Analemma, or A Year in the Sunlight

When I reach the shoreline, Princess Celestia is waiting for me. Her wings are spread, her eyes shine with burning fury, and I’m sure that she’s ready to kill me. I don’t want to die, not right now, but I keep walking. I have nowhere else to go.

My lips are too heavy to say hello, so we’re both quiet as she steps aside to let me climb into the wooden rowboat. She follows and sits across from me, taking care not to get her jeans wet. Her eyes don’t burn anymore — they wobble, like she’s some depressed anime chick. Did I do that?

“Where were you?” I ask without opening my mouth.

“The mall,” Wallflower says. “You were supposed to meet me there.”

“Sorry. I got lost.”

I’ve never felt so weak — it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open, and my breaths are shallow, barely enough to keep me alive. Did someone drug me? Did she hurt me again? I smash my fist against the side of the boat, but it doesn’t make a sound, and she doesn’t react.

“We can still go.” She points at the boat’s floor, which is made of clear glass.

We’re floating high above the mall, and I can see all my friends sprinting down the hallways. I try to focus on Pinkie, but my eyes keep rolling away.

“Okay.” I stand up. “But we have to be careful.”

I reach forward to help her up, and she takes my hand. But as she’s standing, an icicle of fear rips through me, and I let go. She stumbles, and the entire boat flips over, plunging us both into the murky, bubbling water.

The water’s too deep for my feet to touch the bottom, no matter how far I sink. I try to flail my limbs, but I’m paralyzed, so I just go still.

Eventually the sunbeams carry me back to the surface. I scramble back to the boat, now splintered and shredded and bobbing in the mud, and grab hold. The metal surface burns my hands, but it’s all I have.

Wallflower’s not here. She’s still in the water below me, drowning. I need to save her — but if I let go, I’ll die, and one me is better than zero us.

I turn to Twilight. “What should I do?”

She floats past me, muck seeping into her labcoat. “Did you call the Princess?”

I nod and take out the journal, but I don’t have a pen to write with, and the Princess shouldn’t hear about this anyway. The journal sinks into the water, and a strand of my hair looped around my arm drags me down with it.

A violent buzzing sound jolts me awake. I’m twisted up in my sheets, one leg sticking off the side of the bed, my arm squished between my boobs. It takes a good ten seconds — and just as many curse words — for me to free myself from the linen pile and snatch my phone off the nightstand.

My phone’s not the one buzzing, though. That sound is coming from my bookshelf, behind me. The journal, wedged between two textbooks, is glowing and jiggling so hard that the entire shelf shakes.

I glance at the clock and do some quick mental math. Time in Equestria moves differently than it does here — the Princess worked out a whole conversion formula at some point. I don’t totally remember how it works, but from what I do recall, it should be almost midnight in Ponyville right now.

The Princess and I have had late night talks before. But she’s never been the one to start them.

The Princess has been on my mind for days now, and I’ve been meaning to write to her, really and truly. But whenever I reach for the journal, a familiar panic crackles in my chest — the same panic I feel when I get called out for sleeping in class, or forget an assignment. I’m a day away from betraying every friendship lesson she’s taught me, and right now, I can’t think of her without seeing her hand, outstretched to pull me from a smoking crater.

Sure, Wallflower hurt me. But I hurt the Princess too, and now we’re pen pals. Living proof that she’s the pony I could never be.

With every passing moment, the journal buzzes harder. I know from experience how destructive the damn thing can get if you ignore it for too long, so I wipe the sleep from my eyes, swallow my panic, and pull it from the shelf.

As soon as I open the cover, the book automatically flips to the newest page, half of which is already filled in. Unlike Twi’s unintelligibly tight cursive, the Princess’ handwriting — hornwriting — is long and flowing, the exact aesthetic you’d expect from a mare who writes using a swan quill. Easier to read for sure, but I’m not sure that’s a benefit right now.

I start from the top.

Dear Sunset,

I’ve spent the past ten minutes staring at a blank page, trying to figure out how to word the following letter. Let it never be said that becoming the Princess of Friendship is a cure for anxiety.

I’ve been wanting to check in on you since last week. You began writing a letter to me about a concert you and the girls had played at, but then began to speak about that girl named Wallflower. Then you stopped, and never wrote anything else.

