“…my goodness, Lime, he’s totally into me, ’cause he…”
“…la Princesse d’Amour était là, mais elle…”
“…cuando la conocí, era tan tímida, pero de vez en cuando…”
Trotting through Crystaller Station was a daily dose of gossip on the lives of ponies I would never meet. Saddlebag compressed against my back, I arrived at the platform just-in-time to join the mass of ponies heading south. Though “just-in-time” may not be apt during rush hour when trains arrive every three minutes. They don’t make crowds like this back ho– back in Ponyville.
Manehattan is my home.
Manehattan is my home.
Manehattan is my home.
7:45 a.m. on Monday. Mane perfectly coiffed, body bearing a beautiful winter dress of my own design, makeup so subtle it looked natural. Some white lies are fashionable.
I rubbed shoulders with strangers, and squeezed myself into a tiny Maneway car, curling into the corner by the door on the opposite side and wrapping my hoof around the metal pole – a gesture far less titillating than it might sound. And as the doors closed, I laid eyes on them: the lover and her dreamer.
A pale mare with a bright yellow mane and a cutie mark of a tornado – Lemon Twister. By her side, a stallion, brown coat marked with an hourglass – oh, wait, he’s from Ponyville, I actually know him. Time Turner. But where’s the drama in a name like Time Turner? Where’s the romance? No, no, his name would be Time Twist. Like the “temporal helix”, to quote– never mind, the attribution is irrelevant.
Lemon stared off to the left and Time to the right, and in squinting, you could see the eye contact of love. In each iris was a warm spark spanning universes, particularly if the legends are true about Dr. Time Twist. No, not those legends about him being a crank expelled from Manehattan University for his quack theory of Actual Reality – those are obviously unsubstantiated. No, the legends about his double life in Manehattan as a time twisting secret agent… alongside his sidekick and lover Agent Lemon!
He glanced down, and in his hoof was the faintest reflection of a shining silver ring, obviously in preparation for a picturesque proposal on the metro. Not my personal favourite romantic backdrop, but I do retain a certain fondness for urban romance, however empty it might seem without her… Uh, without Sweetie Belle, that’s the her, how empty it would be without my sister by my side. Sweetie was always the more romantic of the two of us, always gushing over that cute little colt. But she’s there – Sweetie Belle – in Canterlot – the University of Canterlot – and I’m here.
Distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Time Twist cleared his throat and – ah-ha! He kneeled his back leg and raised his front hoof to Lemon, and his lips opened and closed. He must have been saying, “My dearest Lemon – how charming are you! And what a name – lemon, sweet with a pleasant tinge of sour that others might distaste but your true friends cherish. Lemon, my companion, the love of my life and lifeblood of my love, throughout the years I have known you, you have my been rock, my knowing friend – then marefriend – who for me would always have the answers. Yet there is one question to which I still seek the answer: Lemon Twister, will you marry me?”
Yes, mais oui, yes! I do, I mean, she does! In the glimmer in her eyes as she looked, well, not at him, but in a vaguely near direction that clearly conveyed yes to that truly impeccable romantic monologue none of which was actually stated aloud as far as I can hear among the chattering crowd, but it’s in the eyes. As a creative, I see emotion in places where other ponies simply do not, and I saw a world painted in their eyes.
Overhead a muffled stallion’s voice with a thick Manehattan accent said, “We’re arriving at Carneighie station, Carneighie station. Doors will open on the left. Change here for Bronclyn line. Bronclyn line closed between Orangeville and Hooflyn due to an accident on the tracks. Carriages are running.”
The doors swung open as promised and a mass disembarked, Time Twist among them, leaving Lemon Twister alone.
How unromantic, especially after such wonderful words.
Then again, I suppose for some ponies, it isn’t at all out of character to go up and leave a mare they’re in love with stranded to fend for herself on a crowded Manehattan metro all alone with her work and a crowd of strangers while they have the time of their life doing whatever the hoof they do in Hooflyn. Not unusual at all. Normal behaviour for a madly in love pony. Normal. Behaviour.
More citydwellers fought onto the metro car as the doors closed. Citydwellers like one serene orange mare with a long, braided grey mane who took Time Twist’s place beside Lemon. Her cutie mark was technicolour, but if I squinted she looked a bit like Applejack. Would it be too much to call her Rainbowjack? Oh, allow me the simple pleasures in life; I have few.
Beep. “Arriving at Bridleway, Bridleway station. Doors open on the left.” The words from the conductor I could just faintly make out over the mumbles of so many passengers so helplessly in love. Like Rainbowjack who at present was scratching her nose. A gesture that could certainly be romantic in, er, a truly spectacular context.
But standing next to Rainbowjack was a pink pegasus with another technicolour cutie mark. Different design – a pencil of many hues – but the colours matched beautifully. If that is not evidence of romantic destiny, I couldn’t tell you what is. Pinkie Quill, she must have been.
Pinkie Quill and Rainbowjack were wealthy in love. As soon as Pinkie Quill boarded, Rainbowjack turned around, beamed, and exclaimed something loud enough to hear but in a language I couldn’t comprehend. But I assume she exclaimed, “Oh, stars, hi Pinkie Quill! I’ve missed you more than you possibly imagine. And– oh, I love you even though I haven’t seen you in years, so I’m so glad I bumped into you on the Maneway!”
Pinkie Quill of course beamed back and in that language replied, “Oh, my, I can’t believe you’re really here. I love you too, and I’ve missed you too more than you can possibly imagine. I’m so sorry I’ve been away on diplomatic business in Seaquestria, but I’m here to be with you, and I’ll never part with you again!”
The duo then embraced, as well as two strangers can embrace on a packed train. What power there must have been in that hug, what depth of purpose and meaning! In that affection they shared was a world of wonder unlike anything I could ever experience again. The many colours of young love contrasting the greys in my mane.
“Arriving at Saddle Row, Saddle Row Station. Doors open on the right.” Right on cue. A fabulously dressed crowd promenaded towards the door beside me. I gripped the pole tighter and fastened my grasp on my saddlebag for security. The train screeched to a halt. I exited, leaving the lovers and the fantasies behind until the evening.
Chatter filled the platform. But my crowd was rushing towards the stairs, cantering up to ground level, pushing through the turnstile, and leaving to open air, from which my boutique was a mere block away. As I left, I brushed off my dress on habit. In my hoof I noticed a single stray lavender hair. Has it been that long since I wore this dress?
No matter. I was a working mare.
No time for strays.
Let alone ones as stray as lavender on my body.
Monday morning, Monday boutique.
Another day, another paycheck.
Alone.
