Humble Beginnings

As I look back on the entire thing, I’ll admit that running out into the hot air, cursing Celestia and screaming to the tallest tower in Canterlot Castle was one of my more childish escapades. But I couldn’t blame myself. The reality of things began to corrode at me. Yesterday I was an enthusiastic young mare who thought literally anything was possible and now I was preparing for the worst in life with no way around it.

The park bench which I resided on was dedicated to some poor pony who probably died of old age. The bench was frail and rotten now, it’s original brownish tan now invisible under the layers of moss that had gathered over the many years. The small piece of metal which once bared the old guy’s name was rusted and completely unreadable.

I loved that bench. I loved how rustic it was and that no one ever wanted to sit on it because of their fear of the unknown. Never trust anything that’s green, you know? It was essentially my bench, and it would remain that way until it gave way under my weight a few years later.

It resided directly infront of a large and highly active pond. A tall, concrete water feature in the middle let off the distinctive trickling of water which became all too familiar whilst the ducks loudly quacked to each other. Birds chirped, all that lovely nature-y stuff. Just stuff which filled the air and made this place special to me, I suppose. Tranquil, is the word.

These sounds paired with my gentle sobbing led to an encounter, which to this day, I am so grateful for.

“Yo. Y’alright?” Were the first words I heard coming out of the colt’s mouth. Little did I know it was going to be the first of thousands if not millions.

I said, “I’m fine. Go ‘way.” Nice and polite, like.

“You don’t look alright. Look, you’re crying.”

I got up and started to walk away, still avoiding eye contact.

“Why are you crying?” He persisted.

“I’m not crying. I’m just wet.” He snickered, probably at my unintended innuendo.

“How’d you get wet? Did you go swimming or something?” He laughed.

His conversation was so forced but there did seem to be a hint of almost brotherly concern in there. I wasn’t having any of it however, and politely informed him that he could fuck off. He didn’t.

“Look, just tell me what’s up.” He persisted. His voiced remained calm and steady.

I turned around to get a good look at this anonymous annoyance. He wasn’t much taller than me and slightly on the chubby side, but not obscenely so. He had a cream coat, similar to mine, and a jet-black mane. His eyes were a cerulean hue. Nothing special to look at really. He looked a little too well fed and pampered in my opinion so I was struggling in that moment to take the colt seriously.

“Please just go away.” I reached into my saddle-bag and pulled out my walkpony, plugging it into my head and quickly trotting away, genuinely becoming a bit unnerved by the pony with the loose bottom lip behind me.

A couple of paces down the path and I felt a hoof tap on my back.

I screamed, “WHAT?!” He wasn’t phased at all, infact he just smiled warmly at me.

“What you listening to?”

"Please just... Huh?”

“What are you listening to? I love music. What are you listening to?” He was speaking like a broken record and I couldn’t help but find it a little adorable. He sounded so dumb it was almost cute. This would be kept a secret, I decided in that moment. I think I was more content at the time with him think I hated him.

“Coltrate.” I replied sheepishly. In truth, that was far from the truth. I was listening to something I still to this day refuse to tell anypony. Seriously, you don't need to know. You wish you knew now but you'd regret it if you made me tell you. Turns out it was the right move because the young colts eyes quickly dilated and I could have sworn I saw his hair begin to stand on end like he had static running through his chubby little body.

“Oh man, I love Coltrate! I love his stuff from when he was more underground personally but personally I think that he really came into his own when he realised his fan base was going and personally-,” Yadda yadda yadda and so on and so forth. He spoke with a great amount of conviction and although it seemed like his train of thought was as organised as an unbound book in a hurricane he spoke with an enthusiasm which was quite contagious.

When he had finished justifying his reasons for liking one artist in particular, we got to talking. We were quite similar in mind and spirit and when I believed he was a bit more comfortable around me he could actually be quite intellectual. We talked about stupid things like astronomy and physics and he would ask me stupid hypotheticals such as, "Would you poke Princess Celestia in the flank with your horn for ten-thousand bits?" or, "Which would you prefer, lobster claws for hooves or a snake for a tongue." I would never have appreciated it at the time but that would be what would eventually lead to one of the strongest friendships I'll ever form.

His name is Caesar.

It was a peculiar name it still holds some level of intrigue for me today. It’s the only thing I’ve ever called him by, being completely unaware of his last name at the time, unaware if he even had one. He explained he was named after some prolific politician in history from a country well away from Equestria that his parents shared a distinct interest in, but he also went on to say he was very happy with the name which said a lot right there and then about his optimistic exterior.

After the general chit-chat and “isn’t-the-weather-nice” small talk that all ponies need to endure at more points in their lives than they would care to came to a close we began making things a little more personal. Family, dreams... And...

“Ready to tell me what all the crying was about?” He said quietly.

Honestly, I had forgotten about it having spent the remainder of the day in an enjoyable state of mind, but I suppose as embarrassing as it would be to admit why I was crying it would probably help to at least talk about it. That's what my brother always told me when he thought I was upset.

I fleetingly described the scenario which led to my bout of depression. The concert, the song and the criticism. Explaining it again wasn’t as difficult as I thought it might have been, having to relive the experience in order to explain to Caesar why I had been crying. In the moment it certainly didn’t feel like it had helped any. The entire time I couldn’t bare to look as Caesar, almost feeling ashamed of having to tell him.

But when I did look up at him, he was simply smiling. A big stupid grin and I found myself growing slightly frustrated, because I certainly could not see the amusing side of things.

“Is my misery funny or something? Seriously, what’s there to smile about?” I snapped.

His smile didn’t fade as he replied, “You produce? That's so cool!” He exclaimed as he stood on his hind legs in what appeared to be a childish celebration.