I took this to mean that either writing about what she put you through is still too difficult — which I will respect — or that she’s re-entered your life. And if the latter explanation is true, I hope that it’s been a positive experience, and that the magic of friendship has healed your old wounds.

But if that explanation is true, and it’s been a negative experience: Please know that I’m always here to support you. You don’t have to hide things from me. I may be a mentor of sorts, but I’m not giving you any sort of grade. I just want you to be happy and loved, like you deserve.

If you don’t want to talk about her anymore, we don’t need to. But I want to know what’s on your mind.

Best,
Princess Twilight Sparkle

It takes three reads for the words to sink in. And when I’m done, I close the journal and sink myself back into my pillows.

Here I was, thinking I was the mind reader of our group. But the Princess is a universe away, and she can still scour my thoughts like a psychic — like Princess Celestia used to. Like Twi still does. I have a type, I guess.

Okay, focus. The Princess saw right through me. What’s the plan now? How do I respond without wanting to immediately swan dive into a trash compactor? What can I admit without making the Princess hate me?

As soon as that thought passes, Twi’s face appears in my head, searing me with a disappointed frown.

Why do I assume that the Princess is going to hate me? Her letter said the exact opposite! She’s my friend, my first friend, so can’t I take her at her word?

She’s the first person I ever truly trusted, yeah. Maybe that’s why I’m so scared that she’ll reject me. She can assure me however she wants, but that still doesn’t kill the fear that I’m just one wrong step, one negative emotion away from failure.

And why wouldn’t I fail? My head hurts, my heart pounds, sweat streaks my pajamas. I’m a mess. Compared to me, the Princess is perfect.

…Right?

I grab the journal again and flip through the pages, skimming the past few months of letters. And once I reach the end, I lean over to grab our old journal off my bookshelf and skim through that too.

Over the past year, I’ve sent the Princess dozens of letters. Life updates, jokes, lessons I’ve learned. But I’ve shared my problems with her, too. And whenever I did, I always ended my letter with the same question: If she were in my shoes, what would she do?

When it comes to Wallflower, I always assumed that if the Princess were in my shoes — horseshoes — she’d have gotten over her “trauma” months ago. By now, she’d be Wallflower’s best friend. She’s everyone’s best friend. That’s her job, just like it is mine.

But no, no, no, that’s not my job. I’m not some emotionless friendship machine. I’m Sunset. I’m human. I’m alive, goddess damn it.

And Princess Twilight is alive too. I’ve seen her angry, sad. I’ve seen her fail.

So again, I ask myself: What would the Princess do?

Let’s find out.

I grab a pen and flip the journal open to the Princess’ letter. Then, slowly, I start:

Dear Princess Twilight,

Thanks for checking in. Before anything, though, I have a question: Is there anypony you dislike? I’m not talking about big bad monsters, like Tirek. Just normal ponies.

~Sunset

I sigh and close the book, then fall over into the blankets, waiting for the journal to buzz again.

Wouldn’t it be funny if she replied with a, “No, I love everyone, you hateful witch”?

…Okay, maybe not funny. More like totally devastating to my self-esteem. But funny in a cosmic sense.

The book buzzes. I count down from five and flip it open to the new letter. The text is appearing quickly, but it starts with a single word:

YES.

Sorry. Can I vent? I’m taking your message as permission to vent. Sorry again.

Have you ever dealt with the Equestrian Education Association? I assume not. They’re a pain, and I say that even in COMPARISON to those “big bad monsters.” I can deal with bureaucracy, and I can even enjoy it to a certain degree. But not when it’s being doled out by a discriminatory jerk like Chancellor Neighsay!

Although our school isn’t technically under his oversight, I try to have lunch with him quarterly as a matter of professional courtesy. But I can’t recall a single meeting I’ve had with the stallion where he hasn’t spoken over me and/or completely discredited my experience! Not to mention the critiques! Our lesson plans aren’t detailed enough. We don’t provide a clear enough path for students to graduate into higher education. Rarity dresses “inappropriately.” She’s the only one who wears any clothes at all!!

What really gets me is this: I understand the importance of educational oversight and peer review. I get that not all curriculums are created equal, and that in many cases, a bad education is more harmful to a child’s development than no education. But can we at least — at LEAST — trust one another enough to assume good faith intentions? We’re both adults, and we’re both educators, even if my teachers might not always “act the part.” Let’s put the petty nonsense behind us and focus on the kids, please.

