It’s beautiful up here. Syrinx and I used to come out to these clouds when we were kids to get away from our parents. Out of eyesight from the city, but still close enough we could hear their whistles when it was time to come home. I remember how heartbreaking it would be to hear that sharp tweet, telling us that the time had come to leave our little oasis in the sky and come back home.
I would glance out then, as I’m doing now, at the rolling fields that stretch towards the Everfree and Ponyville. The town is just barely visible from here. Really, you can only make its location out at nighttime, when the lamps have been lit and the fireplaces turned on and everypony settles down for the evening.
Syrinx and I would drag our hooves, basking in the twinkling lights of the town reflected a million times over in the sky above. You can always see the sky in Cloudsdale, but you need to come out here to see the heavens unimpeded. He and I would lay on our backs in silence while we counted stars, our touching wingtips the only reminder that the other were still there. That silence would always be broken by that shrill blast, and then we would complain, laugh, and return home.
But oh, what I wouldn’t do to hear that damned whistle one more time.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge this running train of thoughts that have plagued me since the accident. I suppose I’ve always had an inner monologue, but when I could hear, it was often overwritten by sounds around me. A friend telling jokes. A musician practicing in the summer warmth. The sizzle and pops of daisies being fried for a Sunday dinner with the family. Now, I have only myself to listen to.
Syrinx is there, in front of me. His head is tilted quizzically, like a curious puppy. Or perhaps he is concerned. I don’t blame him; I’ve stopped paying attention to him, distracted by the view. Funny, that; usually he distracts me from the view. I guess I’ve spent a lot of time with him lately.
Oh, that feels nice. He’s come over and has wrapped a wing over me. We’re looking now at the fields together, like we did when we were kids. He’s looking at the Everfree, just as I expected. He always told me that he loved watching the trees move in the wind. Said that because we can’t see or feel the same air currents as way down there, it looks like they’re always dancing on their own, swinging to the rhythm of some timber two-step jive just beyond the reach of our ears.
I sigh heavily. Syrinx’s wing squeezes me a bit tighter. It keeps coming back to sound. I feel like such an idiot, having gotten caught in that thundercloud. Two cracks of lightning on both sides of me before I got out. Lucky to be alive, the doctor said. A true miracle there wasn’t any other damage done, he said. The hearing will unfortunately never return, he said.
And then someone wrote it down for me and I got to understand why everyone else in the room looked so concerned. My parents, my coworkers, and Syrinx, my closest friend.
I look at him, catching his eyes. They bear the same concern for me now as they did back in the hospital. I smile weakly and nod, turning back around from the panoramic vista and face the bulk of the cloud we had found.
Syrinx has let go of me and returned to his spot again, his warm smile enough to motivate me. I hold up a hoof; one more round. He tilts his head again, confused. I shake mine, and then bend a secondary feather up from its joint. One more round, Syrinx. He nods in understanding and then sits down, the signs of focus clear on his face now.
I’d speak aloud to him if it didn’t bother me so much. His mother may have been deaf from birth, but his hearing is just fine. For the first week after the accident, I had spoken aloud as normal, but every moment my jaw and cheeks moved without me hearing what they had produced unsettled me more than the last, and eventually I stopped speaking unless absolutely necessary. Everything else was quiet now; why shouldn’t I be?
He unfurls his wings and spreads them out casually, letting them rest not quite fully-extended. They rotate up slightly, showing off his iridescent fuschia feathers. Neutral position. I nod and copy him, ready for the next word.
He picks up a card from next to him. The phrase “It is 5 in the evening” is scrawled on it in thick ink. I knit my brows, thinking hard. Five is easy, it’s just one of my secondaries lifted up. Evening isn’t bad either, it’s my left wing stiffly extended down towards the ground. But what is ‘it’? I close my eyes for a moment while Syrinx waits patiently. Time, I realize. Time-Is-Five-Evening is the phrase I need to express.