“Well, no, not really. I mean, it was just one song. I wouldn’t exactly call it a hobby…” More of a catastrophic failure.

“Exactly! Why do you think it didn’t live up to the expectations you set for yourself? Come on Vinyl! It takes at least ten years to get good at anything. Heh, you should have heard my first song, but alas it is lost to the ages.” He finished his little speech with a solemn yet exaggerated hoof to chest which encouraged a giggle from me, but I was more interested by what he had said before that.

“You produce too?"  This revelation that I was talking to someone who was at some point in the same boat as me was as exciting as it was scary. The thought of dedicating a great portion of my life to one skill, as Caesar described, was nothing less than daunting. It would take me a while to realise that any amount of time spent nurturing a skill is time well spent. "That’s… cool. That’s so cool!”

“Yeah, I’ve been going at it for a few years now. It’s fun but, take it from me, it isn't easy. Practise makes perfect.” I heard adults say that kind of thing all the time. Practise makes perfect. However, it felt so much more invigorating and inspiring hearing it from Caesar.

I was intrigued, “Could I, uh… Listen to some… maybe?” I whispered hoarsely, as though I was telling somepony that if they show me theirs, I'll show them mine. An almost childish ideal of sacredness slipped my lips as I asked. I'm still unsure why I was so timid to ask to this day, mostly because, now, my opinions on sharing music with others are the best kind of tyrannical.

“Buck yeah you can!” He shouted a little too loudly before he began rummaging around in his own saddlebags.

“Urgh, don’t say ‘buck’, it’s so uncool. Just say 'fuck,' I won't tell your Mother.” He didn’t humour me with a response. He had already pulled out a modern looking MP3 Player which he was already tapping his hooves all over, triggering various magical nodes.

A few yards down the path later he finally said, “Here we go. I did this one just last month.” Stupid grin, initiate. He passed the Mp3 player to me and I hastily placed the headphones over the top of my mane and over my ears. The music had already begun.

It was… somewhat indescribable. It certainly did not live up to the clarity and sheer professionalism of many of the mixes I had heard in the past but it fucking spoke to me. The day was drawing to a close and as the pads and thumping kicks washed through my head the sun was setting. I stopped and sat down against the banks and watched out over the lake and deeply into the long, long skies stretching over Equestria and I could, in that moment, sense all the raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge towards the distant ocean, all the grass and trees and birds and all the ponies dreaming about the immensity of it all but never fully understanding it. But in that moment I understood it. Here I was, sat listening to the song of a young colt most ponies would still regard as a stranger. As melodies that were pulled from the mind rolled elegantly over the many layers of the music I could compare, quite definitely, the beauty of the music and the beauty of my country. On the other side of the world, the stars will be out and ponies will be watching them in ignorance as their foals cry into the night. The pegasi and the unicorns and the earth ponies. The gryphons and the dragons and the dogs. They all see the same thing but only I could hear what they should be hearing in this moment. This is what the music spoke of. Beauty in simplicity and simplicity in beauty. And as the sun began setting over the prairie’s beyond the curves the stars began showing and sparkling their dims over the same stretch of seemingly endless land just before the night envelopes this side of the world, darkens the lakes and rivers, cups the peaks of Canterlot and folds the final shore in. And as all this happens, nopony, nopony knows what’s going to happen besides the forlorn feeling of growing old.

And then the music ended. Seconds after the final note diminished into nothingness I removed the headphones. Slowly.

“Geez, I was starting to think you’d gone into a coma!” He gave a loud chuckle, “I have to admit, not many ponies seem to want to get past the first minute but I knew a pony of your musical calibre could manage with a fifteen minute song!” He spoke with the over exaggerated conviction which I had grown used to over our first hours together and I still couldn’t speak, “Now, now, please hold your criticism. I’m sure you have plenty to say, heh… Vinyl?”

I was still a little unsure of how to reply to the overwhelming experience of it all. So I simply spoke my mind, “How do you do that?”

“Well… Like I said, practise. Practise makes perfect, that’s what they say!”

“No, Caesar. You make it sound good with practise. And it didn’t sound that good anyway. How do you make it feel so good? Everything just… I… It just…”

“You felt it?” Caesar spoke quietly.

“Yes. I think I did.”

“Well there’s not really an answer I can give to that. A lot of ponies draw on... personal tragedies or experiences when trying to create that kind of music." He waved his hoof around as he tried to explain before dropping it to the ground with a loud 'thump,' clearly giving up, "Well… Shit Vinyl, I don’t know. I’ve never had to explain this before, don’t make me try.”

“Sorry but… Caesar it was fucking awesome.” I eyed Caesar with such admiration.

I turned to look at him but his shit-eating grin wasn’t there. It was more a look of confusion; the same kind of confusion if you heard that pigs had grown wings overnight and just found out it was true. And not only that, they were pillaging your home.

I couldn’t stand to look any longer. I felt pathetic.

“Vinyl… How much do you want this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to be an engineer when I’m older. I’m studying really hard for it. I’d love to build bridges one day across the ocean. I really want that. I’m willing to work hard for it.”

“What’s your point?”

“How much do you want your music to be heard and loved?”

I once more turned back to look at him and something in that moment suggested to me that I would never have to look away from him again. He had stepped closer silently as he was speaking and was now within hoofs width away from me. He looked down at my slumped form with the same caring eyes I saw in my brother. Sincere. He question still hung in the air and after a moments thought I believed I could give him a truthfully blunt answer.

“More than anything.”

And then came the massive, fuck-off, shit eating grin I knew and secretly admired. He held out his hoof. I took it. He pulled me so I arched upwards and was once more stood on my hooves, a sense of invigoration growing inside of me. Then the cheeky bastard gave me a patronising two soft slaps on the cheek.

“Then I’ll teach you!”