Somepony from the mill came, asking for dad. Dale had tricked me into playing knight with him and we were sword-fighting in the front yard. The painkillers worked very well, but moving around too fast made me a little dizzy at times. I'd take a short break, then get right back into the fun.

It was the young stallion from the sanding bench I had met that Monday. He recognized me and waved. I waved back, then heard Dale snicker. I ignored it, not wanting this mill pony to get any idea whatsoever, wrong or otherwise. He went up to the porch and mom opened the door immediately. I didn't hear what they were talking about, Dale sneak-attacked, wrestling me to the ground. My head throbbed and I guess my eyes glazed over because he backed off immediately. I had to breathe deeply for some time while my vision returned. I readjusted my new glasses and looked at him, laughing slightly at the worried look on his face.

He shoved me playfully, "You jerk! I was really worried you'd died!"

"What, just now? You're not that strong!"

He shoves me again, I shove back. How long had it been since we'd played together like this?

Then I heard dad's voice. "What do you mean I missed work? What day is it?"

"It's Friday, sir," the young stallion explains.

"Why didn't anypony tell me?" He's asking mom.

She's quiet, but says something like, "you don't remember…" I don't know what she's trying to say.

The stallion looks at us while our parents argue. He looks terrified. Dale makes some kind of gesture and the stallion trots over to us, glancing back to make sure he doesn't get yelled at. "Hey guys," he says, stressed.

"Hey Sawdust," Dale greets him. Nice name. I greet him, too.

"What's with your dad?"

Dale steps a little closer and sits next to me, rather close. He explains, "His old age is making him lose his mind."

I gasp, "His memory, Dale." Now I feel childish, that's obviously what he meant. He's laughing like, "gotcha," and I punch him in the side.

Sawdust laughs too. Then, "So it's like some kind of Alzheimer’s?"

"What's that?" I ask.

"Just something that happens to some old ponies," Sawdust says. "It causes memory loss, sometimes sleep problems, mood swings, brain stuff like that. My grandma had it."

"Had?" I ask, a little worried.

He smiles, sweetly. "She still lived to ninety-four. Grandpa just needed to spend most of all his time with her."

"Well," Dale cuts in, "he's not so bad yet." He's talking about dad now. "He usually doesn't forget anything until two days later."

Sawdust nods, "It's just, Mill's the senior executive at the mill. The manager," he elaborates. "He basically owns the place. I don't know what's gonna happen if he stops working."

"Don't worry about that," Dale says. "The older ponies have plans for when older ponies retire."

"But dad's barely fifty," I say. "He shouldn't have to retire yet."

Sawdust gives me a look like "that's technically true." "Well, with his condition, he might be able to finish another five years, but the mill won't be responsible for any accidents."

"Accidents?" I'm starting to panic. "I thought that old-timer's thing just messed with his mind."

"Alzheimer's, and mostly, yes," Sawdust sighs. "But if it starts affecting his work..."

"It won’t," Dale ensures. I look past Sawdust and see that mom and dad are no longer in the front door. I get the feeling dad's gonna be sour about this for a while. We kept him from working. "Mom'll keep him on the right path, and it’s not like he’ll forget how to do the thing he was born to do."

"Good point," Sawdust says, and I agree. Dad's cutie mark is a big, round saw halfway through cutting a log in half long-ways. He was born to work at the mill.

Sawdust smiles, so do I. He has a very attractive face, smooth cheekbones and a solid jaw, not too wide. His chin's a little narrow, but defined. His eyes are a calm sky-blue, and his mane falls to the right side in neatly combed strands. He's still powdered with sawdust from sanding all day. I still think it's a little strange that his cutie mark is a simple hacksaw when he works as a sander.

My eyes wander, but not too far. Nothing like that. I gaze over his broad chest; it looks strong, sturdy. His front hooves are close together where he sits, covering his belly. His legs are fit from sanding and his fetlocks are trimmed neatly. I glance back up and his neck is pretty wide, also. His mane falls gently over the right side, still not very long but resting gently on his wide shoulders. I'm happy I see both good and bad. I'm glad I could learn so much from almost being with Churner.

He was talking to Dale while I inspected him, so he's not looking at me, but I have no idea what they were talking about. I snap back to attention when Dale says "marionette dolls."

Sawdust laughs and nods. I laugh politely. His face glows, his presence just feels comfortable. I sigh as he does. Then Dale grabs me around the shoulders. "Before you go," he says to Sawdust, "my brother would like to ask you out." God dammit…

My heart stops. I look at Dale and he has the dumbest grin on his face. I feel my face burning up, and my heart starts back up, only it's in my skull.

Sawdust laughs, a little embarrassed. A little... I feel like burying myself alive.

Sawdust looks at me then, and his face softens. He's still smiling, but it's more polite now. "Don't worry, pal," he tells me, "I won't tell."

I fall to the dirt and cover my face, pushing my glasses onto my forehead.

Dale groans, "Ah geez, I'm sorry Timber."

Sawdust clears his throat, "I don't mind, really. Maybe we could... hang out some time?"

I uncover my right eye and look at him. He's smiling, and blushing. He obviously doesn't feel the same way I do. He likes mares, but he's nice enough to politely consider us friends.

"If you want," he finishes.

I cover my face again, then mutter, "I'd like that."

I hear him laugh quietly, kinda cute. "I'll keep in touch."

I open my eyes once more and see him turn to leave. I quickly stand, "W-wait!" He stops. I fix my glasses then continue, "Well, you could stay for dinner. If you want." Am I blushing again? I don't feel like it, but I probably am.

He smiles. "I'd love to, but I should get back to my sister. Take care of your dad!" He waves.

I wave back, smiling.

I look at Dale, absolutely infuriated that he incited that little encounter. He's got a smirk that says "I was still right." I growl and push past him.

"Come on, Timber." He sounds like he's begging. I'll never forgive him for that. "He's a nice guy."

"You're so..." I don't know what to say, "Dense!" I really don't know what to say to him right now. My head is starting to throb again behind my eyes. This whole headache thing is really just getting annoying.

"All I did was say what you were thinking," he catches up to me. "You should thank me."

"Yeah," I grumble, "thanks for blowing my secret to the first stallion you see me gawk at." Where is this coming from? I am angry at him, but I've never been so sassy. Have I?

"Oh please," he groans. I stop walking and glare at him. He's never been intimidated by me, or anything, but he gives. "I'm sorry, really, I won't do it again." He sounds sincere. "But he was quite a catch."

“Screw you,” I growl again and stomp inside. I came right downstairs to write everything down. I had actually forgotten for a while that I was working on this. I was just, having so much fun with Dale.

Wait, no, I actually took another painkiller and drink of water before I came downstairs. I feel fine, but I think I actually want to work on another story for a little while. Maybe this will be the first one I publish. Maybe I'll be as famous as A.K. Yearling.