that, I mean my head is at the foot of the bed. As my eyes adjust, I check to see what I have with me. Pockets empty, I frantically search for my phone. When I do find it, I find a text from Pinkie. “Oh shit. What did I do? What did I do??” Blinking a few times to clear my vision, I read the text. “Hey Max, you wiped out hard. You had us scared out of our wits! If you read this, please find me! I’m worried you left us early.” “What happened?” I ask myself. After I check the time: 00:15, I check the time I received the text: 19:52. “Shit, was I out that long?” I exit my bedroom and find the party still kicking, albeit with fewer people. When I make my appearance, I get some weird looks but find Pinkie hopping around making random chatter with people. Trying my best to blend in, I pour myself some more punch, but instead of Cosmo/Absinthe, the hardening agent of choice is that in a Cuba Libre. Pouring myself a Virgin ~~America~~ Cuba Libre, and diet at that, I try and blend in. I do pretty well, until Bon Bon sits next to me and says, “glad you’re okay. You looked fine until you went underwater and didn’t come back up.” “Anyone see what actually happened? I don’t remember much after slipping into the pool.” “Just that. You slipped in, went underwater, stayed under a little longer than normal, then you started to look disoriented. Lyra dove in and pulled you out, then Pinkie and I checked your vitals and carried you to the bedroom.” “Was I conscious when you pulled me out?” “You were breathing, but you had water in your lungs.” “How long was I under?” “Probably 2-3 minutes.” “Nice.” I respond dryly. “Well, I’m okay, and as long as you’re okay and ready when you are, we can head back to your homes.” “Actually, about that. We both called Alaska, and they rebooked us out of Miami.” “You don’t need me anymore?” “No. We have seats on an American flight to Vegas. From there Lyra goes to Everett, and I head up to Portland.” “Cool. You get compensated?” “We’re both getting a $125 travel voucher.” “Just out of curiosity, did your flight number have 3 or 4 digits?” “What?” “Is your flight number between 1 and 999 or more than 1000?” “Oh! It had four digits.” “Okay. Let me check something really quick.” “What?” “Well, I hate to be that guy, but if my suspicions are correct, there may be a good reason your flight got cancelled.” “Do tell.” “You are, or were flying on Alaska. The flight number is in the 1000’s, which means it’s operated by an Airbus aircraft. More accurately, Alaska flights in the 1000’s were former Virgin America routes. Because Alaska is a staunch Boeing company, the company mechanics have essentially boycotted working on the Airbus aircraft. Those mechanics from Virgin America that remained are now swamped with work.” “So basically the airplane’s down and it’s in a queue for maintenance due to short staff.” “Basically.” “Wow.” “Let me check something else.” “What?” “What particular ship were you gonna fly on? If you hit one of the unlucky ones, you… ohhhhkaaayyy then. Damn. N854VA.” “Why?” “That airplane has a history of issues. Once, a cooling fan for the inflight entertainment system broke. Ended up diverting to Buffalo from Boston due to an uncomfortably hot cabin. Due to security reasons, no one could leave the terminal and the crew had all but disappeared. Stuck in Buffalo for like 5 or 6 hours, eventually, they return to Boston, but don’t get rebooked until almost 24 hours later, on the same numbered flight. Most of the passengers got $20 food vouchers and not much else. Had to sleep in the terminal chapel with nothing but newspapers. They did an empty ferry back to Seattle so maintenance could fix it, and it broke down again before it left the eastern time zone!” “Wow.” “The best part of that story is the fact that even though the airplane was already repainted into Alaska colors, Virgin America had a tradition of naming their planes. The name this broken airplane used to wear: “stand up flyer.” “That’s funny, but so bad.” “I know, right? Anyway, I’m sorry about the whole situation. Glad it worked out though.” “Thank you for offering.” “Not a problem. I live in Southern California. The least I could’ve done is take you to my place and then shuttle you two to wherever you would meet your connection.” “Well, thank you.” “Not a problem. If you ever need to get somewhere an airline just won’t reach, give me a call, or actually, just text me. I respond better to texts. If I don’t see her, tell Lyra the same is extended to her.” “Tell me what?” Lyra asks as she sits down next to Bon Bon. “You got rebooked through Vegas and out of Miami instead, so you won’t need me anymore. Nevertheless, if you need me to take you somewhere on short notice, give me 4 hours notice and I’ll be there as best I can. I prefer text, but you can call.” “Thank you so much Max. It means a lot.” “No problem. If I don’t see either of you before you leave, it’s been a pleasure meeting you both. Hope to work together sometime.” “Likewise!” They both say, with Lyra giving me a hug and Bon Bon hesitantly following in her best friend’s path. After they end up leaving, I find Vinyl and sit at the base of her table and wait for Pinkie, since she told me she’s down to her last two songs of the night. A few minutes later, she gets on the mic and announces, “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, this is the last song of the night. It’s been an absolute blast turning the tables tonight, here’s to another great weekend for us!” I jam out to the beat, mostly in my head, but since I’m still in the clothes I jumped in, I make for another dive, seeing as the pool is empty. No special tricks this time, I do a traditional dive and let the water cool me down, not that I was scorching, but still. As I stay afloat as an excuse to stare at the night sky, Pinkie finds me. “Max!!! I thought you were gonna be out for the night!“ “Surprise!” “Too bad you came out just as we start to wind down.” “Speaking of winding down.” I say as the music from Vinyl’s table fades. “I’m really glad you invited me. I had a lot of fun.” “I’m so glad you came. I got to see you out of your shell and actually having a good time.” “You didn’t think Chicago was a good time for me?” “I do, but at least one of my parties made you just as happy!” “I must admit, when I landed at Opa Locka, I thought I was gonna be overloaded with what I would expect from a party in this kind of place. I honestly expected nothing less than a rave, despite your objections to your outlawing of contraband. I owe you some apologies: one for my misconception about you, one for my misconceptions about your parties, one for almost dying at the hands of one of your parties, and one for being such a downer.” “Hahaha! Oh, Max! You don’t have to apologize. I’m just glad you had a good time! I knew all I needed to get you out of your shell was to get you comfortable! I also knew you wouldn’t be comfortable until you had gotten what you needed to off your chest. That’s not to say I didn’t just ignore what you’ve been telling me completely, but look at what you did!“ “You’re right. I did, I guess. I’m glad this party was a success. I’m also pleased to report that I need to stay here another day to get the drinks out of my system. I strictly adhere to a 24 hour policy between my last drink and starting the engines.” “Perfect! I’d love to have you for another day! Stay longer if you need to too!” “You sound like my uncle.” “That can’t be good.” “Oh, relax. He was probably the last of my family to actually disown me.” “Look Max, I’m probably the last person that should tell you this, but I don’t think you’re gonna truly be happy until you accept the fact that your family is done with you. The only thing you have to do is to sever your connection to them, because clearly they had no problem severing theirs to you.” “You’re unfortunately right, but can you imagine me in my shoes? I would lay down my life for them, I love them to pieces.” “Max, I understand, but I also know that you hoping you can come to peace with the fact cannot happen until you let them go.” “If I do, then I’ll truly be alone. I’ll have dumped the people who have been with me since day 1.” “Clearly not, if they disowned you for not doing what they wanted you to do.” “I would’ve never qualified for med or dental school anyway. My grades were shit.” “Still, you won’t be alone. You have all of us! Me, Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Twilight, Applejack, and Sunset Shimmer. You’re our friend, we would never disown you!” “Sorry to sound unappreciative, but I have trust issues with word of mouth, so I’ll believe it when I see it.” “I understand. And another thing Max, I like you especially because despite your blatant pessimism, you manage to keep me grounded.” “Really?” “Yeah. I’m glad I can have someone who keeps me in check, and vice versa with you. I remind you that there’s so much more than the light at the end of the tunnel.” “I’m glad you think that, but I’m a pessimist?” “Well, duh!” “Eh? Well, doesn’t surprise me. I consider myself a realist, but I guess that’s just what people think of me. Because anything less than sunshine and rainbows is negative.” “I think your definition of normal is what most people, would call negative.” “Well, pardon me for preemptively cushioning the blows I always seem to receive regardless of whether I was involved in it or not, never mind whose fault it is, mine or not.” “Max, you’re not making any sense.” “You’re right. Being abandoned by my family, losing my friends, and relying on people I’ve known for less than a year to sustain my will to live makes me delusional.” “That’s not what I’m trying to say, Max. I’m not saying all you need to do is just think positive, because that’s just plain wrong. I’m saying that there’s nothing for you to be afraid of.” “Too bad I spent my time here wallowing in my sorrows.” “You had a right to, what with you having just dropped off Rosalina.” “Still.” “Yeah…” The conversation ends rather abruptly so we can finish the last of teardown and cleanup. Eventually, when all her stuff is put away or tossed, we both head inside and get ready for bed, the time quickly approaching 4 AM. Take A WhirlWoken up at 10 by my body, I fight a massive headache and unsettled stomach to get out of bed and detox. I do a blow to check my starting point, and thanks to diluted demand as opposed to a continuous flow, my indicated reading is 0.06%. Hopefully it’ll drop down below 0.03% by tomorrow, but until then, what can I do? I imagine Pinkie’s still asleep, and even though I feel fine, I shouldn’t drive. One thing however is for certain: I need food. Not wanting to be that guy, I instead have a glass of water and wait for her to wake up. After 20 minutes, I eventually head outside and have a cigarette as an excuse to lighten the load. Halfway through, I see Pinkie moving in her kitchen. “Hey Max! You woke up before I did!” “That obvious?” I say jokingly as I have another huff. “Is that electronic?” “Yeah.” “Okay. If it was real, I’d have you stay outside.” “Believe me, you would know if it was.” “Well, is there anything you want to do on your last day here?” “I mean, I might want Las Orquideas again, but not much else I can think of.” “Well, you know what’s on my mind? It takes 134 minutes of active sex to burn off the calories in one bag of chips.” “Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.” “But if it’s on the internet, it must be true.” “Abraham Lincoln was ahead of his time, and also apparently very self-contradictory.” Pinkie chuckles. “I thought Einstein said that.” “Thomas Jefferson said ‘If it’s on the internet, it must be true.’ Einstein said, ‘I never said half the crap people say I did.’ But Lincoln said, ‘Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.’ It was part of his famous prohibition address. You know, his famous speech in St. Louis. ‘Four shots and seven beers ago, our drunkards brought forth, in this city, a new brewery, conceived in patriotism, and dedicated to the notion that all Clydesdales are meant to haul beer.” “Stop It Max! You’re killing me!” Pinkie wheezes out. “Sorry. I try.” “And that’s why you’re fun to hang around with!” “Good. That means I’m not inept.” “Well then let’s go to the bakery! At least we can get out of the house.” With that, I blow a 0.02 and jump in to Pinkie’s Escalade. Snagging parking in the alley behind the shop, we head in and claim her favorite table. After I order a few items, Mrs. Cake hands them out personally to us, to which I immediately ask the question, “How did your group meet?” “We all met in college. Dashie and Fluttershy however are childhood friends. They’ve known each other since they were little. Applejack has lived in the same place since Granny Smith was young, and Rarity’s from Minnesota.“ “Where’d you all go to college?” “Boise State.” “You’re all Broncos then. Nice.” “Yupperoonie!” “Cool. You know I have the Dash 8 that wears BSU’s colors.” “What?” “You know Horizon? The Alaska regional subsidiary?” “Yeah?” “Well, they dumped all their Q400’s in favor of the E175. I purchased a few of the university ones – UW, BSU and SDSU, and their Celebration of Horizon Air Retro.” “Oh, nice!” “It’s a fun airplane to fly. If you enjoyed helping me in the trijet…” “I can imagine.” “It’s just sad. I mean, Horizon differentiated themselves from other U.S. regionals by operating turboprops. Thanks to shit circumstances and multiple nasty backstabbing incidents, I missed my greatest opportunity to get that type rating, but I was fortunate enough to get type-rated elsewhere. The story of my training in that aircraft is horrendous, but it is still a fun plane to fly.” “Is that your favorite aircraft you have?” “Oh heavens no. I don’t play favorites. Each one is special to me for its own reason.” “You know, I wonder if Dashie would want to build time in a jet after she ends her time in the Blue Angels.” “I don’t know. If Spitfire has her way, she could be a lifer. I’m all for it. I actually like flying alone. It has its perks, since autopilot can be a huge help.” “Mhmm.” She responds as she sips her drink. As we carry on conversation, Mrs. Cake takes orders and then begins another batch of whatever baked goods end up on the storefront. We’ve been here for a couple hours already, and after a few drinks, enough baked goods to last me to medianoche, and a sandwich of the same name, we head out after Pinkie says hi to the twins, who are running books in the office. Eventually, we head up towards Boca again at Pinkie’s recommendation so she can have a nice beach drive outside the city of Miami. Pinkie then drops all the windows so we can soak in the wonderful sea air. A refreshing feeling, we arrive at BCT, where Pinkie then parks and checks her texts. After I peer over and watch her hold almost 5 conversations at the same time, she then sends one more text before she immediately puts the Escalade in gear. “What’s your BAC?” “Don’t know. My blower is at your house.” “If it’s low enough, I need to go back to Rockford.” “Can be done. I’m gonna head to Maui and surprise Rosalina anyway.” “Aww! Won’t that be sweet!” “I hope so. I mean, it’s not like we left on bitter terms. When you called, I was in the middle of a dream, but I don’t remember it.” “Oh well, now you get to eat it!” “Eat it?” “You know, forget it happened.” “Oh. Well, yeah I guess. Obviously it wasn’t anything major since I didn’t remember it. It’s not like I can predict future events or anything.” “What about your panic attacks in Chicago?” “That was just a massive coincidence.” “Clearly.” She says as she pulls into her garage. “How are you getting back to Miami?” “Flying, obviously!” “Clearly. How long you think you’ll be there?” “No idea. Could be a week.” “Well, I don’t plan on more than a few days, so just let me know if it’s more than a week.” “Will do!” When we return to her house, I immediately head for the blower. “0.02%.” “You’re ready!” “Cool. Let me file to my airport. Free fuel for my sake, even though you have a drive. You can use one of the vans I have.” “Oh, that’s fine. I can have one of my sisters pick me up.” “Cool. On file, I’m all packed.” “Let’s go!”
Put on a Smile“Hello?” I answer rudely woken up, having landed only a few hours ago from dropping Rosalina back off in Hawaii. “Hi! Pinkie Pie here! Care to meet me in Miami?” “Opa Locka or Lauderdale work for you?” “Don’t you own a house on Star Island?” ‘’Two actually, and I rent them out. I also control most of the real estate on Dilido.” “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” “What?” “You’re the Lord of the Dildo?!” “If you want to put it that way. Aunque, por eso lógico, si tuviera una tienda de sexo, pero no es así.” “¡¿Hablas español?!” “No, pero ¿cómo lo dicen?, ‘enough to be peligroso.’” “You’ll always be the Lord of the Dildo to me!” “Is that what you’ll call me?” “Now that you mention it…” “God damn it.” “You. Are. A. LAUGH RIOT, MAX!!!” “What can I say? I make jokes when I’m nervous. And I’m always telling jokes.“ “Aww. Don’t be scared of me. I don’t bite.” “Sorry to say, you’re one of those types I need to mentally prepare for.” “Well, could you do that while coming down here?” “Do you have transportation needs?” “Yeah! I need a quick hop home and back.” “You transporting big stuff?” “I’m bringing a car, and some other big things.” “Okay, so would you want to relax in passenger seats or sit in the cockpit with me?” “What good would I be sitting in the passenger cabin? I’d get SUPER bored.” “But you wouldn’t be able to stretch your legs if you don’t have a passenger cabin.” “The flight to and back is only 2 hours. I doubt I’d want to stretch for that. Besides, I’d rather have someone to talk to anyway.” “I won’t argue.” “Can you come ASAP? I’m kind of lonely over here.” “The minimum charter request period is 4 hours plus compensation for time zones and flight time. Can you hold for the next 7 hours?” “I’ll try.” She says with some disappointment. “Sorry. Can’t break the speed of sound.” She sighs and says, “7 hours it shall be.” “I promise I’ll try and get as much energy for you as possible.” “Hooray!” “I look forward to seeing you.” “Aww!!! Me too! Bye Max! See you tomorrow!” “Bye.” KVCV HELDE V12 HEC J6 DRK J231 NABOB J74 CNX J15 IAH J86 LEV Q100 SRQ.FORTL7 KUBIC WUDIP KOPF “Douglas 306FE, turn right at C, Where are you parking?” “Atlantic, 6FE.” “N306FE, C N E to Atlantic.” “C N E to Atlantic, 306FE.” Ushered in to park, I soon head in, pay the fees and order a couple hundred gallons of fuel. I then back out the car and make sure she’s secure before I head for the streets. Because it’s Miami, there’s no better car to rock than an American Classic. And there’s no better American Classic than the 1st Generation (C1) Corvette. Even though this car has a 4-speed manual, the car has the license plate ‘2SP AUTO’. (It was next to impossible to find one with a working 2-speed when I bought it). Since I don’t have Bluetooth, I call Pinkie the old-fashioned way, via EarPods. “Hello, Lord of the Dildo.” “¡Jajaja, qué funny!” “¿Dónde estás?” “I just left the airport. Your place or mine?” “Um… mine.” “Be there in 15 minutes.” “I’m waiting for ya!” “Cya!” In 13 minutes, 57 seconds, I park in her driveway. When I reach up to knock on the door, I feel two taps on my shoulder timed perfectly with my knocking. I turn around to the sight of Pinkie smiling wide and exclaiming, “Hi!” “Hi Pinkie.” I respond flatly, pretending to act unfazed. “Oh, how great it is to see you!” She says hugging me tight as Applejack. “Yeah.” I wheeze out in her death grip. “It’s nice to see you too.” I finish as she lets me go. “So, now that I’ve got you here, what do you want to do while you’re here?” “Did you charter me just so we could hang out?” She only grins ear to ear, the sound of a squeaky toy in the back of my mind as she squees. “Why didn’t you just say so?” “Well, I wanted to make sure you were available because I do need to pick up some things from home before my next big party this weekend.” “Rockford, right?” “Yep!” “Anytime after tomorrow’s good. Or we can go today. It’s up to you.” “Meh, we’ll go later.” “I’ve heard you’re the best party thrower in party central.” I say as she opens her front door. “My reputation precedes me.” “Yay. I have an excuse to pick up smoking again with an imminent divorce on the way.” “Aw.” She deflates slightly. “That’s precisely why I called you here. After Dashie told me about your little get together with the Blue Angels, and your wife returning to Hawaii, I didn’t want you to be alone.” She says patting her couch. “I would’ve been just as fine alone.” I respond dryly. “I’m very antisocial.” “You’re not antisocial, you’re just lonely.” “Lonely? I’ve been married to Rosalina for all these years.” “But soon you’re gonna be single and lonely and sad again!” “No I won’t.” “You’ve found somebody else?!” “No!” I shout before sighing. “After 3 failed marriages, I think I’m ready to call it. The married life was never meant for me.” “Your past marriages don’t define you.” “Whether they do or not, I’ve been nothing but a terrible husband in all of my marriages. Even so, somehow Rosalina doesn’t want to lose me.” “Then why are you getting a divorce?” “Why does everybody ask that question?” “If you two will always have each other, then why would you get a divorce?” “Because sometimes, Pinkie, one needs the other, but not the other way around. In our case, I needed her, but she didn’t need me.” Even more confused than before, Pinkie asks, “what do you mean?” “Um, she was meant for me, but I wasn’t meant for her.” “Oh. Well, that makes sense. You fell in love with her, but she never was in love with you. Or maybe she loves you, but isn’t in love with you.” “Couldn’t‘ve said it better myself.” “Aww…” She deflates again as her worries confirm. