I got up on time again today, like always. Usually, the monotony of routine drives me insane, but the variety of working at the café, plus the adventure of the theater, keeps me alive. This morning, I had the pleasure of looking forward to the awkwardness of hanging around with Stitches. I fully expected him to be completely over it. He was yesterday, after all, thinking about how he acted before lunch, so there’s no reason he wouldn’t be 100% normal again today. Now it was completely up to me to carry on the pretense of normalcy.

Pearl trotted up to the door a few minutes late and apologized while unlocking it. Gourdy was already inside baking. “Why doesn’t Gourdy just open the front door?” I inquire while Pearl gets the door open.

“Because,” she answers, “he’s distracted with his cooking. If it weren’t for me, or us, this door might never open, and he’d never get customers.”

She couldn’t have been completely serious, but I got the point.

As we made our way inside I was about to bring up the news I had. She beat me to it, turning around abruptly and stopping me in my tracks. “You’ll never believe what Cosh told me last night!”

I’m startled by her sudden action and take too long to react. I was about to just say “Ok” kinda slowly, when a sassier remark came into my mind.

By then it was too late. “Apparently,” she begins while turning back around, “a strange stallion turned himself in and demanded to be arrested for attempted sexual assault.”

Yet again I’m startled, “Seriously?”

“Well,” she mumbles, “technically the guy said ‘attempted raping,’ but the police have proper terms for everything.”

“Wait,” I stop to think. A thought comes up, “Is it ok for you to be telling me this? I mean, should Cosh have told you?”

She shrugs. She puts her purse in the back room, then continues, “The mysterious stranger admitted to the crime, saying he came to his senses and let the ‘victim’ go free before any harm was done.”

“So,” I incline, “where is this going?” I already know what she’s thinking; that this strange stallion is likely the one I encountered in the park. I just wanted to make sure I still sounded interested.

“Duh!” She mocks. “Were you not just attacked and nearly raped?”

“Well yes,” I admit, “but the guy you’re talking about never said he was at Centurion Park.”

“Yes he did,” she corrects. “Didn’t I say that?” I shake my head. “Oh, well he did.” I drop my saddle bags beside her purse and follow her out to the front. I start brewing coffee while she puts up the “Open” sign. “So the guy’s name is Lavandula, but says he goes by Lavan. His family’s foreign, his dad’s a florist.”

“So,” I take a moment to think about everything, “I was almost raped by ‘lavender,’ who then went and turned himself in?” I feel like the name Lavender is familiar, which makes me feel uncomfortable. I shrug off the feeling.

“Is that his name?” She asks, tying her apron using magic. “Hm. Well, yeah. He pleaded guilty and they locked him right up. Or so I’m told.”

“That’s interesting.” It’s true. I really never thought I’d hear about that guy again, let alone know his name. “Maybe I’ll pay him a visit some time.” I turn, asking Pearl to tie my apron for me.

Pearl chuckles. “Yeah I’ll take you there. I’d love to meet him, tell him what I think about him.”

“And what do you think about him?” I inquire.

“I think he’s got some explaining to do.”

“Tch, yeah he does.” It hadn’t crossed my mind yet at that point, but she was right. I really wanted to know why he stopped, and even why he started. I never thought of it before, but the thought process of a rapist was suddenly very compelling to me. Maybe it was just this one guy? “Was he a pegasus?” I found myself asking without thinking.

Pearl gives me a strange, suspicious look. “Yes, I believe he was. Why?”

“No reason,” I play, hoping she’ll write it off as part of my quirky behavior. (But Timber! You don’t have a quirky behavior!) Technically, no. But with a little luck, she won’t realize that.

We prepare the café for its first customers. The air of our conversation switches from curious to dangerous. She asks again why I wanted to know about the rapist. I glance at her pleadingly asking to change the subject. She does, without a second thought, asking instead if I’ve read any good books lately. It goes on like that for some time.

I forgot what I was going to tell her earlier, but remember when Stitches walks in. He and I smile at each other. I smile at Patches, too, since we’re all friends equally. There are no pedestrians at the moment, but I know that will change soon; everypony wants breakfast. The breakfast rush is never that big, but in such a small establishment, it’s a meaningful difference.

I take the moment of business silence to strike up the conversation. “I got the new script last night.”

They all react with an “Ooo.” Patches is the first to ask, “So, who was right about their guess?”

I smile. “The answer will shock you,” I tease. “But first I want to know whose guess you all think was right.”

Patches and Pearl each raise an eyebrow, Stitches snickers. I laugh a bit, too. Pearl speaks up, “You want us to bet on each other’s guesses?”

