My folks forbid me to go past 49th Street, so, of course, I went past 49th every chance I got. It was usually after school: the bus running right past the area, friends there that I could hang out with, parents who worked late, and of course, a relatively short walk back home made a combination that my adolescent mind couldn’t hope to resist. Maybe had I been older when I started, or more mature, or more worried about the ghettos the people around me spoke constantly of but I never saw myself, I might have been properly afraid to venture into that part of town where the non-humans lived—the Animals, some would say. I guess it was a lot easier to adjust to talking ponies and donkeys and griffons and whatever when they’d been around as long as you’d been alive as opposed to showing up from some other world or something when you were my age.

I, however, found myself friends with a small group of said non-humans. I don’t remember exactly how it happened—maybe I had just run into one or more of them at school and we hit it off, eventually branching out to meet the others. Maybe it was just due to luck, or maybe out of your typical adolescent spite that, thankfully, formed a friendship that became something more than superficial. Maybe most the humans I knew just didn’t wanna hang around with me, I dunno. It’s irrelevant. All that matters was that we all met each other and we stuck around.

It was the five of us: me, Peachy Keen, Compass, Gale, and Sketchpad. Occasionally we’d have an outsider or a friend of a friend come hang out with us, or even join us for a few weeks before heading off somewhere, but we were the core five: an earth pony, two unicorns, a griffon, and a human. I guess if we had a zebra or a donkey among us we would have looked like something out of those cheesy Saturday morning cartoons they play nowadays. I think I met Sketchpad first, because his was the house I would hop off the bus early to go over. The unicorn lived in a small townhouse but had the fortune to be an only child, so we could retreat to his room for all of our youthful shenanigans. While the other guys typically hung out by playing videogames or sports or something, Sketchpad wasn’t into any of that. No, our hang out sessions were marked with pie in the sky projects that never really took off.

Sketchpad’s bag was drawing, which you might have guessed from the name—I wonder if pony parents are clairvoyant or something when it comes to naming their children. He was always doodling in class when we he could sneak it in and he usually skipped lunch to work on some drawing by himself. He had a lot of really neat stuff, too—the first thing we’d do when we got to his place was that he’d show me his notebook filled with all his new drawings—landscapes of the city, people both real and fictional, and lots of superheroes and badasses. That was his kick, comic books and stuff, and our plan was to make one. Self-insert and poorly planned, the sort of stuff you’d expect from two adolescents, but it was fun, and what pages I managed to save I still have with me. It was supposed to be a story of totally not-Sketchpad’s and not-Vincent’s adventures through a post-apocalyptic Equestria. I could barely draw, so I did most of the plotting and stuff.

We would work on the comic for what seemed like a few minutes but would wind up being hours. Sketchpad’s folks, although they left us alone, were always happy to see me come over, and sometimes offer me food or to let me stay the night, although I usually declined on both—try as I might, I couldn’t stomach anything hay or flower or oat-based and would default to simply snacking on whatever fresh fruit they had there at the time. As for staying the night, well, there’s no way my folks would have allowed it, and I often found myself just managing to get home right before my mom and dad came home from work.

I remember one time, when we were working, Sketchpad got the idea to draw the two of us as different species. He made himself a human, and he looked fine as one except for the lime-green hair, and he drew me as an earth pony, but as he was working he stopped and chewed his pencil like he always did when he was deep in thought.

“Hey, Vince,” he said. “Whaddya think your cutie mark would look like?”

“My cutie mark?” I knew what those were, of course, but I’d never really given any thought to what mine might look like if I was a pony, mainly because I never thought about what it’d be like if I was a pony.

“Yeah, I’d need one to finish this drawing. What do you think yours would be?”

“Well...I dunno,” I said, scratching the back of my head. “I never really thought about it.”

“Well, what’s your special talent? Whaddya wanna do when you grow up?”

“Hm...” I thought about it for a second before answering. “Well, I always wanted to be a vet. I mean, all that medical stuff is cool, and I like working with animals...ah!”

It took me a second to realize what I’d just said, but Sketchpad cut me off before I could apologize by putting a hoof up to my lips and smiling. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I know just the thing!” His horn glowed and he levitated the pencil like he was doing some kinda magic surgery or something. I leaned over to see what he had in store for me, and it was soon finished: a red cross on top of a paw print. He beamed as he held up the paper.