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. But I’m not here to hang out with you so I can whine on about my personal life. I’m here because you wanted me to.” “Well, it’s just you and me. You familiar with DJ Vinyl Scratch?” “She publish on YouTube?” “Not sure. She‘s big on SoundCloud. She’s got some serious talent.” “I’m sure.” “And a friend of mine is a friend of yours.” “As long as I’m cool enough.” “Please, she’s nice. She’ll like you.” “I’m a band geek. My musical tastes are the antithesis of her work.” “She’d probably like you, quiet and reserved as you are.” “I’ll look forward to it if she’s in town.” “Yeah! She’s the emcee at most of my parties!” “Yay.” A few hours later, after Pinkie changes and I wash my face, we hop in and I fire the thing up. Before I put the car in gear, I ask where we should go, and immediately, she suggests lunch, even though it’s already almost 15:00. “You’re still on Pacific, and I’m actually kind of hungry anyway.” “I left home at 7:00. I haven’t eaten much if anything, but I don’t really need to adjust.” “You haven’t eaten anything at all today?” “Not much outside of some peanut butter right before I took off.” “Well, are you feeling anything in particular?” “Not really, but there’s this really good Colombian place in Lauderdale.” “Ooh. I prefer Cuban, but all the Latin American places are great.” “We are in South Florida after all.” “Which place?” “Las Orquideas.” “Oh! I’ve heard of them!” “Yeah? If memory serves me right, they’re owned by a family friend of my brother’s. I was very glad to have tried it. If you’re craving fried yuca, black beans, or anything like, let’s go.” I say putting the car into first gear. The Gallant Old Engine getting a stretch, we roll in and park right in front, but a furniture truck is taking up most of the parking lot, taking on a load from one of the stores next door. An okay parking job for a lot with tiny spaces, we head in and get a table, Pinkie’s Spanish much dwarfing mine, some of the wait staff do throw some español my way, which I refute back. Quickly, we order, the food arriving as we start talking about our lives. “So, you grew up in Rockford.” I begin. “What’s your story?” “I’m a farmer. Well, rock farmer. We harvest geodes.” “Nice. That life clearly not cut out for you then, pardon the pun.” “Hahaha! Yeah, pretty much. What about you? You seem like a family rebel.” “Everything but the kitchen. I love my family to death, but there were some major events that kind of soured my lineage. I was disowned for not going into the medical field, or as they liked to put it, “a profession with a guaranteed high salary, but...” I pause to catch my breath and fight back tears. “Max, you don’t have to bring it up if it still hurts.” “Why shouldn’t I? You’re my friend. I trust you, and I need to get it off my chest, so you can understand where I come from. Plus, it’s always easier to face your problems head on. Can’t solve your problems by running away from them.” “Oh... well, I’m sorry your family treated you like that. While I may not quite understand exactly where you’re coming from, I’m still sorry your family was so petty.” “I know I’ve painted them as bad, but they’re my family, though. I don’t want you to see them as bad people.” “I can understand that.“ “Look, I’ve been told many a time that I’m too upfront and open, and I’ve been very intrusive to do so. I’m sorry if that’s how I make you feel.” “It’s okay. I‘m glad you can be open about it.” “Hence why I’m more comfortable with my reputation preceding me. Thus, Rarity, Applejack, Rainbow Dash and other ways you’ve found out about me.” “You know, Max, your story reminds me of my own. My family didn’t let me do anything apart from harvest rocks and follow in my family’s footsteps. For the longest time, my parents would have meltdowns because I was so rebellious, and my sisters would get mad at me for hurting them, because one gets bored harvesting rocks, rocks, and more rocks; really quick. Planning parties quickly became a way for me to deal with my boredom. Then, one time, I was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I longed for something amazing to happen as I finished harvesting ahead of a loud and heavy thunderstorm. When it passed, I saw a rainbow. After the day I had, this rainbow was extra special. I needed a way to channel this immense wave of happiness that overcame me in the only way I could. So, I threw a party in one of our empty silos, and finally, after what I thought would’ve been another failure, my sisters and my parents actually smiled! I was so happy!” She finishes with tears at the thought. I smile in empathy with her as she relives one of her happiest childhood memories. That high quickly drops when I decide to pose the question, “pardon me for asking, but are you still close with your family?” “Absolutely!” She gleams back. “I love all three of my sisters and my parents. They accepted me for me and they’ve always showed me unconditional love even when I scared them with my first parties.” She pauses happily, but slowly returns to reality and quickly tells me, “I’m sorry I can’t say the same for you though.” “Don’t be. Even if I was a part of the family, I probably would be that relative that they never talk to. Somewhere between estranged and ‘that’ uncle.” “Eww!” “See what I mean?” I say mostly to myself. “Of course I do, silly!” She says as we finish up and get our dishes bussed. Pinkie and I both skip out on dessert, so I take care of the bill here before we head to one of her favorite bakeries, and first employer from when she moved to Miami, Sugarcube Corner. Now a co-owner for her contributions to the family business, Pinkie has been a dear family friend to the owners from her first days as an employee, and doted on by the owners’ twins, who handle all of the business transactions now as their parents direct all their efforts to their products. We exchange pleasantries before Pinkie orders her usual. I ask the twins to surprise me with no restrictions or allergies, so after Pinkie foots this bill, she grabs a metal table outside the shop, only because all the booths and tables indoor are occupied. “I love this stuff!” She exclaims opening the box. “Not dissimilar to one of the Cuban bakeries I love going to at home.” “Ooh! Cuban bakery?! We have to go when I’m in town!” “Absolutely.” After we finish, we take another drive further up the peninsula; past Pompano, halfway to Palm Beach. Oh yes. “Welcome to Boca Raton!” The sign we pass says before we jump off Highway 1. “You pack for the beach?” She asks. “No. I’m still travel dirty anyway.” “Well, you may as well get dirtier, right?” “Except this car is worth way too much to get dirtied.” “Oh… right. Well, at least let’s drive by so you can see where my favorite beach is.” “Don’t we just go all the way down… what road is this?” “798. Yeah. Follow the road to Ocean.” “Blvd?” “And the body of water. Of course, don’t take the car all the way to the water. Unless you want to mow people over and completely submerge the car.” “The only people I want to mow over are my friends that harassed me to fly for Southwest so I could get them free tickets to Hawaii.” I quip to myself. “What?” “Just a scar from my past bursting open.” “Tell me about it.” She says as we turn back towards ACH. “When Southwest Airlines began flights to Hawaii, I used to get hounded by friends with messages like, “what’s your airline of choice? Southwest going to Hawaii now 😬. Still makes by blood boil to this day.” I immediately take a deep breath and sigh. “Look, I’m sorry, I’ve been going through a lot, and having these bad memories resurface isn’t helping either. I really want to spend genuine quality time with you, I really do. But I feel like all I’ve been doing is venting and projecting my feelings onto you.” “It’s okay. I know you’re having to deal with Rosalina and her moving back. And I want to do everything I can to make you smile. And none of this “oh, funny, jaja” stuff. I mean a pure smile, straight from the heart. But I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.” “Thank you for bearing with me. I can’t apologize enough for being such an asshole. I, just, I’m mad at the world, you know?” “Me too.” I put the brakes on in two forms at a traffic light as I exclaim, “wait, what?!” “You don’t think this cheery persona came from being showered with love as a kid, do you?” “I know you had an oppressive childhood, and that rainbow gave you a renewed zest for life. That’s what I could ascertain.” “That much is true. But guess what, Max? I was in your position too.” “You, Pinkie Pie, were suicidal at some point in your life?” “More depressed than suicidal, but yes. I felt like I was being punished for…” “Being myself.” We both say in unison, but me phrasing it more as a question. “Jinx! Jinx again!” We continue in sync before sharing a good laugh. Pinkie then sighs and finishes with, “When I got out of it, I vowed with all my life never to go back, and to make sure no one, and I mean NO ONE! EVER AGAIN; goes back to that place! That includes you! You hear me?!” She says poking me on the last two sentences. “If I couldn’t, I’d be dead.” “That’s the Spirit!” When we return to her house, she jumps out, rolls out her Nissan Kicks and has me park in the garage. Even though I have a house just a few minutes down the road, which I remind her of, Pinkie insists I stay with her. Even though she seems to know that I’m not someone who will easily smile, she won’t let up. Or maybe that’s why she isn’t. “That car is pretty, but maybe I should do the driving.” “That’s fine. I love cars and driving, so I’m always one to say yes to the reigns. I’ll give it up if that’s what you want.” “Eh? Why not?” “Hooray!” As Pinkie does her usual afternoon chores, I hang out on her porch and have a smoke. “You smoke?” She asks. “Only recently. This is super low nicotine. Anyone else would probably hate it. It’s just a lung humidifier.” She asks for it anyway, which I oblige. When she takes a huff, she hands it back and says, “meh, I’ve had worse. There’s still a reason I don’t smoke.” “Saving for the coke, heroin, meth, and pills?” “No! I don’t do contraband!” “How have you managed to survive? People want to get turnt on the illegal stuff.” “I plan and throw parties that are all about having a good time. What I don’t throw are raves.” “Doesn’t that directly contradict most of what the party culture of Miami represents?” “Not really. I’m on good terms with the police.” “Probably because donuts from Sugarcube Corner.” I say smugly taking another huff. “Very funny Max.