She could hear the paws scratching at the door, and she knew that Beatrice had to go out. So, heaving herself out of bed, still in her cloud covered pajamas, Amelia Burden headed downstairs, Beatrice by her side. Together they raced down the steps to the living room to find her parents sitting in the kitchen - her mother reading the newspaper while her father cooked and made coffee - and Amelia pulled the handle on the sliding glass door leading to the backyard so she and Beatrice could rush out together. Beatrice did her business while Amelia sat on the picnic table benchseat and let the morning sun warm her. It was another beautiful summer day out here, and she had nothing expected of her except to enjoy it.
As Amelia and Beatrice came back in, she took a seat at the table and Beatrice sat right beside her on the floor. Her mother, Gloria, set the paper down and smiled at Amelia as her father, Gordon, came and poured more coffee into Gloria's mug before heading back to the stove to work on his eggs. Gloria sipped her coffee carefully before looking back at Amelia. "Any plans?" she asked, and Amelia nodded. "I think we're gonna go down to the library and get some books," Amelia said. "They let Bea into the library?" Gordon asked, and Amelia nodded. "They don't mind, they love her down there," she said, smiling happily at the dog lying on the floor beside her feet. After breakfast, Amelia pulled on her overalls and her clogs and, Bea by her side, headed down to the small local library. Beatrice never wore a leash, she never had to, as Amelia knew she never wandered far from her side. Beatrice was an extremely well behaved dog. Entering the library, the librarian behind the desk smiled and waved at them as the usual guests they were, and then they set upon finding books. Amelia got a mystery book, always a fan of mysteries, and then a whole slew of books on the arts, be it dance, acting or painting. Amelia had always been drawn to the arts, thanks to her fathers painting work. Once they were back home, Bea and Amelia holed themselves up in Amelia's bedroom on the floor and Amelia read through the books one at a time for Bea to follow along with, while she shared her string cheeses with her. It didn't matter that Bea couldn't understand what Amelia was saying, Amelia didn't care, because she had all she wanted in the world; friendship and literature. What more could a little girl ask for, really? *** "Miss Burden?" the man asked, still standing there, "Would you like a moment?" She nodded, wiping at the tears on her face. *** Beatrice didn't seem to understand that Amelia wasn't going back to the house with her parents. Standing there in her dorm at the college, her father dropping the last box on the floor, Beatrice looked from one member of the family to the other, head cocked to the side, ears perked slightly up. She whined a little, which caught Amelia's attention, and she knelt down to stroke her head. "She'll be in good hands," Gloria said, "You know we love her sweetheart, you won't have to worry about her." "I know, it's just going to be weird not having my best friend here," Amelia said, "Bea's been with me for as long as I can remember. I can't imagine not having her around. That life seems completely inconceivable to me." Gordon touched Gloria's shoulder and, after they patted Amelia on the back, they left her alone with Beatrice momentarily so she could say goodbye to her best friend. Amelia ran her hands behind Bea's ears and scratched lightly. "This isn't goodbye, I'm going to come home for the holidays and stuff and see you and mom and dad," Amelia said, "But I have to do this in order to be an adult, I hope you understand and don't forever hate me for it. You know I love you Beatrice, you know you're the best dog and greatest friend anyone could ever ask for." Beatrice barked and wagged her tail, making Amelia throw her arms around the dog, squeezing a bit, fighting back the tears. She promised she'd see her again, and she kept true to that promise. A year later, during summer break, Amelia came home and as she got out of her car and headed up the walkway, she could see Beatrice standing on the couch against the front window, yapping excitedly, so happy to see Amelia come home, even if only for a bit. That summer was great fun, as Amelia and Bea fell right back into the same relationship they'd had since they were young girl and pup respectively. Running in the fields surrounding the house, exploring and playing fetch, lounging inside when it rained and listening to old jazz records, and Amelia always sneaking Bea an extra little treat here and there. Their friendship was a testament to the truth that distance, nor time, could destroy a connection as deep as theirs. *** Amelia entered the small room, its counters littered with metallic surgical instruments and the stench of less. She shut the door softly behind her and then looked at the slab table in front of her, centered in the middle of the room, completely unsure of what to even say. How does one say goodbye to someone they aren't ready to lose? *** Amelia would've preferred literally any other kind of news to the kind she had received that Sunday morning. Drinking her tea and reading a book on bird watching, her landline rang only once before she scrambled to answer it, expecting a callback from a local theatre she'd auditioned for earlier that week. But it wasn't the man she'd auditioned for, no, it was her mother, and her voice was shaky. Immediately, without her mother even saying the news, Amelia knew something was wrong. And as soon as the words left Gloria's lips, Amelia crumpled to the floor and curled into a ball of weeping pain and writhing grief. She immediately told her professors she had to go home for an emergency in the family, packed her car that afternoon and was on the road in no time. When she arrived, Bea was lying in Amelia's bed, but wasn't out of it enough to keep her tail from wagging like crazy upon seeing her. Amelia knew she didn't have much time, and that this was something she herself was going to have to do, so after spending an hour or so with her in her childhood bedroom, she loaded Beatrice up in the car and headed off to the