That little red flashing light on her answering machine, something she rarely took pleasure in seeing, made Keagan nervous. It was usually reserved for bad news of one form or another from her parents, or yet another IT job turning her down after numerous interviews, likely because of her skin color. These were the breaks being a young, black woman in a predominantly white world (in general, but even of technology). She braced herself for whatever was about to play over the speakers as her finger hovered on the button and finally pressed "play", but nothing could've prepared her for what actually came out of her machine.
"You knew nothing about Marvin, or his life, and yet here you are proudly proclaiming his death like news instead of a personal loss for those who knew him," the voice said, clearly furious, "This wasn't an event for that should've been used for click throughs, he wasn't even famous enough for that sort of thing, and your immediate publication is abhorrent, quite frankly. Maybe think twice before you do this again." Keagan sat on the arm of the couch in her apartments tiny living room, rubbing her face in frustration. She'd always tried to be so careful when doing her work, but occasionally it was bound to happen that she'd upset someone one way or another. Seemed no matter what she did, work or just existing, being a black woman made her irritate others, and this was so very unfair. But there was not much she could do but soldier on, and know she was better. She didn't erase the message. *** "Excuse me?" a voice asked, making Delores look up from her desk, stopping mid sentence scrawl. "Yes?" "There's someone here without an appointment," the man said, before stepping aside and allowing Michelle to present herself, looking timid as ever. Delores smiled and nodded, letting the intern know he could be on his way. Michelle pulled up a chair and seated herself, her hands wringing themselves. "What are you doing here? We just met the other week," Delores said, then added, while checking her watch, "Hell, likely hasn't even been a week. Is everything okay?" "I...I want to work in entertainment," Michelle said, "Do you have, like, any jobs in entertainment?" "Well, do you have any skills that would help you in that field?" Delores asked. "Um, I mean, I do a lot of work around my house, painting and hammering and stuff, I...I could build sets, maybe," Michelle said, embarrassed that, once again, she'd forgotten that, in fact, no, she didn't have any skills. None that would benefit her in gaining employment, anyway. Delores cupped her hands and sighed, smiling. "Michelle, sweetheart, you know I'd love to help you find something, so maybe meet me halfway and do me a favor. Maybe take a course in media, something that could then help you access that field of work. I'll even help you, I'll pay for it." This surprised Michelle, and this surprise apparently wasn't noticed by Delores, who couldn't help but laugh as she started to flip through her roladex and find an address, name and number she could copy down onto an index card for Michelle. "I'm a helpful person, Michelle, otherwise I wouldn't work in a business dedicated to helping people help themselves," Delores said, "Take this information and meet this friend of mine, he runs a creative writing workshop, but he also has his hands in many other things. He'll be able to help you find your place, and, as I said, don't worry about payment, he'll charge me if he has to." "...th...thank you," Michelle said, stuttering as she leaned across the desk and took the index card, slipping it into her bookbag. She looked back at Delores, who was watching her ever closely, her eyes wide and brimming with an emotion that Michelle somehow knew but couldn't recognize. After a few seconds, Delores smiled and told Michelle to let her know how it turned out, and that was that. Soon Michelle was back out the door and into the world, ready to try something new. *** "I'm so sick of it," Keagan said, eating from a leftover carton of misordered fries as she and her co-worker, Lexi, sat at a table together during their break; she wiped her salt and grease covered hands on her pants and continued, "like, I apply, I get nothing, and I can totally tell it's my race that's factoring in because when they call me to schedule an interview, they don't know I'm black, so they sound pretty interested in having a woman on their team, likely as a model example of 'progressiveness', but then when they see I'm black, all that enthusiasm is just gone, man." "That's bullshit," Lexi said, parting her gorgeous blonde hair from her eyes and taking a handful of fries, shoveling them into her mouth, "I really shouldn't be eating this, this job is the worst, it's going to make me gain so much weight." "Please, like you'd look bad even if you did," Keagan said, making Lexi smirk. She had a point, after all, Lexi was stunning, and wasn't the kind of woman you'd normally see working in what most of society considered 'low wage slave work', but because her father had been arrested on tax evasion and they'd lost all their money, it had befallen Lexi to help now earn money for her mother and little sister, while still trying to attend college for her physics degree. She