“ Pinkie responds unamused. “Don’t lie, there is some truth to that.” “I mean, when I started at Sugarcube Corner, the Chief always had his early shift breakfasts there. He and I would always talk.” “Glad you maintained such a positive relationship with the police, especially here, where the permeating culture is all “fuck the police.” Pinkie nods as she takes a sip of her drink. “Is that Coke?” “No. It’s Fanta.” “Eh? Coke product.” “You’re funny. You know, I don’t get how your family could treat you the way they did when you’re such a joy to be around.” “When you retaliate against them for your own interests getting in the way of theirs, then attempt suicide because they refuse to listen to you, it’s pretty easy for them to see that ‘I wanted nothing more to do with them.’ So, they took it upon themselves to make it easier for me, by just disowning me so I wouldn’t them.” “That’s so sad.” “Don’t be. My life, my choice, my deathbed.” I finish with a certain fervor on the last word. “Stop it, Max. You’re bumming me out.” “Sorry, but you asked.” “I didn’t ask. I only pondered.” “It’s easier for me to be upfront with you about that. Makes it easier to be honest with myself and about myself.” “No wonder you like Applejack so much.” “Thanks.” I spit back with a hint of venom, taking another huff. She shrugs defensively then gasps loudly and exclaims, “you’re in love with Applejack!!” “Say what you want. It’s not my fault she decided to coddle me in Chicago.” “But then you confessed to her!” “Wha… uh. H…how would you know?” “She told me.” “Hmph!” I grunt in contempt. “Well, I don’t know who she’d turn to for advice like that.” “Anyone except for Rarity or Rainbow Dash, or Twilight?” “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” “Eh, well. Tell you what, let’s set up for my next party. That’ll take your mind off AJ.” “Fine.” “Let’s go, we’ll use my Escalade.” “What does a typical party run consist of?” I ask after belting up. “Confetti, snacks, raw materials for my homemade snacks, and of course, the venue.” “Where do you usually hold your parties?” “It varies from time to time, but it’s usually just at my place.” “And how do you deal with collateral and such?” “I have my ways, so don’t question them.” “I won’t argue.” When we head out and go shopping, I text Applejack, “Hey, did you tell Pinkie Pie that I had feelings for you? I’m not mad, I just want the truth.” After I hit send, I tune out with my own soundtrack as Pinkie turns up the radio. Of course, she tries to get me to dance in the car with her, so I smile at her antics and let my mind wander. *text* “I didn’t tell anyone anything.” “Ok, thanks.” My expression goes rife with confusion as we stop at a light. “What’s the matter?” Pinkie asks. “Applejack told me she didn’t tell anyone anything, but you just told me she told you. Something’s not right.” “Well, I can assure you she told me everything.” “What’s the story you’ve heard then?” “Well, you had been working on the farm for about a week, and after they decided your help was no longer necessary, you came clean to Applejack and left.” “Surprisingly accurate, though you left out the parts where I rendered her speechless after I told her, and that Apple Bloom kept teasing the two of us whenever she saw us together, which is part of why I decided to just tell AJ the truth.” “That’s funny. That’s exactly something Apple Bloom would do.” “Of course it is.” “You know we could be related.” “Really?” “Yeah. Fourth cousin twice removed by a fifth cousin, but we’re all family anyway.” “Absolutely.” “Speaking of family, what else can you tell me about yours?” “What would you like to know?” “Well, who?” “Who what?” “When where why how?” “Where do I start? One brother, one sister, two first cousins - also one of each, loads of second cousins, 7 from my dad, another handful from my mom. No direct-direct (Well, first) cousins from mom, she’s an only child. Full Filipino on both sides, with like 1 or 2 percent Chinese from my dad’s side.” “Nice! Full blooded!” “Indeed. Unfortunately, because I’m Filipino, my most likely cause of death will be a heart attack or something cardiovascular. Every single relative I know, with some exceptions, have died from heart attacks or strokes. The exceptions: 1 from cancer, 1 from sleep apnea, and the other, was a prisoner of war - lost during the Bataan death march of World War II.” “Wow.” “Yeah. It’s kind of scary to think about, especially because my knowledge of my family tree goes back 4 or 5 generations. I used to joke that I won’t need to save for retirement because I’ll die of a heart attack before I have to retire.“ “Aww.” “It’s a joke, because I’m still here. I’m my own punchline.” “You’re funny, but far from a joke.” “Thanks.” “Call from: Vinyl Scratch,” the screen shows as her Bluetooth lights up. “Is it personal?” “No. I don’t mind.” “Cool.” “Hello?” “We at your place on Friday night?” “Yeah.” “Cool. The usual?” “Yeah.” “Alright.” “Same time, same place!” “Rock on!” “Later.” “Bye.” We soon pull into her first stop, where we head in and stock up on various groceries; if by groceries, you mean snack foods and chips and dip. After she fills the cart with groceries, she grabs a big bag of flour, sugar, salt, vanilla, lemons, and chocolate, the lot of it. “Cookies? Lemon bars?” I think to myself before exclaiming, “Cake!” “Cupcakes, silly!” “Uh huh. Cookies and lemon bars on the menu too.” “Yep!” When the cart is ready for checkout, I cover for “tax” purposes, so when we head to the next store, we pick up confetti, and a lot of it. Because this is a party store, we also grab balloons and streamers. Next stop: Illinois! “Ok Max,” she says after backing her Escalade in to the drive. “Let’s unload these things, then we’ll head to Rockford.” “Ready in 2 hours.” Author's Note Spanish translation: “If you want to put it that way. Although, by that logic, if I had/owned a sex store, but that isn’t so.” “You speak Spanish?” “No, but how to say it? “Enough to be dangerous.” Dilido is actually Italian, meaning “of the beach,” or “Del Mar” for the hispanohablantes. (Spanish speakers). In the context of the scene, Pinkie Pie lives in Miami, and Dilido is one of the Venetian Islands in South Beach. “¿Dónde estás?” = “Where are you?” Ja is the Spanish way of writing Ha, as in funny, haha.
Laugh Yourself A WhileKOPF MIA6.WINCO LLAKE J85 INPIN J91 ATL J89 BVT PERCY.SODOR6 KSMG “Opa Locka Clearance, Smile 5280, IFR to Gusty Garden.” “Smile 5280, cleared to the Chicago Gusty Garden airport via as filed, cross WINCO at or above 10,000. Miami Departure frequency 119.45, squawk 1760.” “Cleared to Gusty Garden as filed, WINCO at or above 10,000. Miami Departure 119.45, squawk 1760, Smile 5280.” “Smile 5280, readback correct. Ground 120.025.” “5280.” Area clear. Engines start. 3 alight! Stable, temps good. Flaps 15 for takeoff. “Opa Locka Ground, Smile 5280, Atlantic, taxi IFR.” “Smile 5280, Opa Locka Ground, information X current, wind 100 at 9, altimeter 30.01. Runway 9L, taxi via E N.” “Copy X, E N, runway 9L, Smile 5280.” As we taxi, I find Pinkie asleep with her headset on, so I decide to isolate my radio. “Opa Locka Tower, Smile 5280 short of 9L, Ready for Departure.” “Smile 5280, Opa Locka Tower. On departure fly heading 093, runway 9L, cleared for takeoff.” “Cleared for takeoff 9L, 093 on departure, Smile 5280.” And arming the autopilot, I gently edge the throttles forward. 80 knots. V1 Rotate. V2 Positive rate, gear up. Flaps up. “Smile 5280, contact Departure.” “Over to Departure, talk to you soon, Smile 5280.” “Miami Departure, Smile 5280 off Opa Locka, 1,900 for 10,000.” “Smile 5280, Miami Departure. Turn left direct WINCO, remain clear of Fort Lauderdale Class C airspace, climb and maintain 10,000.” “Left Direct WINCO, 10,000, remain clear of Lauderdale, Smile 5280.” “Smile 5280, contact Miami Center, 134.75.” “34.75, Smile 5280.” “Miami Center, Smile 5280, 9,200 for 10,000.” “Smile 5280, Miami Center, climb and maintain FL220.” “220, Smile 5280.” 50. 40. 30. 20. 10. Touchdown. Spoilers up, brakes on, 3 in reverse. Standard route to A1. Clean up, call up, wake up Pinkie. “Wow, that was fast.” “You’ll remember that my airport is in Peotone. I’ll cover your tolls and I’ll drive if you want me to.” “Yay.” She responds with just as much vigor as when we left Miami. After we park, I shut everything down, call the jetway by Bluetooth control, and hook up ground power. When Pinkie follows me down the jetway, we back her car out and brim the tank before exiting through the garage, where Pinkie turns on the radio as I keep my EarPods handy in case of any unexpected calls. I then check to see that I have plenty of pocket change. Pinkie then reaches into her hair and pulls out a little jar. “I’ve gotchu.” She responds as she shakes it to rattle the coins inside. “You really are an Illinoisan.” “Well, duh!” “More so than me. I only spent the first 2 years and 10 months of my life in Illinois before we moved to California. I’m a Californian from Chicago. You’re Illinois born and raised.” “Eh, fair enough. But your knowledge of the city is very abundant.” “That’s because of my pride. And if you know a Filipino, that pride carries well beyond being Filipino. I have a stronger connection to Chicago than most. Though that may just be my own personal biases getting in the way.” “That’s still pretty cool. I don’t have that feeling with either Rockford or Miami, but I do love where I live.” “Fun-loving, tropical climate, great place to be. Yeah, there’s the pretty good hurricane from time to time, but overall?” I ask. “Probably wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.” “How ‘bout it.” I respond as she adds power for the interstate. Plenty of tolls later, we reach the Pie rock farm, where in one of the garages, Pinkie reveals two midsize trucks, a White Tacoma TRD Pro, license plate ‘MMM HMMM’, and the Frontier she had in Chicago, license plate ‘BOULDER’. There’s a third space in the garage, but it’s empty. “Nice trucks they’ve got there. Especially that TRD Pro.” “That’s my twin sister Marble’s. She’s just a few minutes younger than me.