They were a band called ‘The Best Medicine.’ They sang about all kinds of sappy stuff: heartbreak, grief, betrayal, and various other emotions that poets and authors loved to wax on about for whole books at a time. I didn’t own any of their stuff: none of my sweaters, hats, or earphones had a little crimson potion bottle adorning them. I wasn’t an outward fan of groups like that, they were too personal: too out-there.

I sat on the ridiculously uncomfortable plastic ‘cushion,’ and stared down at the fat, red F+ slapped upon my latest attempt at passing Equestrian Literature 101. I felt detached, like that was some other foolish mare’s grade staring up at me. Like I wasn’t going to have to drop the class for the third time. Like I wasn’t, at heart, a failure. And though I wasn’t real big on sappy, emotional music, The Best Medicine was the only thing keeping me steady just then.

~I keep on tryin’, tryin’, tryin’~
~But it’s all for nothin’, nothin’, nothin’~
~Oh, I’ve got nothin’ to show for all this effort~
~(And nothing’s all I’m meant to be)~

The final, whispered line really socked me in the chest. But I didn’t want to rip out the earbud, or turn off the music. I wanted to be in my room with my speakers, blasting it even louder. Because that’s what I felt, just then. I felt like a black, diseased numbness was spreading through me: weighing down my hooves, squeezing my chest, and draining the world of its color. And for a moment, it felt like the singer was feeling it with me.

I don’t remember leaving the class, but, next thing I knew, I was stumbling out into the darkened skies with the rain plastering my mane to my face.

---

The Best Medicine was playing quietly in the background, while I sat on the floor of my room and stared around at the space I’d worked in for so many long nights. The feeling of hopelessness had settled snugly around me, wrapping me in a cocoon of bleakness.

My door rattled in its frame a few times. I didn’t have the energy to turn around: could barely muster up the strength to mumble, “Not a good time.”

I heard a key scraping in the lock, and I felt the blackness dig a little deeper into my thoughts. Her, then.

A presence entered quietly into the room. That’s all I could detect of her movements: a presence. There was no discernible sound as she sat down beside me: only the feeling that I was no longer quite alone.

~But when you’re feelin’ dow-haa-own~
~You gotta turn arow-haa-ound~
~And let your friends help you off the grou--!~

My stereo flicked off, silencing my least favorite medicinal track. My horn’s soft glow went out. I couldn’t stand their bullshit happy endings, just then.

Silence persisted for a few moments. Then, “Did I ever tell you what my first test grade was, in University?”

I turned a bit, to glance at her out the corner of my eye. I didn’t have the energy to get her out of my room, away from the blackness inside me. So I frowned slightly, and said, “No.”

My voice was a wispy rasp. I didn’t remember crying. She didn’t seem at all surprised by it, or my answer.

“I received twelve points, out of a possible fifty. It was the physics midterm, one of the biggest tests of the semester.” She smiled sadly.

“I spent the rest of the day in my room, crying my eyes out. I thought I’d never understand velocities and projectiles; I thought my life was over. I lost faith in myself.”

She shuddered slightly. I met her eyes, and saw a little bit of the my darkness reflected there.

“I know it hurts, Vinyl,” she said quietly, “I know what it’s like to fail, to give up. I can’t tell you everything’s going to be alright. But I can tell you this: you’re not alone. I’ll be here with you, whatever happens next.”

I held her gaze for a long time, and didn’t ask her to leave. Instead, I focused my thoughts on the radio, and switched it over to her favorite song.

Empathy, by The Best Medicine, started up. And, together, we shared the bleakness, the darkness. It didn’t go away, or grow lighter.

But, somehow, I found it so much easier to bear.