“Oh, he just knows he’ll win!” Patches accuses. “He already has Stitches on his side.”

I notice Stitches is standing rather close. I look at him with a knowing smile. Not in a way that meant I was right about him, more that I know I was right about my guess. I expected him to react similarly, backing me up. Instead he has a look of guilt, avoiding eye contact and sliding a few centimeters away. The girls look between us and I can tell they’re suspicious and/or worried about us. Last they knew, I’m sure, was that we kissed and were officially together. Unless he told his sister otherwise, Pearl and Patches have reasonable reactions.

“All right I’ll just tell you,” I pop the bubble. The tension was driving me nuts, and I hadn’t even gotten to the good part. “I was right.”

They let out a collective groan. At least, I think Stitches did. Regardless, they all seemed annoyed that I was right all along.

“Most of the interesting parts happen in the mare’s dreams,” I explain. “She dreams about the ocean a lot, and a sailor she thinks she met.”

“Ooo, a romance,” Pearl swoons.

“Ugh, a romance,” Patches gags.

Stitches and I laugh. This time I’m certain he does, too. Then I go on, “Actually, that’s not all.” The girls’ eyes widen with childish anticipation. “Once she learns that she never really met the stallion, that he’s just in her imagination, she kills herself thinking she’ll get to be with him.”

“Ooo, tragedy!” Patches beams.

Pearl just rolls her eyes. We all laugh for a bit, then the front door bell rings and we get back to work. Whenever Pearl and I end up back behind the counter at the same time we talk more. She tells me she might be interested in seeing this play. She considers bringing Cosh, even though he’s not a big fan of theater. I tell her I might be able to get her tickets, “If I’m still working there.”

She’s stunned, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” I sigh, stirring caramel into a coffee cup, “I’ve come to find that I’m not that in to show business.”

“But I thought it was your dream!”

“It was my dream to write plays for Bridleway,” I tell her, “but that doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon.”

“Hm,” Pearl seems to sink deep into thought. I collect an order from Gourdy and deliver it, letting her think while she tends to patrons at the bar. When I get back to her she gives me her thought, “Well maybe you’re just going in the wrong direction?”

I give her a quizzical look. “Well, how would I know?”

She looks around, bewildered. “I don’t know! Ask!”

Ask? Ask who? I was already told so much about my future by the director, the one who hired me. He told me that with the experience I’d get I’d be running shows my own way before I knew it. I don’t want to be running shows, but maybe that wasn’t all I could do? “Maybe you’re right.”

“I bet I am,” she gloats. “Whatever they might be telling you, or whatever you might learn on your own, it can’t be the whole story. I know you.” She puts a hoof on my shoulder. I suddenly realize I’m getting tired of everypony’s real-talk. I know, back in school I had friends that often wouldn’t take me seriously. Our relationships were based around our sense of humor, and everything any of us did was hilarious to the other, one big joke. I would have given anything to be taken seriously back then. So why now do I feel fed-up with all of the seriousness?

She shakes me a little bit and I snap back, unaware I had stopped listening and started thinking about real-talk. I exhale deeply through my nose and she asks if I’m feeling all right. “Yeah,” I tell her, “I think so.”

“Listen, I know you. You have a tendency to expect the worst, and then accept it, even when it doesn’t happen.” I think about how she’s analyzing me, and that I didn’t like to be analyzed. She doesn’t know that, though, so I let her continue. “You don’t like to ask ponies for clarity, because you’re always so sure about everything.” She’s being rather critical, but I let her continue. “If I wasn’t your friend, I’d probably call you an idiot for living like this, and you are.” I absorb the insult, and let her finish. “But I am your friend, so I won’t call you an idiot. Even though… I totally just did. Look, my point is you can get more if you look for it. And if you can’t find it, make it.”

I ponder the thought for a moment, utterly confused. “What is ‘it’?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Your future.” I’m hit by the wisdom hard and hold my breath for a few seconds. The world goes silent. Ponies bantering in the background, the door’s bell clanging, or any of the sounds in the kitchen don’t exist. This shouldn’t be so groundbreaking for me, but it is. “You’ve already been shut down by Stitches, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. That doesn’t mean you can’t find a future with him. It might just not be the one you expected. As for Bridleway…” she pauses, letting me figure out what she means.

I immediately know what she wants me to say, “Make it.” She nods. I think I get it, so I nod back. She smiles, then somepony calls for a refill and she rushes off with a pot of coffee to fill his cup. I’m left thinking about what I was just told. Could it really be possible? Do I have the potential to make my own future, given what I have now?