“ “Well then. What’re’ya looking for?” “Found it!” Pinkie exclaims as she pulls a tarpaulin off a trailer with something very large and strange looking. “Is that…?” “My party cannon!!” “What’s it doing here?” “I stopped using it after one of my parties got shut down before it was time.” “Hmm. Police raid?” “Yep! Busted a dealer. But now I can bring it back! You know how to hitch up a trailer?” “4-pin or 7?” She only smirks at me and tosses her keys. “Bring her back here.” I do as told. Soon enough, the trailer is hooked up, we do the brake and signal tests, and Pinkie does some arbitrary speed tests. Onto I-90 we go. Careful not to exceed 65, unusually high for a trailer of its weight, plenty of tolls, fortunately manned, do little to her jar, but when we reach Veterans, I cover this portion much to Pinkie’s surprise. Given that we have strange and mysterious cargo, some of the booth attendants give us strange looks, but seem to be okay with the simple “confetti cannon.” In no time, we reach the airport, so I file and do the preflight. I guide pinkie onboard and position it to best fit the CG as best as possible, so once we secure the load, Pinkie jumps into the right seat and grabs the yoke, pretending she’s a fighter pilot by clicking the A/P disengage and going “pew, pew, pew!” I chuckle as I head out to do my walk-around. No anomalies to report, I disconnect the jetway, turn on the APU, open the garage, and push her back. After I run back onboard, I start the engines after I check to see if Pinkie messed with anything. Fortunately, she didn’t, so we soon get going. Airborne ahead of schedule, we should expect holds closer to Opa Locka for flow into both FLL and MIA. Sure enough, our whole IFR Clearance gets thrown out the window as we descend into the thick of South Florida airspace. “Smile 5280, hold west of OKANE, 2,500. Maintain 170 knots, EFC 35 minutes.” “Hold as published at OKANE, 2,500, 170 knots, 35 minutes EFC, Smile 5280.” “Well, looks like we’ll be holding for a while.” “Why?” “Flow control. They’re metering into Laudermare and Mareami.” Pinkie then looks at me then bursts into laughter. “Did you just say Laudermare and Mareami?” “Yeah. They both have flow control in effect. They’re metering traffic, which for whatever reason we’re caught in the crossfire, being situated between the two.” “Wouldn’t we be out of their way?” “I guess, but we’re over an approach fix for Opa Locka specifically. No idea why we have to hold for them.” Just a few seconds later, it all makes sense. “Smile 5280, sensitive Coast Guard operations at Opa Locka. The airport is closed at this time. Understand no alternate filed, so where would you like to divert?” “Smile 5280, we’ll need a runway with a minimum of 6,500.’” “Smile 5280, roger. Say fuel.” “3 hours, Smile 5280.” “Smile 5280, roger.” “Smile 5280, actually, we can go to Boca.” “What’s going on?” Pinkie asks. “Smile 5280, roger. Stand by.” ATC responds. “Coast Guard closed Opa Locka for a training exercise.” I say to Pinkie. “We can’t get into Miami or Lauderdale because they’re metering traffic, so we’re diverting to Boca.” “Hmm.” She responds as she stares out the window. “Smile 5280, cleared to Boca Raton airport via direct Fort Lauderdale, then radar vectors to KISEC. Climb and maintain 3,000. Opa Locka altimeter 30.04.” “30.04 at Opa Locka, cleared to Boca via Fort Lauderdale, Radar vectors to KISEC, climb and maintain 3,000, Smile 5280.” “Smile 5280, readback correct. Proceed direct Fort Lauderdale.” “Direct Lauderdale, Smile 5280. Confirm RNAV GPS RWY 23 at Boca?” “Smile 5280, affirmative.” “Roger, 5280.” Short runway, we’ll have to land with flaps 50. Set flaps 15 below max permissible airspeed. “Ooh. Pilot stuff! Let me help, let me help!” “Okay then…” I respond hesitantly. “Hold this.” I say handing her my iPad, which already has the approach plate. “Let me configure the autopilot and then I’ll walk you through what I want you to do.” “Okie dokie, Loki!” Altitude 3,000, speed 180 knots in prep for Vref. Flaps 15. Approach brief. “iPad please. Follow along with me, Pinkie.” I say as she leans over and follows me. “RNAV GPS RWY 23 into Boca Raton. Primary navaid WAAS enabled GPS, which checks and works. Approach course inbound 229. Please set the dial that says “course” to 229.” She does as told as I read. “5,898’ of runway available, airport and touchdown zone elevation both 13 feet.” “Pinkie, here’s where I will need you to help. Get ready for this.” She gives me a thumbs up before I continue. “We’re going to hold at KISEC as published here in this racetrack pattern at 3,000, right between 2000 and 6000 feet. When we get cleared for the approach, and we pass KISEC, which you’ll see and I’ll call out, I’ll need you to respond with the next altitude, which is 1,500. Okay?” “Past KISEC, descend to 1,500. Got it!” “Okay. Also, pay attention to your flight display. The number on the left, currently about 170, is our airspeed. The number on the right, at 3,000, is our altitude. The altitude control knob is on your side, which is currently set to 3,000. When we get cleared and pass KISEC, I need you to set that to 1,500, Okay?” “Okay.” “Now. Just in case I forget, when we reach 1,500 and intercept the glideslope, I‘ll need you to arm the autopilot in case we need to go around, which is if we get told to by ATC, or I otherwise say so. Set altitude to 2,100 at that point, I’ll take care of the rest. Make sense?” “Yeah!” “Okay. I’ll walk you through each step too, just in case you’ve forgotten something.” “Smile 5280, contact Palm Beach Approach on 125.2.” “Palm Beach 25.2, Smile 5280.” “Palm Beach Approach, Smile 5280, level at 3,000.” “Smile 5280, Palm Beach Approach, roger. Proceed direct KISEC, RNAV GPS RWY 23 Approach, report established in the hold.” “Direct KISEC, RNAV GPS 23, will report established, Smile 5280.” “Let’s bring speed back to 160, in anticipation of flaps 22 in the hold. Pinkie, all I need you to do is set the altitude bug to 1,500, then on my mark, set it to 2,100.” “Okie dokie Loki.” Passing KISEC, hold parallel. Autopilot takes care of everything except airspeed and altitude. Flaps 22. “Palm Beach Approach, Smile 5280 established in the hold over KISEC.” “Smile 5280, roger. Cleared RNAV GPS runway 23 Approach. Radar service terminated. Contact Boca tower on 118.425, great day.” “Cleared RNAV GPS 23, over to tower, thanks for the help, Smile 5280.” “Landing gear down please.” “This lever?” She asks with her hand on the big lever that, um, says “landing gear.” “Yes, that one.” “Down!” She says as she brings it down. The pitching up moment corrects itself by George, and I reduce the speed bug to 140. “Boca tower, Smile 5280, at KISEC, RNAV GPS 23.” Flaps 35. “Smile 5280, Boca tower. Wind 260 at 5, altimeter 30.01. Runway 23, cleared to land.” “Cleared to land 23, Smile 5280.” “Vref 135 knots. Touchdown at 128. Make note of that. Once we get to 1,500, we’ll fly the approach at that speed.” “Okie dokie. When do you need me to set the altitude?” “Right now. Passing KISEC, 1,500’ please.” “Got it!” She calls as she sets autopilot. “Speed 135 on the bug. Glideslope intercept 1,500.” When we level off, I check the GPS and hand fly the approach. “There’s our glideslope intercept. Altitude 2,100 please.” I say as I set flaps 50. “Okie dokie, Loki!” She responds as she sets the bug. Autothrottle adds some extra thrust to compensate for the lost airspeed. 1000 to minimums. 500. 100. 263! Environment in sight, gear down, 3 green, power set, normal maneuvers, normal descent to land, cleared to land. 50. 40. 30. 20. 10. Touchdown! Spoilers up, brakes on, 3 in reverse. Pinkie flings forward in her chair under heavy braking. Firm landing, but at least we stopped in good runway. “Smile 5280, no one behind you. Continue to the end, turn right at H, where are you parking?” “Atlantic, Smile 5280.” I respond as I clean the airplane up. “Smile 5280, roger. Turn right at H, taxi Atlantic via H P, contact ground .8 on P for either a P5 or P4 entry.” “Right H, H P to Atlantic, contact ground on P, Smile 5280.” On H, I turn off all the lights except beacon before turning right onto P. “Boca Ground, Smile 5280, taxi Atlantic.” “Smile 5280, Boca Raton Ground. Taxi Atlantic via P P5.” “P5 entry, Smile 5280.” Flaps up, spoilers retracted, reversers stowed, lights except beacon off, autopilot off and references set but not armed for the next flight. After a lineman ushers us in to park, we shut down and unload. I order a couple hundred gallons of fuel and get Pinkie’s cargo out of the plane. After I get my receipt, I head inside to pay and Pinkie leaves her cargo plane side. After we get pointed to the gate, I drive out to the parking lot where Pinkie drives the rest of the way home. As Pinkie does her driving thing, I break out an e-cigarette and ask, “you mind if I huff? It’s an electronic.” “As long as you’re not setting anything on fire.” “Nope. Just my nose hairs.” “What?!” She exclaims. Just as she looks over at me, I stick the cigarette in one of my nostrils, give a good cocaine-style inhalation and trigger the tip light. When the smoke leaves through my mouth, Pinkie winces and goes “ewww!!!” “Can’t be any worse than cocaine or meth. I’d know.” “I don’t allow contraband, remember?” “Oh well.” I say doing the nose thing again. “Stop that!!! It grosses me out!” “Good to know.” I snicker back. When we get back, I move the trailer to the backyard under her guidance then aim the cannons so that they’re out of the blast area of her neighbors. A few minutes later, as I enjoy some more e-cigarettes, a figure clad in all white with magenta leggings, a pair of hi tops I would wear if I was feeling snazzy, a short sleeve track jacket, and a set of headphones I would love, enters the backyard. Since Pinkie is tending to stuff in the house, I obligatorily greet her. “Hi. You’re looking for Pinkie Pie? She’s inside baking.” She gives me a thumbs up and heads for the glass door. I continue to do my nose thing and go through as many sticks as possible. “Hey Vinyl!” Pinkie shouts as she pulls out some goods from the oven. The instantly recognizable scent of cookies hits me like a pie to the face. Bright pink and glossy like candy floss, Pinkie sets them on a cooling rack as her friend sets her equipment down in the main room. “You’ll love these! Cotton Candy!” “Sweet.” “Vinyl, this is Max, one of my best friends!” “Split Scimitar.” I respond. “I go by Max.” She nods and shakes my hand, to which I ask, “you like Star Wars?” “Yeah! I’m a huge fan of John Williams.” “Sweet. Did you know that the Imperial Death March was inspired by a piece from Gustav Holst’s Planets Suite?” “Yes actually! The opening and first stanza from Episode IV are sampled from Mars: The Bringer of War. And it wasn’t just from Holst: don’t forget about Chopin’s Funeral March.” “Thank goodness I’ve met somebody else who knows that!” I say as I offer my fist for bumping. “Alright!” She says as she bumps my fist. “What’s your favorite genre?” “For mixing, top 