was tall and lithe, had a jaw structure that mirrored any woman on a fashion show catwalk, and had piercing green eyes. Keagen was quite the opposite; not short, but shorter than Lexi certainly, with her frizzy black hair and large brown eyes. "Well, at least you know there'll always be a place for you, among the fry lords," Lexi said, making Keagan laugh. Certainly, she had to admit that being a part of the late night shift team had its upsides, like all the excess food and, of course, the company of Lexi, who Keagan felt a little bad about liking more than she probably should. "What are you doing this weekend?" Keagan asked, licking the hot salt from her fingertips. "I'm actually going to spend most of this weekend holed up in what my mom calls my bedroom but I call a hovel, and try and catch up on some of the coursework I've been neglecting lately," Lexi said, "You're free to come by if you want, but it won't be very fun, I assure you." "I think I'll pass, thanks," Keagan said, sighing as she glanced out the window at the darkness outside. She couldn't get the phone message off her mind. She knew exactly who it was too, thanks to her recently brief but spectacular obsession with Beatrice Beagle. It was Liam Grearson, the man who played Beatrice's Cactus. In fact, she recognized his voice instantly thanks to the few clips she'd managed to scrounge up in her search. But she'd never heard him be that mad at anyone on the show, despite playing a fairly cantankerous character. So his tone had certainly unnerved her. *** Liam Grearson had only gotten more bitter over the years, since the show had gone off the air. He'd never been this way during its production, so this change of attitude made even himself confused, let alone the few people from the cast he was still in steady contact with, like Marvin. The last time he'd seen Marvin Burgis had been a whole month before he'd unceremoniously shot himself in the head, at a deli between their respective houses where they often met for lunch. They were the only two who were in regular contact with one another these days, most of the rest of the cast had splintered off, and Beatrice herself? Nobody had heard from her in years. It was almost like she'd been a figment of their imagination, the way she so easily vanished into thin air. But Marvin and Liam paid no mind to that, they didn't even discuss the show when they had lunch together. To the two of them, that was a period of their life that they'd been hostage for, and now were meeting as POW's after being rescued by the gracious hand of cancellation. Now, sitting alone at this deli, Liam couldn't help but feel like everyone who saw him here regularly could tell something was missing from the picture, that thing being Marvin. The two had been such a mainstay in the deli, together, that seeing only one of them almost made anyone who'd ever noticed them, and now noticed this change, immediately aware something had changed. It wasn't like Liam was going to stand up and give them all an explanation for why Marvin wasn't here anymore, or where he'd gone to (it was, after all, nobodies business but his and Marvin's alone, as he saw it), but he also didn't like being judged by their eyes and the sad looks on their faces. Liam set his menu down and folded his hands together, waiting for his waitress to bring his sandwich. The same thing he'd always ordered with Marvin, and it wasn't like Marvin wasn't here. He was. He was just in a jar across from him now, and ashes don't need to eat. The gall of that girl, the audacity to think she had any right to print about Marvin's death as if anyone but a few random weirdos on the internet would even understand who he was, or why he did what he did. It wasn't like Beatrice Beagle had been a show that had widespread critical acclaim, a heavily well regarded darling of the Thursday night lineup. It had been a kids show, generally used to sell the viewing children on insisting their parents take them to the pizza place it was so shamelessly made for. Yet...he couldn't help but feel a tad thankful that those few 'weirdos', as he so kindly put it, did in fact remember Marvin, and took a moment to mourn his life. His waitress set his plate with his sandwich down in front of him, and looked at him. "Need anything else, Liam?" she asked. "I'm okay, thanks," Liam replied, reminding himself to tip her generously before he left, before picking up his sandwich and preparing to take a bite before stopping, cutting it in half, putting the other half on a napkin and sliding it across the table, where it sat in front of Marvin's urn. He knew it couldn't be eaten. It was just a habit, and habits are the hardest thing to break. *** "Delores sent you?" the man asked, sitting on his desk as Michelle sat in front of him, nodding almost apologetically, as if she were somehow stealing his time by doing what Delores had told her to do. "Yes, I...I'm not sure why, because what you do, what you teach, that...that isn't something I'm looking into doing. I was more interested in set building, set dressing, that sort of thing," Michelle said, "I like working with my hands." "And people who write things don't?" the man, whom Michelle had learned since showing up at his office