I open my eyes and nod to Syrinx, and he flips a hoof as if to say ‘go ahead’. Time. I bring both my wings up and touch their tips together over my head, forming a circle, and then tilt my head to the right. Is. I return my wings to neutral position and pitch them up and back, almost like a flick. Five. I focus, bringing up the fifth secondary feather from my left wing. The fourth and sixth move up a little too, but I’m not concerned. Syrinx will know which one it was, and with practice I’ll be able to move them all individually easily. Evening. I straighten out my left wing from neutral and roll the limb down to face the ground, and then return, yet again, to neutral.
Syrinx smiles wide and nods a couple times. He rolls his hoof now. Again, is what he means. I repeat the movements, trying to be a bit faster and less disjointed. He smiles, a bit more eagerly now, and rolls his hoof again. I sign the sentence one more time. I’m not fast at it, but I don’t need to be. Consistency and legibility are the keys, Syrinx would tell me when he and his mother were speaking Pegasus Sign Language. I would stare at them, mesmerized by the strange and disjointed wing and hoof movements. I didn’t ever mean to be rude, but I wondered how they could hold a conversation with each seemingly twisting and jerking around aimlessly. I had asked him how they could speak so fast, and relay so much information with such limited faculties, when he had replied as before.
Consistency, legibility, and the fact that most of the components of a sentence could be ignored or inferred. You didn’t need to say every aspect of “for breakfast we can have pancakes, waffles, or toast”. Syrinx had said that would be expressed as “Breakfast-choose-pancakes-waffles-toast”. Just little bits shaved off every sentence to save time and muscle aches. Very clever.
I should have paid more attention back then, maybe learned some things when I could actually hear them explained. I’m drifting off again. I give my head a small shake and move my attention back to Syrinx.
He moves his right wing forward in front of his chest and swipes it quickly to the right: Next. I nod. He grabs the next card and holds it up, and it causes me to flinch. I’ve never been good with knowing the technical parts of sentence structure, and this one feels complicated to me. “At 5 PM, Flurry and I will prepare to leave at 6 PM.” Is that even right in Ponish? Uh.
I grimace, and Syrinx smiles wide once again. He touches his wings together and rotates his head. Time. He jabs a hoof at me. You. He spreads his wings out, splaying out each feather so that as few as possible are touching. Lots. I have lots of time. Great.
I give him another weak smile, the same one I have been practicing almost as much as PSL since the accident. Okay. First, simplicize the sentence. At five, Flurry and I, get ready to leave at six. Flock, that doesn’t really take much off. Five evening, neutral pause, Flurry me, get ready six evening. My head hurts.
I go to neutral pose, lift the fifth secondary, extend and tilt the wing down towards the ground. Back to neutral, and Syrinx is watching intently-- I lock eyes with him. Am I blushing? Nevermind that. I spell out ‘F-L-U-R-R-Y’ with my feathers, raising individual primaries that correspond with each letter. Some of the neighbouring feathers rose too, like with the number, but that’s okay. I’ll get used to it. Featherspelling is at least easy enough to memorize. I wrap a wing around my belly and tap my chest with a forehoof; With me. Finally, I lift the sixth secondary and drop the wing to the ground.
Syrinx stands up and claps his hooves together exaggeratedly, and I can’t help but smile. I always felt close to him as we grew up, and that feeling never went away as we became adults. We might not have spent as much time together as adults as we did when we were young, what with school and work, but we always made a point to get together for at least the weekend. Since the accident though he’s spent almost every day with me, and had the strange heaviness in my stomach that showed up whenever he beamed at me only appeared since then I would have chocked it up to me just attaching to whoever was helping me.
But it’s not recent. The last couple years at school felt like a different kind of closeness. I remember that intense excitement I would feel when he fluttered into class; it would take so much of my willpower to restrain myself from shouting out his name. He always made sure to return my smiles, though. I try not to ever let it get in the way of our friendship. Sometimes ponies fall in love with others because of how kind they are to each other, and I figured the friendship would outlast the crush I have on Syrinx.