40 easily. They say a lot of pop music sounds the same, and it does, because the I–V–vi–IV (1–5–minor 6–4) chord progression is everywhere. Don’t Stop Believin’, Africa, Don’t Let Me Down, 21 Guns, to name a few.” “Absolutely. Are you familiar with the group Axis of Awesome?” “No. I can’t say I’ve heard of them.” “Okay. Well, they’re a musical comedy group that made a song with that chord progression and made a musical mosaic for lack of a better term of songs that use it. The song is called 4 Chords.” “Alright. Let me look it up.” “I have it on my phone if you want to listen to it?” “Okay.” She says as she pulls her earbuds out of her pocket. “Do you need a jack adapter?” “I’ve already got one, thanks.” “No prob.” “Wow, you have a lot of Nintendo on your phone.” “Heh. They’re mostly 30 minute loops to help me keep track of time on long flights or drives.” “Interesting.” As she listens, we head back to the kitchen and she sits on the couch with her equipment. She lets out a couple of good laughs, some “not bad,” and some nods of “Yep, I knew they were gonna go there.” “Nice. That’s pretty sick.” She says as she hands my phone back. “Right?” “Thanks for showing me that. I’m probably gonna have to buy that myself.” “I would. It’s a great laugh, and it makes ya think too.” “Yeah.” “By the way, unpopular opinion: all pop music sounds the same for two reasons: 1. We’ve established all the appropriate chords and vice versa, so that heavily dictates songwriting, which means that 2. There are only so many chords out there. We were bound to run out of them at some point.” “True that.” She says as she nods in agreement and bumps my fist again. “Anyway, I don’t want to hold you, so if you need to set up, you can do that now.” “Thanks.” A few minutes after that, Pinkie offers me one of her cotton candy cookies. I bite into one and am instantly bombarded by the sugariness of it. “Wow!” I exclaim. “You trying to give me cavities? Great recipe, Pinkie!” I wait for a response as she bites into one herself. When she can, she responds, “thanks! Glad you like it!” before she delivers one to Vinyl outside. After Pinkie returns, she checks to see that Vinyl is out of earshot (she’s got her headphones in anyway) before she asks if we can talk in private. When we head up to her bedroom, she shuts the door behind us and sits me down at the side of her bed. “What’s up?” “I just want you to know that no matter what happens, I’m here for you.” “Thank you. Were you aware of what happened in Chicago?” “I kind of picked it up. But I figured you had stomach flu or something bad.” “Did anyone tell you?” “No.” “Well, now you know. I got nervous as I usually do around the holidays. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, what you saw was a combination of things. Mostly a series of sourceless panic attacks.” “Have you considered professional help?” “Hell no! Every psychologist I’ve visited has just driven me further and further to suicide. The next one I visit I’m afraid will send me over.” “Are you on meds?” “No. I don’t want to either.“ “Will a party of mine at least help put a smile on your face?” “I hope so.” “Me too. Max, I don’t know everything you’re going through, but I would hate to see you go so quickly. You have no idea how much I enjoyed that Chicago trip, since I know you were striving to make it the best it could be. And it was.” “Thank you Pinkie. I’m glad you could enjoy Chicago as much as I loved showing her off.” “Yeah! It made me so happy to see you happy.” “You call me showing off Chicago happy? I’d hate for you to be around when I…” “Stop!” She says putting a finger on my lips. She then heads for the door and opens it. “The first guests are here! Vinyl just started playing her music!” “Yay.” I whisper to myself as she runs out the door. When I reach the kitchen and take in the sight ahead of me, I slowly step out into the backyard then stop dead in my tracks. What stands before me is not at all what I expected. Expecting a lively, jumping crowd, what I get is a lively crowd, jumping. Into the pool. “A pool party?” “No, silly. SPRING BREAK!!!!!” She screams as she shakes me wildly. “WOOHOO!!!!!” “Too bad I don’t have swimwear.” I whisper to myself. Nonetheless, I find an empty deck chair to lounge on. As I get comfortable, I adjust an umbrella to block out the sun in just the right places, but the fun soon ends. A single cloud blocks the sun, which is enough to get me to look up. “Oh, look at that. It’s gonna rain.” I chuckle to myself as I continue to lounge. A few moments later, the sun gets blocked again, this time I know it’s not a cloud, as the silhouette definitely shows a bodily figure. I sit up and remove my sunglasses to find out who it is. Author's Note Veterans in Illinois is I-355, the highway for many of Chicago’s suburbs.
Come On, Take A Whirl In A Loud Crowd“Hi, Pinkie.” I say as I get up from my reclined position. “What’s up?” “Oh, I’m not Pinkie. You mind if I sit down next to you?” “No. Go right ahead.” I respond making some space on the chair and clearing my eyes. Just as someone cannonballs into the pool, the person sits on the side of the chair and introduces themselves, “My name is Sweetie Drops, but you can call me Bon Bon.” “Pleasure to meet you.” I say, playing the ‘will she, won’t she’ shake my hand. “Pinkie tells me that you’re one of the best pilots out there.” “How can I help you?” “My bestie Lyra and I just had our flight cancelled. I know it’s short notice, but can you make room for two more?” “It won’t be a problem, but I have a cargo plane with me. I can give you a ride, but it’ll be rather uncomfortable.” “I’m not concerned, and I doubt Lyra would be either.” “Okay. Well, first things first: where’re’ya headed?” “I live in Portland, and Lyra lives in the Seattle area.” “Okay, that leaves us with some pretty good options. Where specifically does Lyra live?” “Mukilteo.” “Did she park at Paine Field?” “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.” “Well, it’d be convenient to drop her off at her origin.” “Sure, sure.” “You fly Alaska?” “Yeah.” “I can’t imagine why they’d cancel.” Bon Bon shrugs too. Just a few seconds later, another girl joins us. “You must be Lyra?” I ask. “That’s me.” “Split Scimitar, but I just go by Max.” “Lyra Heartstrings.” She says offering her hand, which I shake. “Pleasure to meet you. Alaska screwed you over, huh?” “Yeah. And so suddenly too.” “When were you supposed to leave?” “Day after tomorrow.” “I have a cargo plane with me, but it does have 3 jump seats. I can get you home, but it won’t be comfortable.” “I don’t sleep on airplanes anyway.” Bon Bon says. “I’m in.” “Oh, why not.” Lyra says. “Great! When would you like to leave? I should ask it this way: ‘when would you like to arrive at either of your destinations?’” “I’m pretty flexible.” Lyra says. “I can afford to take extra time.” “How about you, Bon Bon? Anything that requires you to return ASAP?” “I specifically planned to return two days before I need to return to work, so we can leave as late as 3 days from now and I’ll still be okay.” “Alrighty. Let’s exchange contact information. Do you want to leave later than the day after tomorrow?” “Um, let’s see how tomorrow goes. We’ll have a word for you by 15:00.” “No problem.” I say as we exchange phone numbers. Eventually, I get bored of sunbathing, so I sit poolside to get my feet wet. A few people in the pool pay me no mind, so I let my feet soak for about 5 minutes before I get up and head back inside for a drink. When I head back outside, my chair is occupied and the pool is full, so I decide to walk around the backyard, enjoying the party that contrary to my first impressions, is a Pinkie Pie party. Living in Miami with a rep for great parties does not equal rave. Regardless, after I help myself to some snacks and join a game of half court basketball, I play a couple minutes and mark my departure with a nothin but net from downtown. Finger guns all around in response to their cheering, I keep exploring for Pinkie, who seems to leave for her next post just as I reach her. Eventually, I do stop her right as she reaches Vinyl’s table. “Hey Max!” She says as I get her attention. “What’s up?” “Did you tell Lyra and/or Bon Bon that I could take them home?” “I… might’ve…” “Pinkie, I know you mean well, but I’m not an everyman’s airline. That would undercut the airlines in operation at present.” “Sorry… I thought you would’ve liked to have some passengers with you. They said they’d pay well.” “It’s not about the Benjamins!” “Then why are you so hesitant to advertise yourself?” “Because I don’t want just anybody asking for a private charter.” I then take a deep breath and continue with, “Look, I’m not saying I’m unappreciative of you pointing your friends in my direction. I just… knowing you and your large group of friends, I don’t want you to make a big deal out of it. I’m proud of my career, but that’s different. I just… I don’t want to sound like I’m chastising you, because I’m glad you referred friends to me. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page of ‘I don’t want just anyone to come to me just so they don’t have to travel on an airline.’ You follow?” “Yeah. I do. I know it did seem very sudden for you to just have someone come up to and ask you if you could take them home. I’m sorry about that, but I can’t apologize for my heart being in the right place.” “I know you had your friends’ interest at heart, and that you did mean well in referring them to me. I will gladly take them, but I don’t want just anyone to come to me, you know what I mean? I’m not an airline. That would destroy the industry.” “You were the one that got royally screwed by the airlines. I was doing you a favor!” “It wasn’t the airlines that screwed me.” “Look Max, I know why you’re upset, and I’ll be honest with you: I wouldn’t refer just anyone I know to you. Lyra and Bon Bon are very close friends of mine. I’ve known Bon Bon since I moved here, and Lyra is best friends with Twilight from her childhood.” “Hmm.” I sigh gently. “Look, I’m sorry for lashing out at you, but that’s just a testament to how serious I am about client control.” “I know. I appreciate it.” “If I wanted to fly everybody, I’d be in the airlines right now.” “No you wouldn’t. You’d be your own airline, actually competing in the industry.” “Fine, you win.” I say more out of wanting to end the argument than actually conceding defeat. “I’ll have a word from my passengers by tomorrow, so I’m down to my last day or a few.” “Okie dokie, Loki!” “Can we hug it out?” Without saying a word, Pinkie opens her arms and pulls me in for one of her trademark tight hugs. “I know you’re going through a lot. I’m here for you whenever you need cheering up.” She says before we let go. “Thanks Pinkie.” “Yo, Max!” Vinyl calls out from the table. “Check it!” She then works her magic, cuts the current track, scratches her records a couple times, then drops the beat onto one of her original compositions. As she jams out to her own beat, quite literally, I take a look at the party from this perspective. I however get bored quickly and find myself bored at a Pinkie Pie party. Can you believe it? To try and remedy the situation, I have a couple drinks and hide in the house. Then, on a self dare, I dig in my bag and find some old clothes I can be comfortable taking into a pool. Eventually I find the clothes I wore on my travel day, so putting those on, I build up the courage and the willpower to unleash my inner fun-lover to attempt a stunt. I then check to make sure I leave my stuff like my phone, keys, wallet, and watch before I stoop around the kitchen to see if she has any other drinks laying around. I do some more digging and eventually find some empty slots in her liquor cabinet. Looking at the others on display, I assume the two missing items are out for the taking. Making note of the various kinds of tequila, rum, and whiskey in here, I then head for her drinks table and find something beautiful on the table. Sitting next to the punch bowl is a drink I have never seen outside of Europe. Taped onto the bottle is a handwritten note obviously meant to cover up the name of the liquor. “Spike your own punch!” I snicker to myself at Pinkie’s antics as I pour a shot. The liquor in question? Cosmo. The Green Fairy. Otherwise known as, Absinthe. One shot down, I forget how strong it is, so I chase it with a considerable amount of punch. One more round, I pour in the punch and spike it roughly 20% less. After I down it in 3 chugs, I slam my cup down in the trash can at the end of the table, let the drink course through my system, check my pockets, and head for the pool. With a few lounging about, I still make for the diving board. Trying my best to still appear full function, having just downed 400 mL of Absinthe, I climb on top and survey my splash zone. The few that lounge around pull out their phones and aim their cameras at me. I give them a Shaka and call “clear!” I step back to give myself a slight running start. Now that my mental governor has been delimited, I crack a sinister smile and throw caution to the wind, leaping off the tip of the board and attempting a reverse somersault with as much lateral distance as possible. I reach the apex of the dive but am far from inverted. Trying to torque my body in midair proves unfruitful as I shut my eyes and splash down about 75% of the way around. When I open my eyes, I scan my surroundings as best I can, shake my head to stop the dizziness and push off the floor straight back up to the surface. When I emerge from the water, a small crowd has gathered around and my face drops. The music has stopped, some murmurs echo, and after a few seconds of silence, I perch myself on one of the edges and climb out of the pool. “You good?!” A voice calls from the crowd. “Yeah! Please tell me somebody caught that on video!” I call back rubbing my chest in slight pain. “I did!” A familiar voice calls from the crowd. “How epic a fail was it?” “Come and see!” When I roll the tape, a slo-mo reveals the fault of this attempt. Apparently, I underestimated the elasticity of the board, because just as I leave the board, my knees buckle as the board doesn’t provide the tension I expected. That fundamental problem is why I couldn’t torque my body the rest of the way round. Speaking of torque, in midair, I laugh at myself pretty heartily, because watching me try to whip my way around turned out a lot more “silly salmon” than I would’ve liked. “You should try again!” Lyra encourages. “Yeah!” Pinkie agrees. “Alright!” I say as the Absinthe starts to kick in. This time, I head for the diving board and take a test jump to get a feel for the board’s springiness. Suddenly, Vinyl stops the music and changes it to something a little more adrenaline-pumping. In response to the crowd, I watch as more cameras show up. Now it’s gonna get good. From the back tip again, I have another running start. As soon as I hit the edge of the board, I lock my knees and let the board spring me into the air. Back parallel with the horizon, I torque my legs to vertical and adjust my upper body accordingly. “Ow!” I say to myself as I hit my head on the sidewall of the pool. Shaking my head to regain my vision, I break for the surface. When I emerge, a light chorus of cheers echoes through the yard. Lyra then pulls up the new video as Pinkie hands me a towel. Drawing a semi-symmetrical loop with my feet, I splash down with minimal disruption to the others. After I get the video via text, I dry off and return to the party, greeted by a few people who positively acknowledge my stunt, with equal parts “sweet dive, barely made a splash” to “dude, that first dive was nasty!” Slowly opening up more than halfway through the party, I have a couple more drinks to try and summon the last of my willpower. What happens next, you may ask? Well…
Sitting All AloneSuddenly, I wake up upside down in one of Pinkie’s bedrooms. By that, I mean my head is at the foot of the bed. As my eyes adjust, I check to see what I have with me. Pockets empty, I frantically search for my phone. When I do find it, I find a text from Pinkie. “Oh shit. What did I do? What did I do??” Blinking a few times to clear my vision, I read the text. “Hey Max, you wiped out hard. You had us scared out of our wits! If you read this, please find me! I’m worried you left us early.” “What happened?” I ask myself. After I check the time: 00:15, I check the time I received the text: 19:52. “Shit, was I out that long?” I exit my bedroom and find the party still kicking, albeit with fewer people. When I make my appearance, I get some weird looks but find Pinkie hopping around making random chatter with people. Trying my best to blend in, I pour myself some more punch, but instead of Cosmo/Absinthe, the hardening agent of choice is that in a Cuba Libre. Pouring myself a Virgin ~~America~~ Cuba Libre, and diet at that, I try and blend in. I do pretty well, until Bon Bon sits next to me and says, “glad you’re okay. You looked fine until you went underwater and didn’t come back up.” “Anyone see what actually happened? I don’t remember much after slipping into the pool.” “Just that. You slipped in, went underwater, stayed under a little longer than normal, then you started to look disoriented. Lyra dove in and pulled you out, then Pinkie and I checked your vitals and carried you to the bedroom.” “Was I conscious when you pulled me out?” “You were breathing, but you had water in your lungs.” “How long was I under?” “Probably 2-3 minutes.” “Nice.” I respond dryly. “Well, I’m okay, and as long as you’re okay and ready when you are, we can head back to your homes.” “Actually, about that. We both called Alaska, and they rebooked us out of Miami.” “You don’t need me anymore?” “No. We have seats on an American flight to Vegas. From there Lyra goes to Everett, and I head up to Portland.” “Cool. You get compensated?” “We’re both getting a $125 travel voucher.” “Just out of curiosity, did your flight number have 3 or 4 digits?” “What?” “Is your flight number between 1 and 999 or more than 1000?” “Oh! It had four digits.” “Okay. Let me check something really quick.” “What?” “Well, I hate to be that guy, but if my suspicions are correct, there may be a good reason your flight got cancelled.” “Do tell.” “You are, or were flying on Alaska. The flight number is in the 1000’s, which means it’s operated by an Airbus aircraft. More accurately, Alaska flights in the 1000’s were former Virgin America routes. Because Alaska is a staunch Boeing company, the company mechanics have essentially boycotted working on the Airbus aircraft. Those mechanics from Virgin America that remained are now swamped with work.” “So basically the airplane’s down and it’s in a queue for maintenance due to short staff.” “Basically.” “Wow.” “Let me check something else.” “What?” “What particular ship were you gonna fly on? If you hit one of the unlucky ones, you… ohhhhkaaayyy then. Damn. N854VA.” “Why?” “That airplane has a history of issues. Once, a cooling fan for the inflight entertainment system broke. Ended up diverting to Buffalo from Boston due to an uncomfortably hot cabin. Due to security reasons, no one could leave the terminal and the crew had all but disappeared. Stuck in Buffalo for like 5 or 6 hours, eventually, they return to Boston, but don’t get rebooked until almost 24 hours later, on the same numbered flight. Most of the passengers got $20 food vouchers and not much else. Had to sleep in the terminal chapel with nothing but newspapers. They did an empty ferry back to Seattle so maintenance could fix it, and it broke down again before it left the eastern time zone!” “Wow.” “The best part of that story is the fact that even though the airplane was already repainted into Alaska colors, Virgin America had a tradition of naming their planes. The name this broken airplane used to wear: “stand up flyer.” “That’s funny, but so bad.” “I know, right? Anyway, I’m sorry about the whole situation. Glad it worked out though.” “Thank you for offering.” “Not a problem. I live in Southern California. The least I could’ve done is take you to my place and then shuttle you two to wherever you would meet your connection.” “Well, thank you.” “Not a problem. If you ever need to get somewhere an airline just won’t reach, give me a call, or actually, just text me. I respond better to texts. If I don’t see her, tell Lyra the same is extended to her.” “Tell me what?” Lyra asks as she sits down next to Bon Bon. “You got rebooked through Vegas and out of Miami instead, so you won’t need me anymore. Nevertheless, if you need me to take you somewhere on short notice, give me 4 hours notice and I’ll be there as best I can. I prefer text, but you can call.” “Thank you so much Max. It means a lot.” “No problem. If I don’t see either of you before you leave, it’s been a pleasure meeting you both. Hope to work together sometime.” “Likewise!” They both say, with Lyra giving me a hug and Bon Bon hesitantly following in her best friend’s path. After they end up leaving, I find Vinyl and sit at the base of her table and wait for Pinkie, since she told me she’s down to her last two songs of the night. A few minutes later, she gets on the mic and announces, “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, this is the last song of the night. It’s been an absolute blast turning the tables tonight, here’s to another great weekend for us!” I jam out to the beat, mostly in my head, but since I’m still in the clothes I jumped in, I make for another dive, seeing as the pool is empty. No special tricks this time, I do a traditional dive and let the water cool me down, not that I was scorching, but still. As I stay afloat as an excuse to stare at the night sky, Pinkie finds me. “Max!!! I thought you were gonna be out for the night!