And if we can’t, leave me alone! We’re meeting all our educational benchmarks. We’re producing well-rounded and socially responsible students. I don’t need that gargoyle of a stallion looking over me, harping on every tiny misstep he sees!

And he always orders the most expensive thing on the menu! And when the check comes he doesn’t even PRETEND to reach for his saddlebags? I’m the Princess, yes, but Celestia above, how is he an educator when clearly no one ever taught him any sort of social skills?? We live in a society here, Neighsay!! ACT LIKE IT!!!

The words stop for a few moments. Then, with each letter appearing slowly:

Sorry. As the Princess of Friendship, I don’t get many chances to air my grievances. I trust that you’ll keep this hidden from the paparazzi.

Why do you ask? I have a guess, but I won’t assume.

My head still hurts, but now it’s for a different reason: I can’t stop smiling. Not at the Princess’ misfortune — this Neighsay guy sounds like an asshole — but her blazing annoyance. Not only that, but she worries about letting other people know her true feelings, too! I guess she isn’t as unflappable as I thought. She’s like me. And the fact that she trusts me enough to confide those feelings… Goddess, it’s got me kicking my feet in the air. This is what makes friendship worth it.

My enthusiasm dampens a bit when I re-read her question. But after that rant, laying out my facts doesn’t feel so torturous.

It’s about Wallflower. Not hard to guess.

You’re right that she’s come back into my life. I thought that I’d gotten over what happened, but when I saw her at the Summer Sun Festival, I just… I don’t know. Broke down? I yelled at her, and grabbed her like I thought she’d hurt me if I didn’t stop her. Then I threw up, though that was because I got food poisoning. Still didn’t help.

Before you ask, that situation is handled. Me attacking Wallflower, I mean. I apologized, and she forgave me. She still wants to be friends and get to know me better, even. And in a perfect world, I’d want that too.

But I just can’t. Whenever I look at her, I get scared and angry and nauseous. All I can think about is how it felt to get the memories ripped from my skull and shoved back in a minute later. She hurt me, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get over it. There’s a gap between us, and whenever she takes a step closer, I stumble back.

I’ve been talking it over with Twilight (my our Twilight), and she thinks that Wallflower and I should just make a clean break and stop seeing each other. I agree, mostly.

That’s what’s been on my mind. Sorry for not checking in sooner.

No need to apologize. And let me guess again: The reason you only “mostly” agree with my counterpart is because you feel guilty about not wanting to be Wallflower’s friend?

Nailed it.

I understand. And this might surprise you — or not, depending on how egotistical I come across as — but actually think your Twilight has the right idea.

You’re a wonderful person, Sunset, and you’ve clearly shown yourself to be a thoughtful and caring friend. But as much as we try, nopony can be friends with everyone. Not even me. There will always be those that refuse our kindness, or that put us in a position where a relationship becomes untenable. Based on what you’ve said, Wallflower falls into that second category, and putting space between the two of you would be best for everyone.

But even if you aren’t friends, you can still be respectful of one another — no need for resentment or bitterness.

And as time passes, don’t be alarmed if your feelings about her evolve. Life changes fast, and emotions do too. One day, you might wake up to realize that you actually want to give Wallflower a second chance at friendship. It’s not a sure thing, of course, but it happens!

It happens to me a lot, notably. Just look at Starlight (who sends her regards, by the way).

Does that help at all?

It does. Genuinely. Thank you.

It’s my pleasure.

Let me know if anything else is on your mind. And if not, give my love to the rest of the girls. Especially your Twilight, who I really want to make time to meet with soon. To quote Pinkie Pie: “Imagine the hijinks!”

(Don’t tell your Twilight I wrote that. She’s the only one who doesn’t know firsthoof how painfully uncool I am yet.)

Lol Ha. I think you’re plenty cool.

Now go to bed!

~Sunset

Glad to see you remembered my formula for calculating the time difference across universes!

Goodnight!

Best,
Twilight Sparkle

I close the journal and push it back into my bookcase, then fall back into bed. It’s still way too early to be awake — we’ve only got about a week until school starts back up, and I’m holding tightly onto the small amount of free time I have left.

And as I close my eyes, I savor the soft pillow on my neck, the fluffy blankets that carry me like clouds towards sleep. For the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.

One day until I see Wallflower again. One day until I can stop thinking about her. I’m gonna make it.