Quibble told her that he would explain it with ice cream.
It was a late spring afternoon, when the air and the earth couldn’t agree on a single temperature. A warm wind blew through their manes as the two trotted over cold cobblestones toward the vendor in the middle of the park. The server was a young colt who appeared to be in the process of melting himself, eyes drooping and heavy with adolescent laziness. His words were slow and not very well thought out.
“Welcome up? Er, uh, what’s up? What can I get you today?” he said, leaning against the kiosk.
Quibble cleared his throat in a way that Clear Sky knew very well, the kind he used when he was going to cleverly help Wind Sprint solve one of her homework problems. Or explain the nuances in the newest Daring Do book. Either way, she knew she was in for a show.
“Hello there, young entrepreneur,” he said. Clear had to suppress a snort. “I would like to procure a double scoop of chocolate and vanilla for myself. Vanilla on top, chocolate on bottom, if you would. And a single scoop of vanilla for my wonderful, amazing, gorgeous, funn—”
Clear checked him with her hip, giggling with a scowl on her face.
“Okay, okay. As I was saying, a single scoop of vanilla for my marefriend here.”
The ice cream colt nodded before dipping into the back of the station amid an orchestra of clanging and noise and a few muttered curses, coming back a moment later with their order. Bits and courtesies were exchanged, and the two made their way back to the park bench.
Quibble cleared his throat again and held his purchase in front of her muzzle. “Behold,” he said.
“Very impressive.” She nodded, taking a bite of her own icy treat.
“As you know, I am a stallion with two favorite kinds of ice cream. Chocolate and vanilla,” he said, taking an enormous bite. “And you,” he noted, pointing his plastic spoon at Clear, “are a mare who likes just vanilla. Chocolate just isn’t your thing. Never has been, never will be.” It was true. Ever since she was a filly, Clear could never get a taste for chocolate. There wasn’t really an explanation for it. She just didn’t like it, plain and simple. “This is where some ponies can get a little confused. I don’t blame them. It took me a long time to figure it out myself.”
“Yeah?” she asked, leaning against him.
“Oh yeah. See, a lot of ponies asked me what would happen if I had to choose one or the other to have for the rest of my life. I mean, that’s the natural question for somepony who says that have two favorites, right? Won’t I miss not being able to have chocolate if I choose vanilla, and vice versa?” He ended his question by polishing off the first scoop entirely, leaving nothing but a perfect orb of cocoa crunch in his cup. “And the answer is no. I wouldn’t really miss one all that bad if I couldn’t have it. A lot of ponies forget that it really isn’t about the flavor—it’s the fact that I get to have ice cream. I don’t care about which one I get to have for the rest of my life because I know I’d be happy with either of them.” Quibble placed a quick peck on Clear’s lips, and the heavenly taste of vanilla lingered in her mouth. Quibble smiled at her. “Just as long as they’re happy to have me, too,” he finished.
To prove his point, Quibble took his cup in his hoof, held it out in front of him, and dumped the chocolate onto the ground with a wet splat. They stared at it sitting between the cracks for a moment, and then laughed. Clear rested her chin on Quibble’s shoulder.
“You’re a goofball, Quibbs.”
“Only for you.”
“And thank you for, you know, taking the time to explain it to me.”
“Anytime, hon. Thank you for being willing enough to listen. It…doesn’t always go over this easy,” he said.
Her magic tugged at the collar of his shirt, bringing him in for a stern kiss—one that didn’t end until the chocolate had melted away beneath their hooves.
Mama tells me a story while it rains outside to help me feel less sad. One about how the mountains and water came to be. She says that a long time ago, way before anything had real names like we do today, Earth and Sky loved each other very much. They were wild and free and didn’t think of many things besides each other. That’s just how it was back then, I guess.
Mama said that Earth was a stampede all by himself. He was strong and tall, but not tall enough to reach Sky.
And Sky could never come down to meet Earth, either. He was so light that he was blown away by his own wind.
It made them both sad, especially Sky. Sky was a stallion made out of clouds and rain and everything that lived in the air. And when he did get sad, he cried and cried big thunderstorm tears that washed over Earth for days on end. The water would flood up fiercely, but with nowhere to settle, it all dried up when the sun flew overhead.
Earth would bellow and shake and buck his hooves with great anger.
Sky would weep and flood the land.
For years and years, it went like this. Howling and crying. Stomping and downpours.
It was very, very sad.
Until one day, during a big bout of anger, Earth kicked up so much dust and rock that it became a mountain. A mountain so high that he could climb it and hold Sky for the very first time. And when they finally met, Sky cried so much that his tears ran down the mountainsides in streams and rivers.
And this time, with the guidance of the valleys and slopes, the water finally had a place to go. It settled into lakes and ponds where the sun couldn’t dry it up anymore. Trees grew, and so did all the flowers and mosses and buds with them. Regular ponies came after, but mama says that’s a story for another time.
So, every time it rains now, I know that it’s because Earth and Sky are so happy to see each other that they can’t help but cry, and I feel a little better about those days full of gray.