“ “Surprise!” “Too bad you came out just as we start to wind down.” “Speaking of winding down.” I say as the music from Vinyl’s table fades. “I’m really glad you invited me. I had a lot of fun.” “I’m so glad you came. I got to see you out of your shell and actually having a good time.” “You didn’t think Chicago was a good time for me?” “I do, but at least one of my parties made you just as happy!” “I must admit, when I landed at Opa Locka, I thought I was gonna be overloaded with what I would expect from a party in this kind of place. I honestly expected nothing less than a rave, despite your objections to your outlawing of contraband. I owe you some apologies: one for my misconception about you, one for my misconceptions about your parties, one for almost dying at the hands of one of your parties, and one for being such a downer.” “Hahaha! Oh, Max! You don’t have to apologize. I’m just glad you had a good time! I knew all I needed to get you out of your shell was to get you comfortable! I also knew you wouldn’t be comfortable until you had gotten what you needed to off your chest. That’s not to say I didn’t just ignore what you’ve been telling me completely, but look at what you did!“ “You’re right. I did, I guess. I’m glad this party was a success. I’m also pleased to report that I need to stay here another day to get the drinks out of my system. I strictly adhere to a 24 hour policy between my last drink and starting the engines.” “Perfect! I’d love to have you for another day! Stay longer if you need to too!” “You sound like my uncle.” “That can’t be good.” “Oh, relax. He was probably the last of my family to actually disown me.” “Look Max, I’m probably the last person that should tell you this, but I don’t think you’re gonna truly be happy until you accept the fact that your family is done with you. The only thing you have to do is to sever your connection to them, because clearly they had no problem severing theirs to you.” “You’re unfortunately right, but can you imagine me in my shoes? I would lay down my life for them, I love them to pieces.” “Max, I understand, but I also know that you hoping you can come to peace with the fact cannot happen until you let them go.” “If I do, then I’ll truly be alone. I’ll have dumped the people who have been with me since day 1.” “Clearly not, if they disowned you for not doing what they wanted you to do.” “I would’ve never qualified for med or dental school anyway. My grades were shit.” “Still, you won’t be alone. You have all of us! Me, Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Twilight, Applejack, and Sunset Shimmer. You’re our friend, we would never disown you!” “Sorry to sound unappreciative, but I have trust issues with word of mouth, so I’ll believe it when I see it.” “I understand. And another thing Max, I like you especially because despite your blatant pessimism, you manage to keep me grounded.” “Really?” “Yeah. I’m glad I can have someone who keeps me in check, and vice versa with you. I remind you that there’s so much more than the light at the end of the tunnel.” “I’m glad you think that, but I’m a pessimist?” “Well, duh!” “Eh? Well, doesn’t surprise me. I consider myself a realist, but I guess that’s just what people think of me. Because anything less than sunshine and rainbows is negative.” “I think your definition of normal is what most people, would call negative.” “Well, pardon me for preemptively cushioning the blows I always seem to receive regardless of whether I was involved in it or not, never mind whose fault it is, mine or not.” “Max, you’re not making any sense.” “You’re right. Being abandoned by my family, losing my friends, and relying on people I’ve known for less than a year to sustain my will to live makes me delusional.” “That’s not what I’m trying to say, Max. I’m not saying all you need to do is just think positive, because that’s just plain wrong. I’m saying that there’s nothing for you to be afraid of.” “Too bad I spent my time here wallowing in my sorrows.” “You had a right to, what with you having just dropped off Rosalina.” “Still.” “Yeah…” The conversation ends rather abruptly so we can finish the last of teardown and cleanup. Eventually, when all her stuff is put away or tossed, we both head inside and get ready for bed, the time quickly approaching 4 AM.
Take A WhirlWoken up at 10 by my body, I fight a massive headache and unsettled stomach to get out of bed and detox. I do a blow to check my starting point, and thanks to diluted demand as opposed to a continuous flow, my indicated reading is 0.06%. Hopefully it’ll drop down below 0.03% by tomorrow, but until then, what can I do? I imagine Pinkie’s still asleep, and even though I feel fine, I shouldn’t drive. One thing however is for certain: I need food. Not wanting to be that guy, I instead have a glass of water and wait for her to wake up. After 20 minutes, I eventually head outside and have a cigarette as an excuse to lighten the load. Halfway through, I see Pinkie moving in her kitchen. “Hey Max! You woke up before I did!” “That obvious?” I say jokingly as I have another huff. “Is that electronic?” “Yeah.” “Okay. If it was real, I’d have you stay outside.” “Believe me, you would know if it was.” “Well, is there anything you want to do on your last day here?” “I mean, I might want Las Orquideas again, but not much else I can think of.” “Well, you know what’s on my mind? It takes 134 minutes of active sex to burn off the calories in one bag of chips.” “Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.” “But if it’s on the internet, it must be true.” “Abraham Lincoln was ahead of his time, and also apparently very self-contradictory.” Pinkie chuckles. “I thought Einstein said that.” “Thomas Jefferson said ‘If it’s on the internet, it must be true.’ Einstein said, ‘I never said half the crap people say I did.’ But Lincoln said, ‘Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.’ It was part of his famous prohibition address. You know, his famous speech in St. Louis. ‘Four shots and seven beers ago, our drunkards brought forth, in this city, a new brewery, conceived in patriotism, and dedicated to the notion that all Clydesdales are meant to haul beer.” “Stop It Max! You’re killing me!” Pinkie wheezes out. “Sorry. I try.” “And that’s why you’re fun to hang around with!” “Good. That means I’m not inept.” “Well then let’s go to the bakery! At least we can get out of the house.” With that, I blow a 0.02 and jump in to Pinkie’s Escalade. Snagging parking in the alley behind the shop, we head in and claim her favorite table. After I order a few items, Mrs. Cake hands them out personally to us, to which I immediately ask the question, “How did your group meet?” “We all met in college. Dashie and Fluttershy however are childhood friends. They’ve known each other since they were little. Applejack has lived in the same place since Granny Smith was young, and Rarity’s from Minnesota.“ “Where’d you all go to college?” “Boise State.” “You’re all Broncos then. Nice.” “Yupperoonie!” “Cool. You know I have the Dash 8 that wears BSU’s colors.” “What?” “You know Horizon? The Alaska regional subsidiary?” “Yeah?” “Well, they dumped all their Q400’s in favor of the E175. I purchased a few of the university ones – UW, BSU and SDSU, and their Celebration of Horizon Air Retro.” “Oh, nice!” “It’s a fun airplane to fly. If you enjoyed helping me in the trijet…” “I can imagine.” “It’s just sad. I mean, Horizon differentiated themselves from other U.S. regionals by operating turboprops. Thanks to shit circumstances and multiple nasty backstabbing incidents, I missed my greatest opportunity to get that type rating, but I was fortunate enough to get type-rated elsewhere. The story of my training in that aircraft is horrendous, but it is still a fun plane to fly.” “Is that your favorite aircraft you have?” “Oh heavens no. I don’t play favorites. Each one is special to me for its own reason.” “You know, I wonder if Dashie would want to build time in a jet after she ends her time in the Blue Angels.” “I don’t know. If Spitfire has her way, she could be a lifer. I’m all for it. I actually like flying alone. It has its perks, since autopilot can be a huge help.” “Mhmm.” She responds as she sips her drink. As we carry on conversation, Mrs. Cake takes orders and then begins another batch of whatever baked goods end up on the storefront. We’ve been here for a couple hours already, and after a few drinks, enough baked goods to last me to medianoche, and a sandwich of the same name, we head out after Pinkie says hi to the twins, who are running books in the office. Eventually, we head up towards Boca again at Pinkie’s recommendation so she can have a nice beach drive outside the city of Miami. Pinkie then drops all the windows so we can soak in the wonderful sea air. A refreshing feeling, we arrive at BCT, where Pinkie then parks and checks her texts. After I peer over and watch her hold almost 5 conversations at the same time, she then sends one more text before she immediately puts the Escalade in gear. “What’s your BAC?” “Don’t know. My blower is at your house.” “If it’s low enough, I need to go back to Rockford.” “Can be done. I’m gonna head to Maui and surprise Rosalina anyway.” “Aww! Won’t that be sweet!” “I hope so. I mean, it’s not like we left on bitter terms. When you called, I was in the middle of a dream, but I don’t remember it.” “Oh well, now you get to eat it!” “Eat it?” “You know, forget it happened.” “Oh. Well, yeah I guess. Obviously it wasn’t anything major since I didn’t remember it. It’s not like I can predict future events or anything.” “What about your panic attacks in Chicago?” “That was just a massive coincidence.” “Clearly.” She says as she pulls into her garage. “How are you getting back to Miami?” “Flying, obviously!” “Clearly. How long you think you’ll be there?” “No idea. Could be a week.” “Well, I don’t plan on more than a few days, so just let me know if it’s more than a week.” “Will do!” When we return to her house, I immediately head for the blower. “0.02%.” “You’re ready!” “Cool. Let me file to my airport. Free fuel for my sake, even though you have a drive. You can use one of the vans I have.” “Oh, that’s fine. I can have one of my sisters pick me up.” “Cool. On file, I’m all packed.” “Let’s go!”