vet. She knew Beatrice wouldn't be coming back. It had spread so rapidly, and Bea was full of tumors. There was nothing that could be done except put her to sleep, to end her suffering. But now, standing in this small sterile room, seeing her best and oldest friend lying on a table preparing to, likely unknowingly, face oblivion, Amelia couldn't conjure anything to say. She couldn't muster any words in her throat, and instead, she just stood there and held her paw. The doctor came back in, before realizing he'd left the shot in the other room and excused himself to go get it, giving Amelia one last chance to say something to Bea. She reached up with her other hand and stroked between the dogs eyes gently, forcing herself to smile. "You're okay," Amelia whispered, "You're okay. You aren't alone. I wouldn't let you be alone, you never let me be alone." And before she knew it, Beatrice was gone. Amelia went to the local courthouse the following week and legally changed her name to Beatrice, before going back and finishing college, majoring in theatre. Though she lacked most of the resolve to really try, and none of her auditions ever lead anywhere. After a while, Bea simply gave up and instead attempted her hand at writing, which didn't really go anywhere either. And then, a year after her dogs death, she had an idea. She set about going to the library, as she had as a child, and taking it upon herself to learn sewing and costume design. Within a few months, she had the suit and the head made, and the very first time she put it on, standing and looking at herself in the mirror, she finally knew what she was meant to do. *** "I have to be honest with you," the station manager said, "I don't understand the appeal." "That's because you're not 5," Liam said, "Trust me, this is the next big thing. Beatrice is determined to make this thing work." "...how about we make a deal?" the station manager said, leaning forward and cupping his hands on the desk, "I am a part owner in a local chain pizzeria, and it doesn't really have proper theming. We want to really make it a bigger place, make a mark with it, so how about you let us use the characters you have to do that, and you get to make your show?" Liam looked at Bea, who glared at him, and bit his lip. He thought momentarily before turning back to face the station manager and asked if they could have a few moments. He happily obliged, and left the two alone in the room. Bea crossed her arms and looked away as Liam stood up and paced. "Look, as long as we aren't outright promoting it on the show, it shouldn't matter much, right? As long as we aren't blatant advertising, then-" "It doesn't have to be blatant to be wrong," Bea said, "This is an incredibly personal creation, and you're willing to shell it out to a pizzeria for a shot at fame on a puppet show. You can't even begin to imagine what the character of Beatrice means to me." "Bea, she's a dog," Liam said, "She's not even real. You made her up." Bea didn't respond to this. Liam didn't know the origin, he didn't even know how intertwined the character of Beatrice had become to the newly minted Beatrice herself, and perhaps if she'd spoken about this in depth, Liam would've understood, and he wouldn't have somehow cajoled her into going along with the station managers plan. Maybe if she'd dug out the photo albums, brimming with imagery of young Bea and her namesake pup, Liam would get it. Maybe if she'd spoken, he would've listened. But she didn't, and he didn't, and the whole thing went off anyway. As time went on, Beatrice grew to dislike what the creation represented, because in the back of her mind - despite her original intentions with the creation of the character to sift through her own life and help kids grow with their own - she couldn't help but remember she was really just there to hawk pizza. This only became more exacerbated when the animatronics were added to the pizzeria, and the whole thing was fused like some sort of horrible manufactured and poorly engineered Frankenstein; this bastardization of what Beatrice was meant to mean made her sick, and before long she loathed putting the head over her own. She wanted nothing but to be as far removed from Beatrice as she could be. And it was all Liam's fault, at least that's how she saw it, because if there was one thing Beatrice was never good at, it was taking blame for things. And 13 years after Liam met Bea in that alley after the show, Bea pulled the plug on the whole thing, and the pizzeria collapsed simply because of changing tastes in family entertainment for the decade. Soon enough, nothing existed of Beatrice Beagle, except for the memory it left in the head of one little girl, one little girl Bea never knew existed, named Michelle Helm. *** "Are you sure you don't want anything else to drink?" the dark haired, indian woman asked as she stood in Bea's kitchenette and poured a glass of wine. "No thank you, I don't drink much," Bea replied, "And if you're trying to get me sloshed to get into my pants, rest assured, I'm asexual, so that won't happen." This made the indian woman laugh, as she brought herself and her drink back to the couch to sit back down. This was their third date, Bea and the womans - whose name was Amad - after having met a few months ago in a crafts store Bea frequented. Bea had dated men and women in the past, but these days she leaned primarily to women when dating, mostly because as Liam had proved, men couldn't be trusted. Amad sipped her wine and smiled at Bea. "You don't have to worry," Amad said, "I'm certainly not one to pressure anyone into anything, so you have nothing to fear. Honestly, at my age, sex doesn't interest me all that much anymore as it is. I'd much prefer spending time with someone and talking." Bea smiled a little, feeling happy Amad understood and respected her. "I love your apartment, it's so...old fashioned," Amad said, "Record player, oil paintings, the stained glass lamps." "Those are Tiffany's," Bea said, "They came from my father. He's big into class." "Well, he has good taste then," Amad said, "It's nice to see things people consider relics still be considered important. It's nice to know that the old things are never