An Old Apple Friend

“Mac?” Cookie hollered out through the house. “You here?” He hollered again.

Three knocks came from upstairs in slow order. Cookies head searched the ceiling for the source of the knocks. It fixed on the top right corner of the ceiling, Macs room. He decided to head up. Out of the living room, into the hallway, up the Creaky stairs, across the landing, and to Big Macintosh’s door. He stood there listening to some sort of rumbling coming from behind the door, like a Bull in a, well anyplace really, whatever’s going on in there must have involved a fight.

Cookie cautiously opened the door leading into the room and stood in the doorway, his predictions were right, there was a fight. Big Mac sat in the corner of his room, surrounded by clothing and bed sheets, tangled in a dark red scarf, fighting with a bow tie caught on his hoof, and losing.

“Mac what are you doing?” Cookie hysterically asked.

Macs head twisted towards the doorway, a sock on his head followed too. “Findin’ you sumhin’ t’ wear for the dance” he said plainly. Mac looked at the sock on his head, crossing his eyes. “Applejack asked me to find sumthin’ in your size”. He blew the sock out of his face, only to have it return to its place.

“Here” Cookie said mixed with a giggle waling over to him. “Let me help you” he cleared the clothes off of Macs back and untied the bow tie on his hoof. “Something to wear you say?” he said, flicking the sock off of his head. “Why what are you wearing?”

“Jus’ ta collar and tie” He shook his head, getting rid of any hidden clothes on him. Several more socks and a sun cap flew off of him “Nutin’ special”.

“Nothing special? But it’s a special event.” Cookie said in slight desperation.

“T’ be honest, it’s the only thing that fits me now” Mac explained.

“Oh, well then, I guess that’s ok”. Cookie said, fluffing the dust off of Macs shoulders. “anyway, what do you think would

suit m…”  he stopped talking. His ears perked up. He curled his head towards his duffle bag, and then to the curtains covering the window facing the apple field. He walked over to the window and swung open the curtains covering it. He looked out of the window and fixed his vision on one thing.

The tallest apple tree on the tallest hill in the apple field.

“You know what Mac?” He said still dazed out of the window “I think I have something to wear”

Mac looked on the ground, at all the clothes that surrounded him that he had struggled to get out of that wardrobe. Cookie spun his head to see Macs rotating around him at the mess he’d made, and then up to him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you clean up” Cookie said.

Cookie opened the door and the shutter of the house and trotted up to the white fence. He looked up at the tallest apple tree on the tallest hill in the apple field. He galloped  up the hills of the apple field, towards the vision the tallest apple tree on the tallest hill.

He reached the Tree. The tall, wide, dark, old, ripe with apples tree. He walked around it a few times, his eyes searching on the bark. He stopped in his tracks and stirred at a line running down the bark, not a natural line, one carved with a shark blade. It was faded, and the bark had healed around it. His eyes and head followed the line, from top to bottom to beyond the bottom, running down the bark towards the ground. His head stopped, and looked at the spot directly under the line on the bark.

He sat his rump in front of the tree and tapped the ground under the line on the bark. The tap then turned into a prod, a prod to jab, and a jab to a dig. His hoofs slipped into the soil, pounding downwards. Every hit making its way deeper and deeper until He’d made himself a little hole.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. CLUNK…

His hoof hit something, something metal. He scurried his hoofs in the hole to uncover something blue and silver. Cookie lifted the blue and silver object out of the hole slightly, revealing a small, scratched, metal, blue box.

He gently rested it on the ground next to the hole, and wiped the rest of the dirt off of the top. At his last wipe, some wording was revealed.

‘WONDERBOLTS’ ‘Spread Your Wings’

A childlike smile came upon Cookies face. “Our Blue Box” He said slightly damp eyed. He drummed on the top of the box and slowly opened it. Inside the blue box, was what he’d put in there, 6 years ago. Cookie reached into the box and searched around.

Its contents included a black and white photo, a purple plastic tulip, a little Wonderbolt action figure, his Squadron Leader tapes and 2 notes.

He took out one of the notes, it read;

'To the Apples bunch, hope you all have, are having and always will have wonderful lives, and I hope to see you again soon.

Cookie'

Sadly, he’d written that on one slightly drunken dance night 6 years ago. Hence the shaky penmanship.

He picked up the second one, it read;

'I would like to becum a Wonderbolt becos  I am strong and fast and frendly and I will be the captin of the wonderbolts in no time.

Higher. Faster. Further.

Cookie'

It was written by Cookie in faded orange crayon when he was young, very young. “Higher. Faster. Further.” He repeated out loud. It was The Wonderbolts Motto.

He put both the letter back in the blue box and picked up the photo. It was of him, Cookie with his old squad back in his Squadron Leader days. There was Boxcar, sitting on the floor contently. Light Lifter flexing his muscles in comical form. Blue Sky Ruffling Altitude mane, who’s leaning on a 20 pound bomb. And Cookie, standing in the middle, winking. A caption on the photo reads

'Her finest. 7th High flyers Squad. Royal Pegasus Guard'

“Her finest” He repeated. His Squads motto. He placed the photo back in the blue box and paused. He looked at the contents of the blue box, then to the Apple house, and back to the blue box.

He hesitantly fumbled around at the tree for a few minutes. He put the stuff back in the blue box, closed the lid, dropped it in the hole, closed it up, and stood up. He patted down the dirt in the hole, trying to make it seem in the ordinary, when he noticed Applejack, Applebloom and Granny Smith trot up the path on the opposite side of the acre. He looked over at them. Cookie tried to cover the hole as best as he could, and finally, walked back to the house. Leaving the small, scratched, metal, blue box.