It's Funny What You Remember
It's funny what you remember from your foalhood. I remember moving a lot, restarting the process of making new friends a lot, and lots of my foalhood teachers. The one from Ponyville wasn't much different, although I don't recall her name, as I only had her for half of a year anyways. I would say it was a good 15 years before Nightmare moon, or Princess Luna came back from the moon, so that would place me right about in middle school, some of the most awkward stages in a young foal's life.
Of course, moving into a different school midway through the year didn't make it any easier, but my mom was always happy to accept work where she could find it. We were almost always on the verge of being broke, which didn't make finding new friends any easier, by the way.
Back to the point though.
The teacher there at the time introduced me to the class on the first day I arrived, and then gave me a desk in the back of the room. I never minded having the desk in the back of the room anyways, as I was least likely to be called on and could observe the majority of the class from afar, allowing me to observe the behavior of all the classmates and find out who was in which clique and who was interested in what, without actually having to ask or get to know ponies. Maybe that was why I never had many friends. At any rate, there I was, back of the class on the first day at a new school.
A bouncing pink pony greeted me and asked to be my friend. I had seen the type before, wanting to be everyone's friend in hopes that they would be loved then. “Hi! Can I be your friend? We'll just say that we're friends once then never talk again!” was what her question really meant. I knew better than to reject the offer though. Just accept their “friendship” and move on, because they move straight on too. Straight to the next pony who they want to be their “friend”.
So I sat there and I watched. School wasn't important that much. I'd never get the chance to go to a big school like Canterlot University anyways, so why did it matter? I observed the relationships between students. A passing of notes, a playful joke. A glance across the room could tell me all I needed to know. These ponies had their groups, and they didn't need me. Clearly I was right too, as nopony talked to me for a month. My mother told me to just keep my spirits up and maybe I would find a pony to talk to.
But Mama said a lot of things, in fact she was the one who first suggested I say hello to a pony they, the school bullies, called Derpy, among other things. Derpy was a gray pegasus who sat in the front of the room, closest to the chalkboard. Nopony talked to Derpy, but they actually had a reason for not talking to Derpy. Derpy was different.
Not to be mean, but when your catchphrase is, “I just don't know what went wrong,” you are bound to get made fun of. So when my mother suggested I stand up for her when the colts in my class made jokes at her, I dismissed the thought. I was trying to fit in after all, as futile as it may have been. For some reason though, a month or two after I arrived at that school, there I was, getting up from my lonely table during lunch period and walking over to her equally deserted table.
“Hi.” I introduced myself. She looked at me as if I had grown a second horn out of my forehead. I took a seat across the table from her.
“Just thought I'd come over here,” I continued. Her look turned from that of shock to curiosity. Why was I sitting with her? A good question, one I don't know myself. I asked her if she wanted any company, although I suppose I was sitting down already, so she didn't have much of a choice. She nodded her head in agreement and resumed eating her lunch, trying to focus on the table in front of her. Another reason that she got made fun of was because of her eyes. One of them never seemed to be focusing on you. It of course didn't help that most of what came out of her mouth made little sense to the previous discussion, but during our talk that day I was fascinated by the amount of random information she knew. Did I remember that one time 5 years ago when the Wonderbolts won the world championship on a technicality? No, but I did recall I was asking you for the math homework, thanks anyways, Derpy.
And so went my days there. Every day it was something different. Or many things different. Maybe she would tell me about history of Equestria. Maybe she would tell me about her talent for blowing bubbles, or demonstrate in her milk carton. One day, when I thought she had run out of things to tell, she told me about her life.
Now, I understood some things about family structures. Generally the mother took care of the child while the dad worked. I wouldn't know from experience, because my mother had both responsibilities thrown at her. And yet, here was this Pony, my age, who had spent countless lunch periods filling me up with whatever random thought came to her head, informing me about a subject I just failed to understand, how anyone could hate their father.
She may not have said the words hate, but from what I understood their relationship was that she made the messes and he got mad, and when he got mad, he drank. When he drank, he hit her.
I would have given anything to see my father back in those days, so to hear her trashing hers like that… I could barely understand what she was saying. I had had enough, and stood up and walked away. I didn't sit at her table the next day, or the next day. I seldom talked to her again, not even when I moved to a different town at the end of that year. I just sat at the old, empty table I used to sit at and thought. Sometimes I drew, sometimes I even did homework, but almost never. Mostly I thought about what she had said, how she couldn't stand her father, how she wished he was gone. How could she say that? The one time we did talk was after school one day. I asked her how she could wish that her dad was gone. Her answer confused me for a long time: that she thought she would be better off without him.
When I thought back to this moment when I grew up, I realized that maybe she was right. When I first ran away from my mom was when I found my dad. The first night I was there he got drunk. The second night he got really drunk and threw a bottle at me. I realized that Derpy was right. I didn't need that kind of abuse. I left the next morning without saying goodbye. I haven't seen him since.
I never wondered what became of Derpy. After I left she just went back to the way she was before, silently blowing bubbles in her milk. After I moved I imagine she did the same type of thing throughout high school. Maybe someone sat with her and they became friends. I doubt this, because the class she was in seemed to be fairly closed and full of cliques, unlike my next school, where I found my first real friend. He was weird too, but he made sense and had a big T.V. with a gaming station, and that pretty much sealed the deal for me.
I don't wonder what became of Derpy. I never cared until I started writing this. My mom passed away a few months ago. I wonder if Derpy cried when her only parent passes away. I know I missed mine. Then again, I think of if I would cry if my dad passed away, and the answer is probably not. I'd imagine Derpy isn't much different. I never wondered about her until I wrote this a month or two ago. And then passed through Ponyville. Still on vacation after the death of my mom, I had time to kill, so I spent a week there. I saw her almost every day. She picked her kid up, took her to the park, played with her, and then took her home. She still had those eyes. I didn't bother to introduce myself. She wouldn't remember me and I wasn't there for any real reason anyways, only to satisfy my curiosity. I left and returned back to work after I saw that.
This shouldn't mean anything- Derpy shouldn't mean anything. Except she does. Because she has a child of her own, and maybe that child has a father who is there for her, and maybe that father loves and cares for both his daughter and wife. And if Derpy, the random, funny looking, strange mare that was in my middle school class can lead a normal life, then I don't have a reason not to. My parent didn't hit me, it wasn't her fault she had to move so much, and it wasn't her fault I was working a dead end job either. My mom was there for me at least, which was most likely more than Derpy could say for either of her parents.
I'm not going to give you a name for this friendship report, Princess. I know recently the custom has been that the pony that writes friendship reports to the Princess end it with a signature, but my name really isn't important, I'm just one of the citizens who knew something valuable about friendship. That's to hang out with that weird kid, the one who sits all by herself. Turns out all that time she's trying to focus in the front of the class she's actually learning something. It turns out that if you had gotten to know the pony, she might actually be interesting. It turns out, that even if you disagree with somepony, you have no right to get up and walk away from them. Because they might just be right.
I don't know if you even read these, Princess. But if you do, you need to share this with all the kids in school out there. They need it, and the weird kid in the front of the class needs it too.
-Your faithful subject
