To Be One Whose Beauty Inspires
The problem, Pinkie had learned, with trying to grow your hair was that it was heavily indebted to how your specific hair-type grew. Which does sound obvious, on reflection, but still. She’d aimed for it to grow down, not this huge bob of curls that just seemed to increase in volume and never length.
For her first time ever having a long mane, it was not quite the result she’d been wanting. But mares in the Pie family were tough, that’s what mum had always said. And toughing it out was something Pinkie had become quite adept at.
She hadn’t tried this for a month. And honestly, even as she began, she knew it wasn’t going to pay off. She pulled her mane back as tightly as it would go, and snapped the bobble around the sprig at the back. Her reflection looked back at her once the deed was done, and said reflection looked ridiculous. She’d managed to get it into the bobble—she’d been able to do that for quite a while now—but the shorter pieces remained untrapped. They sprung every which way, giving her an absurd halo of faint pink.
Pinkie sighed and let her hair back down. For a second, her hoof hovered over the lipstick on her sink, but something made her decide against it. It didn’t seem quite as professional without her hair tied back, or something to that effect anyway. Regardless of reason, the result was the same. After one final glance at herself, Pinkie turned and made her way downstairs.
Sweet things made life better. That had been Pinkie’s philosophy for as long as she could remember. There was something intrinsic to them. They healed wounds. The ones your eyes couldn’t see. They made ponies smile, and all her life Pinkie had loved to see ponies smile. She hadn’t seen as much as she’d liked before moving to Ponyville, but things were getting back on track now.
“Say, are you new in town?” the pony Pinkie was serving asked. Fifth time this day she’d gotten that question, and the shift had only just started. She continued to scoop the muffins into the bag, counting the four required, before poking her head above the counter again.
“Sure am!” Pinkie offered, and the pony continued to look at her. It seemed like they were expecting more. But, while she didn’t want to be rude, Pinkie had given as much as she felt comfortable.
“So, that’ll be 2 bits,” Pinkie beamed when the silence went on a little too long. The customer placed them on the counter.
“So what’s your name then, sugarcube?” she asked, and Pinkie chewed the inside of her mouth slightly. The rock would need to keep going up her mountain, but sometimes it was hard. Sometimes it got stuck. Sometimes Pinkie just needed a rest.
“I… I uh…” she babbled, finding that no matter how hard she pushed everything stayed the same.
“Oh darn, you’re too busy to be shooting the breeze with me. I should’ve noticed, sorry about that,” the mare said abruptly, and Pinkie could have cried for the kindness in her eyes. They seemed to understand; maybe not specifically, but that didn’t matter.
“No, don’t be sorry,” Pinkie said, but didn’t move to stop her.
“We’ll chat next time maybe!” the pony called out as she left, and Pinkie started to feel some movement again.
“And how often are you getting them?”
“I dunno, like a few times a week?” Pinkie responded uncertainly.
Talking about her dreams was uncomfortably… cliched for her. When she had first been referred by her doctor, she had been dreading it. It brought to mind images of being laid on a settee, watching swinging pocket watches and deciphering inkblot tests.
Thankfully, it had all been a lot more professional than that. They talked about the way she’d been feeling, about who she was, and the doctor had started her off on the medication she needed. But talking about dreams… that took it closer to that cartoonish idea of therapy which unsettled Pinkie so much.
“And what happens?” the doctor prodded. Apparently she wasn’t getting off the hook.
“Well, I’m always pushing this big ol’ rock up a mountain,” Pinkie began nervously, “And it’s so cloudy, I can barely see anything around me. Then, when I reach the top, the clouds in front of me clear and I see there’s still so much mountain to go. But when I look behind me, the clouds are still there. It’s like, I know I’m further along, but it feels like being at the bottom again… what does that mean?”
“Hmm?”
“Well, I thought you guys were supposed to be able to tell what dreams meant,” Pinkie replied, prompting him to laugh.
“Oh no Miss Pie, I’m afraid that’s only the case in books and films. Honestly, dreams are strange and often mean nothing at all; they’re just cobbled together from things you’ve experienced throughout your day.
Now, recurring ones, like the ones you’re having, can sometimes be different. I don’t think there’s anything to be concerned about, though; it stands to reason you might be having thoughts like this. I know progress can feel slow, but you’re doing great.”
“Thanks doc,” Pinkie replied, though she stared blankly at the wall as more images of that mountain rushed through her head.
“Now, how is your socialising going? Are you introducing yourself to more ponies in the town? I know this has been a bit of a challenge.”
“Well… I’m trying.”
“I know it can be hard, but it’s really important you keep going with it, okay? This might not be the wisest admission for a therapist to make, but too much time in your head can be just as bad as not enough,” he said with a chuckle, which she weakly returned.
“Are you keeping in touch with your family?” he continued, audibly eager to fill the awkward silence that had developed in the wake of his joke.
“Marble writes all the time!” Pinkie replied, perking up as soon as her family was mentioned, “Maud too! Limey is busy with the farm so I don’t hear from her that often.”
“And your parents?”
“They’re good!” Pinkie replied, her smile too wide and tone too cheery.
“Pinkie…” he started, affecting some noticeable gentleness, “I mean have they been in contact?”
“I know.” Pinkie sighed, “It’s… an adjustment for them. I don’t want to rush them. They’ll come around I think but… well, they run a rock farm, you know? They’re used to things moving slowly.”
“Well, if that’s how you feel,” the doctor said carefully, “But just remember, Pinkie, to not let anyone treat you poorly. You’re doing so well… no one has the right to tell you who you are, or who you’re supposed to be.”
