Deadlines and Daisy Sandwiches
It happened again today...
Dear Diary,
It happened again today.
I was practicing for my first ever collaboration performance late into the night, and I ended up sleeping past my alarm, and all the way through to the afternoon. I always took my shows seriously of course, but I wouldn’t have worked that hard for just any performance. A collaboration with an artist as iconic as the Sapphire Shores however? I had to be sure that I was ready.
I wish that had been the only reason I was on edge last night.
As if it wasn’t enough pressure for a small-town musician like me to try to measure up to the pony whose last three songs had made it to the top of the charts, I also got a letter from Sapphire yesterday, at around six in the afternoon.
Lyra,
My apologies, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to finish the lyrics before I’m scheduled to travel to Ponyville for rehearsals. So I’m rescheduling for next moon. it read.
Immediately, my mind started to panic. I widened my eyes and tilted my head to the side, withholding the anxious squeal that lingered in the back of my throat.
To make matters worse, I was supposed to have received the letter several days prior, but a certain cross-eyed pegasus had somehow dropped it in a cherry tree. Cherry Jubilee ended up kindly delivering it to me herself; albeit with a slightly passive aggressive insistence that I buy cherries from her after the hours it took her to get here. (Now I have far more cherries than I could ever eat filling up an entire kitchen cabinet.)
Luckily, I was able to rush to Twilight’s library while she wasn’t busy and beg Spike to help deliver my response.
Sapphire,
I totally understand the struggle–I used to write lyrics myself back when I was a filly, and writer's block is totes the real deal. But–and absolutely no offense meant by this because I know your schedule understandably fluctuates a lot–I’m going on a very important trip to Canterlot for a good friend of mine’s birthday next moon, so if there’s any way you could still make it, I would be so grateful, and I’d definitely owe you one.
Very luckily, she was able to contact me back by dragon, so Spike coughed up her response in only a few minutes. I immediately noticed it to be a bit lengthy.
Lyra,
Here’s an idea; why don’t you finish the lyrics yourself? It’s just like riding a bike. If you do it once, you can easily do it again. The song really only needs a few more lyrics, and I can’t think of anypony other than you who would understand the inspiration and emotion behind the song well enough to finish it. You are it’s composer after all. You don’t even have to worry about owing me one. Good luck, and I’ll see you soon.
The rest of the letter was an updated version of all of the lyrics she’d already written. In theory, this one would be easier to add to than most of her songs since it didn’t have the typical setup of a chorus with multiple verses. The style was much simpler.
But that was in theory! I hadn’t written lyrics for my melodies since I was an emo teenager who still had ambitions to be the first pony to play the harp and the trumpet at the same time! How in Equestria was I supposed to finish lyrics to a song that were certain to be heard by everypony who wasn’t living under a rock?
But, my only alternative was giving up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to co-write a song with one of the most famous ponies of my generation. And so, I spent my night not just playing the harp like I would’ve already, but trying to bring back some semblance of the creativity I’d had as an annoyingly passionate fourteen-year-old.
My hard work bore no fruit.
Before I knew it, I was waking up on my couch covered in half-used pieces of paper, and with a pair of sparkling turquoise eyes smirking at me from a few mere hairs away.
As soon as I processed her closeness, my mind froze. I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks as I widened my eyes.
“Hi.” My brief greeting was one part squeak, one part cough, and a very small part actual word. Bon Bon stood all the way up with a hearty laugh, before looking back at me and raising an eyebrow.
“Real smooth,” she said. I rolled my eyes and threw a decorative pillow at her, hitting her square in the face.
“Pfffff! Hey! That’s no way to treat somepony who’s paying for your breakfast!”
I cringed heavily as I looked at the clock, remembering what I was supposed to have made progress on last night.
“No time for breakfast. I’ve gotta get back to work,” I said drearily. I managed to pick myself up off of the couch and walk over to where my hairbrush sat.
“Do you really though? I didn’t wait to eat breakfast for nothing,” she said playfully.
“Bon Bon, this is legit going to make or break my whole–“ I cut myself off mid-sentence. “You waited for me to have breakfast? But it’s past one! Did you sleep in too?” I could never understand it, but Bon Bon always seemed to wake up right at the crack of dawn, even if we’d been out late the night before. I used to joke about how she must’ve worked on a farm or in the military at some point, but that had seemed to be a consistently touchy subject for her, so I’d resisted making such comments recently.
“Nope, same as usual,” she replied nonchalantly. That was at least six hours she’d waited for me. I melted just a bit.
“Bonnie, as much as I wish I could just chill out and go get an iced carrot latte with you, this is what I need to focus on right now,” I said, gesturing to the crinkled up pieces of paper lining the carpet. Bon Bon frowned and walked over to the mirror, where I was looking at my sloppily styled hair. She leaned over and slowly pushed a few stray hairs behind my ear.