unannounced, was named David, asked, definitely with a tone suggesting that he was joking with her; he continued, "I can see what I have for you to do around here, if you'd like, but I can't guarantee it'll be anything worthwhile or even enough to be considered employment. I suppose, in the meantime, you can work for me directly, be my assistant." "Do you need an assistant?" Michelle asked. "Not really, but I'm trying to do you a favor via Delores doing one for you," David said, "So if you want to stop going to her office and being sent to interviews for jobs you don't really even want that you can't even really do, then why not take the offer? I can pay you fairly well for doing next to nothing." Michelle considered this. It would make her mother, on the rare occasion they spoke once a month, stop asking her about her employment, and it would also give Michelle something to do besides sit around and mope. Besides, David had a point, she was tired of winding up in jobs where she was forced to stand for hours at a kiosk in a mall trying to hawk shoddy electronics only seen on late night television infomercials. She smiled at David and agreed to take the job, which seemed to make him happy. Michelle figured she should call Delores and thank her for the suggestion and the help, but she also figured she might just know because David might tell her, they seemed to be close enough friends after all. Michelle left the office that evening and headed home, thinking about her project in the basement. She would need to work on it for longer periods of time in her off hours now that she had employment, and she should likely stock up on materials too. She'd been running out of nails for a while now, but only hadn't bought more because she preferred to use the money she had for more "important" things, like groceries. So, Michelle stopped by the local hardware on the way home and bought a few boxes of nails, along with treating herself to a new hammer that felt better in her hands, thanks to its softer handle grip. When she got home, she immediately checked her e-mail and noticed a response from Keagan, something she hadn't really expected. So opened the e-mail to find it had a file attached to it, and all Keagan had written with it was, "you aren't going to believe this". Why she was sending this to Michelle, when they'd never even met, didn't make much sense, but perhaps Keagan simply enjoyed - much like Michelle did - the fact that they both knew about Beatrice Beagle. So Michelle pulled out her headphones, attached them to her laptop and downloaded the file, then opened it and listened. It was a re-recording of the message Liam had left for Keagan, and, much like Keagan had herself, Michelle too instantly recognized his voice, along with the ire in it. After the message ended, she didn't really know what to think, until a moment later when a new e-mail flew into her inbox, again from Keagan, again with a file attachment and a single sentence that read, "you aren't going to believe this either." It was another voicemail from Liam, but much different. *** when Keagan got off work that night, she drove Lexi home and then went home to make dinner. While she waited for her water to boil, she checked her cell phone and saw no response to her earlier e-mail to Michelle, so she walked into the living room to plug her phone in to charge when she spotted yet another blinking light on her answering machine. She pressed play, only to hear Liam's voice once again flood the room over her speakers, but this time...this was different. This was almost...jovial. "I'd like to apologize for the message I left the other day," Liam said, in a voice far closer to his role on the show than his previous message, "I'd actually like to talk to you, if you're interested. I think I could help maybe give you more insight into Marvin, and the show. I looked into what you do, with lost media, and I think we could help one another out if you're interested. Give me a call please." He left his number and Keagan jotted it down on her palm, then leaned against her couch. What a weird few days it had been, she thought. That's when she heard her water boiling over, swore loudly, and raced to the kitchen to save her dinner. *** That night, lying in bed with her tubes in her nose, breathing in best she could, Michelle replayed the second message Liam had left Keagan repeatedly. She listened to his voice, a voice she hadn't heard anything new in for years, and shut her eyes. Michelle smiled to herself and let Liam's voice carry her off to sleep. When she was finally taken home from the hospital, she asked her mother if she could get a cactus, something her mother didn't understand but reluctantly agreed to nonetheless. She and Michelle visited the garden section of their local superstore, and Michelle picked out a cactus that most closely resembled Liam's character on the show, and named it after him. She kept it on her desk in her bedroom for years, and even now, it was seated in its pot on her current desk by her bed. Now with this new voice, it was almost as if Liam had never left, unlike Beatrice. And she was so grateful for it.
0 Comments
Michelle Helm, arguably, didn't have much to look forward to each day in the hospital.