It’s been five years since we’ve graduated, though, and I still feel it. I’m terrified that I might accidentally blurt it out and ruin what we have. I think he would be creeped out by me and leave, and right now I need all the help I can get.
He’s looking at me now, and there’s this devious look on his face. He snickers, and grabs a blank card and writes on it with the marker. He looks up at me with that wicked stare, the way someone would when they’ve said a mean joke in good humor, and then scribbles a bit more onto the card. With a nod, he sets the marker down and turns the card to me.
Oh, what is this nonsense? Syrinx is looking at me, his right wing curling backwards like if it was lifting a weight. It’s Tough. I frown, and read the sentence again. “Daydream under the starlight.” Hold on, he hasn’t taught me either of those words yet. I flick up my first secondary feather, and then my fourth, and then tilt my head in that same curious puppy dog manner; First, Fourth, What?
He shakes his head, moves to the neutral position, and then shakes his head again, slowly and only once. No. No? I can’t say the sentence without knowing what the words are, Syrinx! Wait, hold on. None, perhaps? The words don’t exist in PSL? Then how-
He holds a hoof up in response to the confusion clearly visible on my face now. Then he brings his wings together, meshing the feathers into each other. Combine. They’re combined words? Oh. Ah, horsefeathers, combining sucks! You have to sign each word at the same time.
Day is easy, you just sort of point a wing skywards. Dream is like Sleep, but eyes open wide, so I just need to rest my head on a wing, like it's a pillow. So for Daydream, I rest my head on one wing with my eyes open, and point another wing straight up.
This is giving me a headache.
Starlight, then, will be star and light at the same time. Star is… think, Calamus, think… Oh, right, you twinkle your coverts. That’s easy enough, and Light is a small hover in the air. That doesn’t sound difficult at all.
I nod to Syrinx and move to neutral position again. He looks so proud of me, even though it's been weeks and I’m still mostly featherspelling outside of practice. I go over the movements one more time in my head and then begin, jerking to the side as I point my left wing high and settle my head on my steel-grey feathers. I restore my balance and then bring my wings over my head like an umbrella; Under. Then Starlight. Oh, this is wonderfully eas-
Ouch. What just happened? I jumped into the air to hover for Light, but when I went to twinkle my coverts I dropped. There’s no reason that should drop me. I stand up quickly and go to do it again, but crash face first into the cloud again. What in Tartarus? I look to Syrinx from my crumpled position.
He points at me, and then flicks two primary feathers and tilts his head. Are You Okay? I nod, frustrated, and get back to my hooves again. I look back to my wings and practice the flicking of my rearmost feathers, hoping that maybe if I glare at them enough this will work. I go to try Starlight one more time and flop forwards again.
In another age, Syrinx would have been on his back laughing at me. If I could hear, and this was just for fun, we could chuckle at whatever incompetence that caused me to so foolishly fall three times in a row. But it’s not another time, not another world. Right now he looks sad--guilty, perhaps, for trying the more difficult sentence. Yes, that must be it; he’s set it down and is grabbing a different one. No! I want to do this!
Oh, gosh, was that aloud? He looks hurt. I hold a hoof to my chest, over my heart, and rotate it clockwise a couple times. Sorry. He smiles weakly, and brings the card back. I think he’s worried for me; there’s this peculiar gleam in his eyes. I can’t hear his voice anymore to tell when he’s upset, but I can still see the signs I’ve come to learn over years of friendship. I sigh again, hopefully as quiet as I think it is. But I do want to do this. I don’t want to keep moving back whenever I hit a wall. This is going to be my life now, and I need to learn it.
I hop and hover above the cloud, holding my altitude easily. Okay, so that isn’t the issue. But neither is moving the coverts; those aren’t even used for this type of flight. I go to move a few at the same time, and my right side tilts sharply. Ahh, I see now. I’m getting like, nerves crossed or something, and I’m not flapping when I twinkle. I reorientate myself again and hover still. Let’s do one feather; okay, that’s good. Now another. Whoah, okay, a little shaky when it’s closer to the wing joint. Good to know. How many do I need to do for the word to count? Probably like half a second is enough for a real conversation. Let’s see if I can get five in a row, slowly now, consistent and legible.