“Whaddya think?” he asked

I looked it over for a few seconds, imagining that mark tattooed on my butt, before deciding that it was perfect. He drew the pair of us species-swapped in a few more poses, and he showed me how to draw the mark. It’s got to be the only thing I ever learned how to draw well, and I’m thankful that cutie marks aren’t too complex.

Eventually Sketchpad introduced me to his other friends, Peachy Keen, Compass, and Gale. Compass was probably the most studious and serious among us. Don’t get me wrong, though, he was sensible and always good for advice, although he often planned things out to a T. When they did all that college planning crap with us in school I think Compass was the only one who took it as seriously as we were supposed to, and the guy had 15 schools lined up to apply to for civil engineering back when the thing that was foremost on our minds were new movies and random tidbits of pop culture.

Peachy Keen was the energetic one, always coming up with some new idea for places to hang out or talking about places we should visit when we get older. She was always good with plants—I think the only reason her family even came to Earth was because her mom needed some sort of medical procedure that you couldn’t get in Equestria. You could never tell when something was bothering her, and she seemed like an endless well of optimism. I jokingly called her Princess Peachy once, and the nickname stuck. She promised me, whenever she properly ruled a country, she would make sure to make me one of her dukes.

Gale was our resident griffon, and we both seemed to enjoy token status in the group. While Peachy was always optimistic, Gale tended to worry about just about everything, but she always meant well. She was almost the mom of the group, making sure the five of us weren’t doing anything too stupid and were taken care of. Her family was military, I think, and she always talked about her wanting to go into the Griffon airforce when she grew up, and that’s what she did. Fine choice, I’d say—the girl can fly like no one’s business.

We alternated between whose house to settle at after school, with the exception of mine, but we decided that it might be better to find our own place. Somewhere only we went, like in those old movies and cartoons. There was an old park near Sketchpad’s house that was easy to get to, and it became our designated hang out if the weather was good. Didn’t matter if it was cold or hot, or if there were others around who gave us weird looks when we entered high school and drew closer to the threshold of adulthood. All that mattered was that we were together. One day we came up with a simple rule: no matter what happens, we would always return to that spot one day. When we graduated and had to go our separate ways, we promised that we would return every so often, so long as we lived. It would be our bond, our commitment, that even if we were far apart we would always be able to meet again. And it held up.

At least until Sketchpad died.

Hit by a car, shortly before we graduated. He had thought to go to the corner store to pick some things up for one of our weekly get togethers, and the driver figured that stop lights were more of a suggestion than anything. We didn’t meet for awhile after that—hell, it was the only time I saw Peachy not having anything to say. The idea of the park became sickening for a bit, and none of us saw each other for a few weeks because of it.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to be; we were too young for that sort of thing. Worrying about whether you would see your friends again or that they’d remember to come meet up with next month or year or whatever was fine, but worrying about whether or not they would even be alive or healthy enough to come see you again, that seemed like something that old war buddies did, wasting away in retirement homes or something while the rest of the world had forgotten them. We weren’t any of that.

Eventually, though, we decided that it was, after all, our spot. Peachy said we made a promise, and we had to stick together. Sketchpad would have wanted it. I’m not saying it was easy for the first time after the incident, but eventually got back into it. I still had some of Sketchpad’s comics, and every time I would bring art supplies for us to draw stuff with. We were never any good or ambitious, but it was a ritual, a memorial for us, and we did it until time dragged us all apart.

Gale went back to the Griffon Kingdom, while Compass and Peachy went to the same school in Equestria. I stayed on Earth and worked on becoming a vet. With my human friends, at least, it was a lot easier to communicate, as no matter how far they were it was just a phone call or a hop on Facebook or something to catch up with them, but our little group, if they went back to Equestria, talking to them would be a crapshoot. In some places they might be able to have access to a phone or a computer or something, but a lot of Earth stuff didn’t spread too fast throughout Equestria. I dunno if it was just ponies and such being luddites or disagreements on how to expand or simple disorganization, I dunno. There was only the mail, which was painfully slow to get across the border.