Aside from the treatments that often took her out of her room and into a different, yet vaguely identical room, she didn't have much that lifted her spirits. She never had visitors, and she often was alone for long stretches of time, doing what little homework she could stomach to do on her own. But every day at exactly noon, she knew she could flip the television that was bolted to the ceiling at the end of her bed to Channel 3, and she'd be greeted by the familiar face of her only real friend...Beatrice Beagle. Despite Michelle being almost ten now, and Beatrice Beagle having always been skewered towards a younger demographic, she still tuned in because it was the only thing that managed to continually brighten her spirits in these sad times. Beatrice Beagle was a kids show full of songs, puppetry and the lead herself, a large anthropomorphic beagle, who was always eager to help others and was kind to a fault. This was the sort of person Michelle wanted not only to be, but also to have around her. In a world so seemingly fraught with endless cruelty, Michelle craved kindness and niceties. Perhaps that's why the news of Marvin Burgis's suicide hit Michelle so hard when she came upon it one afternoon. "Star of forgotten childrens television show 'Beatrice Beagle' dies in apparent suicide" was all the headline read, and it had a picture of Marvin Burgis, the man who had played the ever friendly neighbor to Beatrice. Sitting there, staring at this photo - the only photo she'd ever seen of him - Michelle couldn't help but feel like someone close to her had died. Which was an odd thing to feel, she had to admit, considering she never felt that way when her father had keeled over months prior. *** "Miss Helm?" the voice asked, bringing her back to the moment. The voice belonged to the woman sitting across the table from her, an older woman with big hair and a lot of jewelry on who was smiling at her; she continued, "I was going to ask if you'd been looking for work since we last spoke." "Uh, y-yes," Michelle said, handing her a handful of papers clipped together, which the woman happily took and quickly thumbed through. "Lots of applications here," the woman said, "Seems you've been busy. Anyone called back or e-mailed you yet?" "No, not yet," Michelle said, looking down at her hands in her lap, playing with her press on nails. "Well, don't get discouraged. Somebody will, it just takes time," the woman said, filing the applications into a manila folder and sliding it into her desk drawer before cupping her hands on the tabletop and leaning on it, lowering her voice, "...is everything else okay with you right now Miss Helm? You seem distracted. How's your health been?" "It's been, you know...okayish," Michelle said, embarrassed to discuss this with someone in the unemployment office. She never could understand why this woman seemed so interested in her personal life. "Well, just monitor your health and keep on trying, I'm sure something will turn around eventually," the woman said, smiling at her as she began wrapping their meeting up. Afterwards, Michelle walked down the stairs of the unemployment office and headed across the street to the pharmacy, needing a refill on her medications. She stood in the dental hygiene aisle as she waited for them to be filled, closely examining every type of new toothpaste she had never seen. Once her medications were filled and bagged, she headed back to where she'd parked her electric bike, climbed aboard and started the motor, heading home. By the time Michelle Helm got home, it had just started pouring, and she was grateful for having avoided getting soaked. She hung her coat and trapper hat up on the coatrack by the door and then headed to the kitchenette. She made a cup of coco and took out a small piece of cheesecake she'd kept in the freezer before sitting in front of a long vertical mirror leaned against the wall in the living room and watched herself eat and drink, never once saying a word. Afterwards she sat and continued to stare at herself, almost as if waiting for her reflection to do something. After a while, she finally stood up and went to take a shower. Once out of the shower, she sat on her bed and played the same record she'd had since she was a little girl - one which featured original songs by the cast of Beatrice Beagle that was only given away as promotional item at the pizzeria - while she painted her nails and ate from a large tub of black licorice she kept by her bedside. For all intents and purposes, Michelle Helms was not a well woman, but she was trying at least. *** The last job Michelle had held was selling high powered juicers at a small booth in the mall. It hadn't paid a lot, and it wasn't all that glamorous, but it was a job and she had always been told to be "appreciative of those who would hire a cripple", even if she wasn't outwardly physically disabled. Standing behind this little booth, Michelle would people watch; stare down the couples sitting at the food court enjoying lunch, or watch the groups of pre-teen girls huddled around the fountain gabbing with all their friends. She liked people when they weren't involved with her. She enjoyed studying them from afar, like she was a biologist deep in the jungle, taking notes on a species she didn't understand. During her lunch breaks, she would sit out back by the dumpsters and eat soft pretzels while watching her digitally transferred episodes of Beatrice Beagle on her phone, until one day when a few other employees came out for a smoking break and found her doing this, and thusly made so much fun of her that she quit that very day. She kept a juicer for collateral. These days, when she wasn't sitting at home with tubes in her nose so she could breath, Michelle was often working on her project in her basement, or rather, the basement that was in the house she (or her mother, actually, but she tried to forget that as often as possible) was renting for her. It took a lot of time, a lot of power tools and materials, but she was going to see it through to the end. Sometimes she'd get so tired and overworked by her own project she'd almost faint and would wind up crashing on the couch for a few hours, breathing apparatus hooked up while she made smoothies in her stolen