“I won’t,” Pinkie replied with a small smile. She wondered whether the doctor really thought it was that easy.
“Okay, I think that’s all the time we have today. I’ll talk to you in a couple of weeks.”
Pinkie smiled and thanked the doctor as she left.
“Are you sure, dear?”
“Yeah, I just think it’d be easier right now.” Pinkie said, making sure to smile widely. Mrs Cake had taken such good care of her since she moved here. Pinkie didn’t want to worry her too much.
“Okay then. I’ll handle the counter if you want to work in the back for the time being.”
“Thanks,” Pinkie replied, letting out a sigh of relief.
She spent the morning focused on her baking. She got so wrapped up in it that, by the time it came to lunch, Mrs Cake had to come in and remind her to go to the pharmacy. The walk was pleasant enough, though, and she felt energised enough to return many of the smiles she got on the way there.
When it was done, she headed straight back to work and took one of the pills with a glass of water. Mrs Cake had put her a lunch together, and as Pinkie sat down to eat it, she looked down at her body and tried to see through the clouds. This time, she decided to be kind enough to herself not to second-guess how her frame looked slighter, how her fur seemed softer.
It was a good feeling.
Pinkie was told to exercise to keep her strength up. The pills could cause some issues with that, so she made sure to do a little each day. She’d tried running, she’d tried aerobics. But honestly, nothing felt better to her than dancing. And let it never be said that dancing alone did anything to dull the thrill. On the contrary, here she could be free.
Her moves were lithe, sweet and and even sultry when they needed to be. Here she could sway and twist, manic and unpredictable and feminine, everything that was part of her. And when she was done, her eyes came to rest on the letter that had been slipped under her door. She wondered how long it had been there. Whether Mr or Mrs Cake had seen her dancing.
She smiled as she realised she didn’t care whether they’d seen.
Walking over, panting and sweaty, she bent down to retrieve the letter. And as she saw who it was from, her breath quickened and her hair didn’t seem long enough, even though she knew it was.
But this time, the rock didn’t stick, and when Pinkie was done with the letter she was crying. Warm, happy sobs around a smile that felt like the one she’d always wanted. Truthfully she’d only skimmed it, it was a fairly boring update about the farm and her sisters. To say her parents had never been poets was putting it mildly. Honestly, it was the first few words that Pinkie kept going back to.
And though they’d let her down, though they’d never had the right to make her feel bad, and though she was still mad at them, there was something sweet and kind about the way they’d written ‘To our beloved Daughter Pinkie’. A deferral to the agency they hadn’t properly acknowledged until now.
Because, while change was slow in rocks, change did happen.
And, more to the point, was Pinkie glad to find that when the clouds cleared, they did so only a little. Because the sun had already been out, and these clouds were slight. Because she knew who she was, and no one could change that. She wouldn’t have swayed regardless of what they’d written. Not one of their letters up until now had swayed her, and she didn’t plan to start.
But sweetness could still help clear up those hurts the eye couldn’t see. Just a little.
And the rock went up the mountain a bit easier with that.
Pinkie growled as she pulled her hair back, snapping a bobble round it. She loved her job, but goodness did it get hot in the summer with all the ovens going at full blast. But with her mane out of her face, she at least could see properly. She’d deal with all those loose strands later on.
The bell rang out on the counter, and Pinkie continued to mix the ingredients in her bowl. But then it happened again, and this time she paused. Upon the third ring, she realised Mr and Mrs Cake must have nipped out briefly. Sighing, she set aside the bowl and went to go out. But on the way there she caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror.
And Pinkie froze.
Her hair was perfectly pulled back, no loose sprigs forming her odd, pink halo. Yet, even in the absence of proper crowning, Pinkie thought she cut a more angelic picture than ever. And this time she couldn’t doubt the continued forming of her limbs into the leaner, silkier, slighter pony, hair perfectly tied back, that stared her in the face. It was a statement of fact this time, immune to all the world’s whispered poisons. How long would she have stared, were it not for the bell ringing out again.
“Coming!” Pinkie yelled, and rushed out to find a lone unicorn in the foyer.
“Oh, I’m sorry to have disturbed you, darling!” she immediately gushed, “I didn’t realise I’d be pulling you out of the kitchen!”
Pinkie was confused for a second, and abruptly realised she was still wearing her apron.
“Oh! It’s no worry at all!” Pinkie smiled, “What can I get for you?”
“Well, I think it’d have to be a half dozen chocolate fairy cakes. If my diet had form it’d strangle me right now, but sometimes the needs outweigh the cost.”
“Everyone needs something sweet now and again,” Pinkie replied as she got the order together. And when she put the money in the till when it was complete, Pinkie didn’t feel any intimidation. There was no desire to head right back to the kitchen. She wanted to talk to this customer; she wanted to see her smile.
“I’m Pinkie Pie by the way.”
“Charmed! I’m Rarity. Please, if you ever find yourself in need of a dress come along to my boutique. Anyone who can make cakes as well as you can definitely gets friend’s rates, Miss Pie.”
Pinkie laughed, and it was full throated and earnest. How had she forgotten this? She never would again.
And after a full day’s worth of conversations, laughs and smiles and so many sweet things, Pinkie was more than ready for bed that night. And when she dreamed of her mountain, the view was astounding. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, she could see all the way to the bottom, and what a way down it was. But Pinkie found no intimidation in the sight, and when she pushed her stone, it moved like it was lighter than air.