I had taken to letter writing, though. It was a funny thing, my roommates would say, about me being up at night with only a desklight and pen and paper, scribbling away like I was someone out of Little House on the Prairie. I didn’t mind it, though. I wouldn’t say it was rustic or anything like that, but it was nice, something that let me slow down between a job and class and all the other stuff in my life. Every week I’d talk of my exploits, any funny anecdotes I could muster up—I found there were too few each week for my liking. In return, I would be rewarded with envelopes with return addresses in mouth or talonwriting. How are you, I’m fine, have you seen the latest such and such, did you hear about so-and-so, and so on and so forth. I posted the important letters up on my desk—the letter when Peachy told me she was engaged to Compass and her promise to send wedding invitations when they figured out exactly when they’d tie the knot. Gale’s pictures of the places she toured around Equestria. Compass’s bragging about how he managed to get scouted by a royal contractor and had a government job in the bag.

Somehow, everyone’s schedules seemed to align for a brief period, and we began exchanging letters of meeting up again. Where? Where else? To be perfectly honest, I looked forward to it more than even getting that fancy degree. We set up a specific date that happened to be on the tail end of July. I drove home for that weekend, realizing with no small amount of smugness that I could now go to that park without having to hide anything. Sure, it might have seemed a bit weird for a college student to be hanging around a place like that, but we were still young enough to get away with it, or at the very least attribute it to being ‘ironic’ or something.

On the scheduled day, I put on my backpack, filled with paper and colored pencils and markers and all sorts of supplies, and walked to the park, taking in the new and the old buildings and I passed by along the way. When I got there, I spotted a figure—feline and winged and wearing a vest of some sort—standing near the park, staring at some sign that I didn’t remember being there before. It was Gale, and I called to her as I approached. She didn’t turn back to look at me, though.

“Hey, Gale. Gale!” I walked up next to her. “What’s up? I haven’t seen—”

I stopped when I saw what she was looking at all stoic-like, and to be honest, I couldn’t blame her; it made me speechless, myself. Standing in front of us was a simple sign, but the words on it seemed to make it more like some sort of obelisk of doom. It read:

Whitewater Realtors

Future apartment complex

1yr Lease starting at $700/mo

Construction slated to begin 12 September

Contact:
(Tel): 555-9024
(Fax): 555-9031
Or visit on the web at www.whitewaterrealtors.com

“What the hell is this?” I asked. The sign might as well have insulted my family and I probably would have been as nonplussed and incensed.

Gale just shook her head and sighed. “Whaddya think?” She lightly punched the sign. “It was only a matter of time, I guess. No one really comes here anymore, anyway.”

“‘Cept us, right?”

“Right.” She glared at the sign for a few moments, before turning to face me. She gave a wry smile. “Sorry, Vince, that’s no way to greet an old friend, is it?”

I shrugged. “It’s cool. I don’t blame you.” I turned to the rest of the park, just as barren as I’d expected, trying to get my mind off of the looming eviction notice before me. “Are Princess and Compass here yet?”

“Nah, I think they’re running late, or something,” she said, and I hoped that was the case. “C’mon,” she said as she began to hover a few feet off the ground, “we oughta wait for them someplace that’s not here.”

I nodded, and we went over to the old swingset and manufactured playset. The place was already kinda run down when we were still in high school, and time evidently hadn’t done the place anymore favors—one of the seats on a swing was broken, most of the chains were rusted, and anywhere that plastic showed on the playground you’d better believe someone had taken a pen or something and etched or written in initials, profanities, penises, or off-color jokes.

The two of us shot the shit while we waited. I was actually starting to work with the animals, and I had managed to save a dog’s life a few weeks back, it was great. Gale had been on a stay in South Amareica and had brought back a bunch of neat souvenirs that she promised to show me later if I swung by the house of the friend she was staying with. I idly swung on the set as Gale perched on top of the slides, the air filled with the noise of cicadas.

Soon enough, Compass and Peachy showed up, coming the same way we did. I winced a bit when I saw them stop at the sign, but there was nothing I could do. When they approached I got off of the swing and Gale flew off the slide, alighting down near the rest of us. There were plenty of hugs and laughs all around as we exchanged greetings.

“What’s up, Compass?” I turned to Peachy and gave an ostentatious bow. “And good afternoon, Princess Peachy,” I said in my most exaggerated fancy voice, “I trust your trip here was a pleasant one?”