juicer and watched kids shows on PBS. Michelle still had the occasional doctors appointment to check in on her health, make sure her oxygen levels were adequate, and get refills for things, but for the most part, she didn't go to the doctor often. Not like she had as a child, anyway. It was just another way to pass the time, or at the very least that's how she saw it, and while she acted cordial during these routine and extremely mundane visits, she couldn't help but be thinking how unfair it was that she had to be doing this at all. So many other people didn't have to do this, and that frustrated her. The audacity of those people, with their 'clean bill of health'. Made her want to wretch. And then came the day she turned on her laptop and saw the headline on the top of a news aggregator. ""Star of forgotten childrens television show 'Beatrice Beagle' dies in apparent suicide". Marvin Burgis's face front and center. Sitting there, staring at the photo of a man she'd never met yet somehow felt she knew deeply was...unsettling. Michelle wanted to cry. Instead, she began to furiously do research into Marvin Burgis, but - as always was the case when researching anything Beatrice Beagle related - she came up with virtually nothing. Nothing except the same old things that always cropped up; old ratty commercials that were barely viewable through the television fuzz and an occasional mention when the pizzeria inevitably popped up on another list article about "10 unknown defunct chain restaurants". Nobody ever mentioned the show, nobody ever mentioned the mascot, nobody ever mentioned Beatrice. It was always only the pizzeria, and for a long time this complete lack of utter acknowledgement began to make Michelle question from time to time whether or not she'd simply imagined the whole thing. Until the day Marvin Burgis died, and that article finally, after all this time, finally mentioned something of note: "He was most known for playing the role of the kind neighbor Mr. Buckler on the Saturday morning kids show Beatrice Beagle. Nobody from the show has commented as of yet on this." Nobody from the show may have commented yet on what had happened, but someone had written this article, and someone had remembered the show. Michelle scrolled back up to see the name of the person who wrote this piece up was, and was granted her wish. The name read simply "Keagan Stills". *** Keagan Stills was a 22 year old black woman who, during the night, worked at a local fast food place. But in her spare time, she dedicated her waking hours to drudging up whatever she could about lost media. Keagan had always been fascinated with media, but especially the concept of lost media. How could anything recorded go missing? It just seemed impossible to comprehend. Isn't the whole concept of recording something for the sake of posterity? So that we, collectively, remember it? Didn't seem right that something of that nature would up and vanish. But a few years ago, Keagan ran across some information in regards to a virtually unknown Saturday morning kids show called Beatrice Beagle, and was hooked instantly. Sadly, as Keagan knew full well by this point, becoming obsessed with something that was virtually unknown and universally forgotten, it made it hard to find anything in regards to it. She scoured the internet, occasionally finding clips and whatnot, until she finally came across an interview with a local theatre in Chicago where Marvin Burgis was performing in a play, and the interviewer had asked him about his role in Beatrice Beagle. He laughed it off, talked briefly about it, and that's when Keagan knew she had an opportunity to find out more. So she tracked down Marvin Burgis and they spoke on the phone a few times. But that had been years ago. She hadn't heard from him since by the time he'd took his own life, and still...having to write that report hurt deep inside. But when she read through the comments posted to her article, she saw one that caught her eye. Who was this Michelle Helm? Why did she seem to know exactly what Keagan knew about the show? And how could they work together to track down more? Turns out Marvins suicide would be a rather warped blessing in disguise. *** "How's your breathing?" her doctor asked, sitting in front of her, looking over her chart. "It's okay. Sometimes it's labored, like if I exercise or do something physical, but it's mostly okay. Though I've started using the tank more in general," Michelle replied, "Is that bad? To rely that heavily on it?" "No, not at all, whatever makes you feel better," her doctor replied, setting the chart down and looking at her, smiling, he added; "What are you doing that's so physically demanding, if you're not working, might I ask?" "I'm...building something," Michelle said, almost smiling, "um, it's a personal project. But yeah, it takes a lot of effort to saw wood and hammer stuff, so. But I make sure to take breaks, and I make sure to get my tanks refilled and stuff." "Good, good, that's good to know that you're taking it seriously," her doctor replied. As Michelle exited the doctors office and back out onto the street, where her electric bike was parked, she received an e-mail from [email protected] and opened it only to discover it was from Keagan. She hadn't expected the person who wrote the article to actually reach out to her and make contact, but she did, and as Michelle's eyes hovered over the text, skimming it carefully, she couldn't believe what she was reading. "My name is Keagan Stills. I'm contacting you because of a comment you left on an article I posted. We should talk. I've also been looking for people who know about Beatrice Beagle, and if you'd like to, I think we could work together to find out more, possibly. Here's my phone number, and here's my work schedule. I'd like to meet you, Michelle. I think we could find Beatrice." All that time people watching, Michelle thought, and it finally paid off. |
About
Beatrice Beagle follows a young woman obsessed with a defunct pizzeria and kids show featuring a dog mascot. As she uncovers more about its mysterious past, she becomes sucked into the life of the woman who played the mascot, they both discover just how much they need eachother. Archives
April 2024
Categories |