Seashell (print rewrite)

SEASHELL

Excerpt IV
From the journal of Sunburst, May 15, YS 1329:

It was the distance, from everything and everypony.

That’s why I loved the Seawall so much.

There was so much freedom there. I never had to worry what anypony would think. There weren’t any social rules because there wasn’t any social anything. I never had to be polite or rude to get what I wanted because those things don’t exist when you’re by yourself. All I ever had to do was be me, just perfectly me.

I never had to feel awkward.

I sure did today.

As guards, at the start of a shift, when we put on our armor, the chain-shirts and the shin-plates and the helmets, we transform in a way. We become something else. We turn into something apart from regular ponies. Both physically and symbolically, we take on a shell. We become… I don’t know. Something a little larger than life. Heroic, almost, it might seem like. But part of what comes with it is that we become something alone, and apart, and unapproachable. Royal guards aren’t known for their conversation, are they?

Wearing the image, the metal shell and the authority and the weight of guardianship—it takes a toll. It’s tiring work even on the best days. By the end of a shift, most of us are eager to leave it behind and do regular-pony-things again after all the hours of doing guard-things.

Taking off the shell of armor to regain our natural skin and our natural inclination to be able to be closer comes with a trade: skin is easily hurt.

I’m afraid I hurt somepony today.

It was Starry Night, to be exact. She’s a unicorn with a cutie mark of three white stars that stand out brightly against her deep cobalt blue coat. Her mane is streaked in sky-blue and white. I never really remembered her name before, but now I don’t think I’ll forget. Come to think of it, that’s another thing I liked about being out there alone on the Wall: not having to remember names. But anyway.

We’d spoken a few times before, but just casually. We were acquainted but not very familiar. From the way she was walking close to me as we left the palace after the shift, though, I started to get the idea that she wanted my attention for something. She said there was a really nice bar she knew of just a few blocks away, with good food and even better drinks. She asked if I’d like to drop in there and try one of those drinks with her.

That didn’t sound very interesting, so I told her no, I don’t usually drink. It was my unthinking response because it’s the truth, I don’t. Maybe once in a while I’ll have one at home… I just don’t drink in bars, is what I meant. It’s never been a thing I could enjoy. They’re loud and always have the same overplayed music. I don’t know why they always smell just a little bit smoky, but they do and I don’t like it. They’re always either so empty I feel way too visible because there’s only a couple ponies in there, or so crowded it makes me uncomfortable because there’s too many ponies too close.

Well, of course, I couldn’t explain all that on the spot, so I just told her I don’t drink and left it at that, and we parted ways. She seemed kind of put off, which I didn’t really get at first. Then one of the other guards pulled a bit closer next to me, once she was out of earshot.

And I got an earful about how the reason I was being asked to go somewhere with her wasn’t about the drinking.

Only then did the metaphorical light suddenly turn on over my head and I realized what had happened. Didn’t I instantly feel like the jerk. Maybe I really have been gone too long at the Seawall, where I didn’t have to think about how not to hurt anypony’s feelings. It should have been easier to see, but I didn’t consider her perspective instead of my own—how it’s a smack in the face to somepony to be shot down based on what seems like rejecting an aspect of themselves or something they like. There’s a kinder way to turn down a date, as my mother had to explain to me back when I was in high school. I should have made it about why I couldn’t say yes right then, not about pointing out the reasons she gave me to say no. I shouldn’t have made it her fault.

I think my mom felt the need to give me such advice partly because being the lone pegasus in an earth pony farming town didn’t make any part of the social world easy for me, and partly because she was hoping I’d turn out more girly than I did, more like her. I think she had dresses and finding a perfect stallion and giving her some grandfoals in mind for what she’d have preferred to see me do with my life. Of course, after I was done with school I went and enlisted to go to flight scout training, which kind of smashed that hope into the ground (ironic metaphor for a flier, but I’m sure it’s how she felt). I think she forgave me, though, because I followed her advice when I explained why. I told her it wasn’t anything to do with her or rejecting the things she wanted, it was about me and my life and this just seemed like the right thing for me to do. It was easy to say: it was true so I didn’t really have to think much about it.

I never did use that tactic for handling being asked for a date, though. Back in high school, what few awkward attempts at romance were directed at me inevitably ended up being some combination of clumsy, traumatic, or both. Now that I think back on it, I don’t know how much of a chance there ever really was to use what she told me. Most of those attempts didn’t even actually involve being asked out on a date as such.

Well, maybe one. There was the time when a dorky earth pony colt with acne and a slightly greasy mane and bad fetlocks asked me in a mumbling voice while I was at my locker if I would go to some dance or something. I never answered one way or another. It caught me off-guard and I didn’t know what to say, so I pretended not to hear over the noise in the hallway. I grabbed my stuff, then I shut my locker door and just walked away as quickly as I could without responding. He didn’t try again.

I think for the most part I didn’t care about the ponies I brushed off (most of them earned it, to be honest, in stupid teenager ways which I responded to in my own equally stupid teenager ways) but that’s the one I feel bad about. I always have. It was a callous thing to do, I know now, and looking back at it he was a lot braver for finding it inside himself to ask than I was for running away. But the truth is that those kinds of incidents also taught me a lot about myself.

I learned I didn’t want to be asked out. I didn’t ask for the attention. I never have. All I wanted was to be left alone.

Maybe if I’m honest about it, I resent being asked out today, too, just as much as I did back then. Maybe that’s why I shot it down so thoughtlessly, because I hate having to think about how to respond nicely. It feels like I’m playing a game when I try to maneuver words like that. It feels like I’m lying. It’s a mask that’s not me and I don’t like feeling as if I’m being put in the position of having no choice but to wear it. The truth is usually pretty blunt, not finely pointed and sparing of our feelings, and my instinct has always been to just say it, not find an angle on it. What we want doesn’t change what is. That’s kind of just common sense, isn’t it?

But still, that wasn’t fair to Starry Night, because it’s not her fault. When I put myself in her horseshoes, I can understand her disappointment. I can understand how it must feel to be brushed away without any thought of being polite. Not that I would have said yes, but I could have said no in a different way. It tears me in two, between saying what comes naturally to me or what’s easier on somepony else, and the feeling of being torn is just another reason why it’s easier to be alone.
 
 
Enough making myself miserable for today.