Compass just rolled his eyes while Peachy giggled. “Still using that nickname, Vince?” Compass asked.

“Oh it’s fine,” Peachy said to Compass, and then turned back to me, adopting her best mock-royal voice. “Well met, Sir Vincent. Our journey hence was agreeable, and we trust yours was as well.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” I said, struggling to keep a straight face. I’m not sure which I found more amusing: the fact that Peachy still went along with that whole routine or how disapproving Compass looked when I referenced it. Perhaps I wasn’t as mature as I would have liked to think. I stood up and dropped the voice.

“So what’s new with you two?” I said, my eyes focusing on the identical rings around Peachy’s and Compass’s left hooves. “Other than the whole engagement thing.”

“Heh, we’re just trying to figure out the best time to actually do it,” Compass said. “We do have a nice place picked out for us to move into afterwards. You should come look at it sometime.”

“Yup! It’s got a big backyard for a garden and it’s not too far from the border or anything,” Peachy said, clapping her hooves together. “It’s gonna be the best!”

Gale nodded. “I bet. I can’t wait for the wedding.”

“Don’t worry,” Compass said with a wink, “that’ll be even more magical.” He took the opportunity to put a foreleg over Peachy’s shoulder, and the two nuzzled each other. I smiled, but even on all that good news, you could tell there was a feeling of unease. Just the way everyone stood, like people trying to be polite and act normal and stuff while dancing around the elephant in the room. That damn sign...

I remembered the art supplies, and I laid them out on the picnic table nearby, thanking God that it was at the very least still clean enough to sit on. I distributed the paper, and we got to work, with Compass drawing buildings, of course, Peachy doodling, and Gale staring at the paper blankly, while I began to draw caricatures of us as superheroes. Panels arranged in every which way with me, Peachy, Compass, Gale, and...

“I can’t do this,” Gale said, putting down her pencil with a sigh. I looked up, and saw she was looking at my drawings. She was looking at Sketchpad, especially.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Vince...” Compass spat out his pencil and shook his head. “It’s different now. We can’t come back here anymore.”

I stared down at the paper. He was right, of course, but how could I ever admit it. My fists began to clench. “No, it’s just...”

“Vincent, I know, but this place is gonna be gone,” he said. “Look, it was fun while it lasted, but we gotta move on. We’re older now. We can’t just draw in the park like we’re kids anymore. And besides...”

Sketchpad was gone, of course. He didn’t finish but he didn’t have to. I couldn’t look him in the eyes, and I think I started to tremble. I wanted to punch someone—Compass, maybe myself, but I couldn’t really think of a suitable target.

Without warning, Peachy hugged me, and said, “Vince, don’t worry. We’ll find another place. We won’t lose each other.”

The way she spoke, I hadn’t heard that tone since right after Sketchpad died. I hugged her back, and murmured, “Of course.” I wanted to believe it, for my sake, for her sake, for Gale’s and Compass’s sake, and, most of all, for Sketchpad’s sake.

She broke the hug and gave me a small smile. We all stayed for a bit in awkward silence but soon she and Compass bid goodbye, and Gale left shortly after, leaving me alone in the park. I collected the art supplies, stuffed them into my backpack, and began to walk. When I passed the sign, I wanted nothing more than to break it, rip it out of the ground, kick it until it broke, throw it down a ravine or in the bay or something, but I knew it was a stupid idea. Even if I could have managed to destroy that damn sign, they would have just put up another one. They always do. We were just a bunch of children masquerading as adults, no match for Whitewater Realtors, and no allies to back us, and soon everything would disappear. Gone. Not even given the benefit of bloody slaughter or gassed homes to incense those that came after.

I stared at the sign for what seemed like forever, to the point where I could barely read what it said in the failing light. And then I figured, if this thing was gonna be there no matter what I did, well...I remembered the permanent marker that I brought with me and fished it out of my backpack. I thought to look for an area with little text and lots of free space, but I figured I might as well mark where I damn well pleased. I didn’t need to see—what I was making was muscle memory. It only took less than a minute, but I was satisfied. I walked off, leaving behind nothing but a picture of a small cross overlaying a paw print.