It’s taken me a bit of time, but I think I’ve got it now. Syrinx is sitting on the edge of the cloud, staring off into the distance. The sun is starting to hit the horizon now, though we still have a while before it really gets dark. I walk up to him and tap him on the shoulder, and he jumps. He must have been lost in thought about something. We laugh together for a minute, and I feel a bit better about this stupid sentence.
Before we start, I show off the result of my practice, and hop up into the air with a few of my coverts on each wing flicking up and down. Syrinx claps again and sends me that radiant smile, and my heart flutters along with the feathers on my wings.
He nods, and I reset to the neutral position for what must have been the hundredth time this day. Syrinx is sitting expectantly, excited for me to show off the sentence he thought might have been too tough for me.
I go to say Daydream and I fall over onto my right wing, having lifted my left too far up. Stupid mistake. I’m better than that, come on now, Calamus. I reset, and go to say Daydream again, this time lifting both wings straight up. I’m frowning now. What’s going on? I’m an idiot. This one is easy. I feel my heart start pounding a bit harder, my cheeks warm in frustration, and my headache starts to get worse.
I try it again, and smack my forehead with my right patagium. Why am I so stupid all of a sudden? Again. No, again. Come on now, again! What am I doing wrong?! The first time I try something difficult and I’m just as dumb as when I first started PSL! Syrinx is coming towards me now, true worry on his face. I stomp a hoof and try one more time, the tired muscles and confused nerves in my wings failing me one more time as I just straight up twist them in weird directions and crash.
This is ridiculous! I hate this! I hate every damn thing about this! Why do I have to be such an idiot? I should have gotten out of that cloud before it got so dangerous. I should have been wearing my protective equipment. But no, I had to go and dive through some stupid thunderstorm and lose my flocking hearing for life. Now I have to sit here like a foal in elementary school, learning how to talk again, and I’m so stupid I can’t even do that! I can’t say two words next to each other! The only good thing about this damn hearing loss is the time I get to spend with Syrinx, but I’m sure he’s going to hate me by the time I’m finally anywhere near knowing what to say. I should have listened to him way back then, I should have learned it way back when he first offered it to me, I should have never let my stupid fear of my crush being found out stop me from learning this when I wasn’t so dumb that I couldn’t do it! I hate this, why did it have to happen to me? I’ve always been nice to others and worked hard and been a kind and supportive friend and now I’m nothing but a dead weight because of my stupid mistakes!
…Syrinx is looking at me, absolutely shocked now. Of course he is, I just spent a minute smashing my hooves into the ground and grinding my teeth. I know I didn’t say any of that aloud, my jaw was too clenched. Maybe it’s the tears pouring down my face.
He holds my face and lifts my chin up, and the look of shock is still there. Hold on, no. It’s not shock. His eyes are wide and his mouth agape, but there is no frown. It’s wonder, amazement. What… What did I just do? I tilt my head to express my question.
Syrinx holds a hoof to his mouth and then points at my wings. What about my wings? They’re fine, a bit tired, kinda achy really, but there’s nothing- oh. Oh sweet Celestia.
I look to him and flare my wings out to say Lots, and combine it with the head tilt. How much?
Syrinx flutters every feather, and the pink plumage glints in the setting sunlight. The colour drains from my face as I realize.
All.
All of my rant was just sent to my wings and hooves, displayed bare to the only pony I really know that could understand it. Some sort of unconscious language process has finally started to realize that I’m speaking with my wings, and everything I had thought in my anger came out. I don’t even remember moving my wings, or thinking about the words involved. I don’t think I even know every word I just spewed, but enough of the message must have come across.