“You missed those,” she said softly, almost as a whisper. The corner of my mouth curved upwards.
“You could always just eat for the both of us?” I suggested. She ignored the comment.
“I wouldn’t say I’m a lyrical expert, but writing is supposed to be a creative task, isn’t it?” I squinted, unsure of where she was going with this.
“Sure.” I answered suspiciously.
“And creativity comes from inspiration, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So what in this boring little apartment is going to be more inspiring than going to a restaurant that serves daisy sandwich meals with unlimited hay fries?” I started laughing before she even finished her argument.
“Fine, fine. Whatever. But we have to be back within the hour, okay?” She rolled her eyes.
“Sheesh, since when are you so stingy?” she asked with overly exaggerated exasperation.
It was there, at that little cafe that it happened again.
Our hungry faces lit up when we saw our order moving toward our table.
“And here’s two daisy sandwich meals and two iced lattes for the happy couple,” the waitress said with a smile. For a glittering moment, my grin brightened, a tiny fire flickering in my chest. Then Bon Bon laughed.
“Oh no, we’re not together,” she clarified. My physical smile remained in place as I stared at my plate as hard as I could. Our waitress looked confused.
“Don’t you two live together?”
Do you really have to ask questions? my internal monologue whispered bitterly. I resented the thought as soon as I had it. Why would I care if ponies asked questions? It wasn’t as if we had anything to hide.
“Mhm. We met a few times in Canterlot, so when I moved here and needed a place to stay, and this one needed someone to pay half the rent, it seemed like the obvious choice,” Bon Bon said. When the mare looked at me, I nodded my head absent-mindedly to confirm.
“Gotcha.” She pursed her lips contemptuously. “Honestly, if this job has taught me anything, it’s not to believe the rumor mail around town. Most of it comes from Muffled Muffin, and she’s definitely the type to look for things where there isn’t anything, if you know what I mean. Anyway, enjoy your food, and I’ll be back to check on you in a few.”
Just as we’d agreed we would, we ate our sandwiches as hurriedly as possible before Bon Bon and I left the bits on the table and walked home. I would’ve preferred a silent walk, but Bon Bon started up several short conversations about celebrities, perfume brands, the latest trends, etc. Only when we were back in the apartment and I reached out for the door to my room did she grab my shoulder. I turned around to look at her, my face neutral.
“Lyra, I–“ She stuttered. “–I think you should know that I’m not–“ She stopped again, staring at the floor, contemplating whatever she wanted to say, guilt coursing through her expression. I stared at her, using every ounce of energy I had not to care how she finished that sentence. Because this had happened before, and I knew from experience that it would never end in anything… Out of the ordinary.
She finally met my eyes again. Her face still looked ashamed, but the guilt no longer met her eyes, as if what she was about to say was less sincere than what she wanted to say.
Don’t be stupid, Lyra. Bon Bon isn’t a liar. She’s the most genuine pony you know, and the only reason you’re skeptical of her now is because you want… Something.
“–I’m not saying you necessarily should be mad at me, but I uh, may have stepped on your harp this morning, and one of the strings may or may not need to be replaced.” I huffed.
“Ugh, I guess I’ll forgive you, but only if you do the dishes today while I’m working,” I said, turning back around and finally opening my door.
“Deal,” she said just before the door closed behind me.
I knew what I had to do, and I was now unreasonably certain that I knew how to do it. I tried not to think more than I needed to. I just tore another piece of paper out of my notebook, and started writing. It was a good thing I remembered the last few lyrics Sapphire had written by heart, because I really didn’t feel like going back out to the living room to get her letter.
Did you feel it?
The spark of electricity
Tell me, why’d it
Disappear in the publicity
Tell me now
Or forever hold your silence
Don’t care where or how
But it’s getting hard to fight it
That was right at the climax of the song, which was one of the reasons why it was such a difficult part for me to start from; one of the others being that without the music, the cheesiness of those last few lines was hard to unironically relate to. But in that sad, lonely, pathetic moment, I could easily reduce myself to that simple level of emotion and longing.
I’ve got no right to be angry
And that’s what makes me miserable
You don’t owe me anything
Can’t expect you to see what’s invisible
Sometimes I think you must hear me
When all my thoughts seem far too loud
Sometimes I think that you want me
But after all this time, it feels like love’s not allowed
And with that, I set the paper on my bedside table. I’ll go through it more later.
I should be proud, relieved, excited. Possibly even nervous that my few lyrics will catch their inspiration’s attention when she hears the song. But instead, it seems as if all the good and bad in my mind are mushing together to fill me with an overwhelming sense of acceptance and apathy.
Now, it's time for me to put on a smile, chat about some meaningless garbage, and forget how much one stupid little mistake was able to hurt me. At least until the next time some presumptuous friend, waiter, cashier, or coworker makes another one.
At least this time it was helpful.
Author's Note
Hi there! Thanks so much for reading this. Comments are welcome.