I’m looking down at the cloud now, embarrassed and terrified to meet eyes with Syrinx. My biggest fear has come true, where he finds out I have had a crush on him, and now he will leave me or distance himself from me, and I will be left without a teacher and without my closest friend. I sniff hard as the tears start to pour down my face. I don’t know if I’m sobbing, but my breaths catch in my chest. I can see some of the cloud dissolving before me as the drops fall. It’s all been too much, all too fast, and now this…
There is warmth around me. On my back. Syrinx is there, hugging me from behind. I feel a gentle pull upwards on my chest and I go with it, letting him pull me to my hooves. I’m still not looking up. I’m ashamed of my outburst. Not only am I an idiot, I’m a foal. A stupid foal who can’t keep his emotions in check.
There’s a hoof on my left wing, straightening it out. Syrinx’s warmth is still there, moved to my side now, his body pressed against mine to keep me standing still. The wing comes up, pointing skyward, and I hold it there and sniff again.
His warmth swaps to my right side now, and his hoof guides my right wing in and up to my dejected head. At the same time, a soft wing embraces my cheek and--ever so slightly--pushes my head over onto the wing. Daydream.
Syrinx’s presence leaves me for just a moment before I feel it directly behind me, straightening both my wings out before lifting them up and over my head. Under.
He straightens my wings out to neutral position one more time before walking away from me. I see his hooves just out of the corner of my eye, and they stop a ways in front of me, facing me. I breathe in deeply, wipe the stinging wetness from my eyes, and then hop up into a flutter and twinkle my coverts. Starlight.
A hoof shows up in my vision, rotating slowly. Again. I nod, and obey. I tilt my wing up and rest my head on the other, and then lace them both together over my head, before finally jumping up and twiddling my feathers. When I land, I let a smile touch my face, but I still do not look up. I do not want to know what Syrinx thinks of me now. So long as I cannot see him, I cannot hear him.
Warmth again; his hooves on my shoulders, lifting. I raise up a bit, and I wonder what word he is going to teach me now. Probably something like “Go Away” or “Find Someone Else”. As I lift from the cloud, his hooves slip under my forelegs and carry me the rest of the way up. My eyes follow up from his hind leg, to his belly, up to his shoulder, and I turn away from his eyes, my shame refusing to let me ever see his face again. His forehooves tighten around me and as I’m brought closer to him, I slide my head onto his withers, and I start weeping again.
Subtly, in the midst of our embrace, he guides my wings out to neutral position and wraps his around me. I feel a tickle on a single primary feather, and for a happy moment my grief is replaced with confusion. I feel another tickle on a different feather, and then another.
Hold on. He’s featherspelling. The first feather was I, and then L, and O, and now he’s--
No.
My tears are completely pouring now, soaking his back. I can’t believe it.
I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-T-O-O.
I finally find the courage to pull back slightly from his tight embrace and meet his eyes, and he reluctantly lets me go a bit to do so. I’m a mess, I’m sure; my eyes are probably bloodshot, my nose is gunky and my whole face is stained with sadness. Clearly it doesn’t bother him; he’s giving me that same Syrinx smile, though somehow it’s wider and brighter than ever. I wipe the mess from my face and smile back. Not weakly this time. A good smile, one that he deserves.
He’s pulling me now, leading me gently by a hoof to the center of the cloud, and lays down with wings spread apart. He pats the cloud next to him, and I understand now.
I lay down next to him, spreading my wings out too. All my frustrations seem to be melting away from me. Is this heat in my heart hope? I don’t feel as scared. I look over at Syrinx and beam another smile at him, before dropping my head and staring up, just as we always have, at the night sky. The sun has finally set now, and with it gone and Cloudsdale just far away enough, the universe is fully revealed to us.
We lay here now, wing tips touching, watching as the twinkling lights of Ponyville reflect a million times over in the sky above. As the night goes on, I hear no whistle calling us home. I couldn’t if I wanted to.
And tonight, even if I could hear it, I would not go.