really gone, it makes you feel like perhaps immortality isn't impossible on some basic conceptual level." "I've always believed in immortality, or at least certain ideas surrounding it," Bea said, turning to Amad, continuing she added, "Like...like how if you really love something, you'll always remember it, and therefore it can never really die, because if it can't be forgotten, it won't fade away. It'll always live on in some way through you, vicariously." "I like that, that's beautiful," Amad said, "What is your stance on something like reincarnation?" "I don't rule it out, and for those who hope it's real I hope it is for their sake, but I certainly wouldn't want to personally have it happen to me," Bea said, "I've had enough suffering for one life, and not nearly enough love." This made Amad said, and she set her wine glass on the coffee table before running her fingertips on Bea's face and smiled at her, their eyes locking. "I can fix that for you," Amad said, leaning in to kiss her. Beatrice didn't stop her. While they kissed, she heard her answering machine pick up, and it was Liam once again. Bea tried to block it out, but halfway through, she interrupted the kiss and unplugged the phone before coming back to the couch and continuing the romance. *** Liam hung up the phone slowly, trying to not take it personally. She'd always been a rather private person, and he knew he'd been dumb to even try and call her. Instead, he stood up, straightened his tie and walked into his bathroom. Liam opened his medicine cabinet, pulled out his prescribed sleeping pills and went into the bedroom where he sat on the bed and, after a few minutes of trying hard to untwist the cap, finally opened the bottle and - with a glass of water - downed the whole thing. He then laid down on the bed and shut his eyes, folding his hands on his chest. He couldn't help but think of Bea, and all the things he wish he could've said to her before he'd leave this world, but it didn't matter now. He'd be gone soon. He felt something roll down into the center of the bed and push against his hip, and he smiled. It was Marvin's urn. At least he didn't have to go alone.
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"I like your hair," Michelle said, making Keagan smile as she ran her hands through her hair.
"Thanks, it's one of my better assets, quite frankly," Keagan said, going back to stirring her coffee with her stirrer as Michelle pushed her fork into her salad and dug around for a bite. Neither one spoke again for a few moments, but finally Keagan took a sip from her cup and then looked at Michelle. "This is weird, isn't it?" she asked, and Michelle nodded, pushing lettuce attempting to escape back into her mouth. "It's very weird," she replied, chewing. "How did you, I mean if you don't mind me asking, get those episodes you showed me?" Keagan asked, and Michelle finished eating, then sighed, pushing her salad bowl away. "I recorded them on VHS back when I had the chance. I wish I had more, but I only managed to get a handful of them," Michelle said, "Sometimes, if I was too sick to see it that day, I'd have a nurse in the hospital record it for me so I could watch it when I woke up." "Hospital?" Keagan asked. "I was in the hospital a lot as a kid," Michelle said, "I have serious bronchitis and lung problems. I have an oxygen tank at home that I use fairly regularly, and I can't do much without getting too winded, or it could make me faint." "Jeez, I'm so sorry." "It's just part of my life, you know how it is, you get used to things," Michelle replied, looking out the window they were sitting by and smiling as she added, "But having the show made everything seem alright. Made everything seem like....like I would be okay, because I always had someone there for me even if my parents weren't. Beatrice was always there, always ready to teach me something new." "People become extremely attached to media in ways that don't make sense," Keagan said, "at least not to others, and I think it's beautiful that we manage to connect to fictional things so deeply. In fact, I seem to be able to connect to fictional characters far better than real people these days, it feels like." "You think it says something about the human brain?" Michelle asked. "I think it says that we're so very desperate to be understood that we cling to even the smallest examples of fake people understanding us, that we can relate to. So many people aren't understood by the people they so deeply wish they were understood by, that when we find a fictional character who seems to 'get us', we feel lucky. We feel as if they were made just for us, you know?" "I know." The girls stopped and Michelle pulled her bowl back to her, continuing to eat her salad as Keagan sipped on her coffee. They'd agreed to meet here at this little bistro downtown, to finally maybe formulate a plan on how to find Beatrice using the knowledge that they had accrued, but most of the conversation thus far had been primarily about their own connections to the show, to Bea, and to media in general. Keagan told Michelle all about her love for lost media, and her quest to unearth as much of it as she could, and Michelle told Keagan all about her adoration for Beatrice and why she was so very determined to track her down. "So," Keagan asked, "How do you propose we go about this?" *** "Thank you for shopping with us, have a nice day," the young checkout woman said as she dropped the change into the older womans hands. The older woman, dressed in a very long raincoat and a scarf, her blonde hair tucked neatly into a dark blue beanie, took her change and grabbed her bags before heading out to the parking lot. She put her things into the trunk of her car, got in and started the engine, then began backing out when she noticed she'd almost hit a woman - completely oblivious to her surroundings due to walking while looking at her cell phone - and her young child. The woman immediately began approaching her window, shouting. "Don't you ever look where you're driving?!" she yelled, rapping her knuckles on the window of the car, "You could've easily killed us! You should be more aware of your surroundings when you're in a vehicle!" She couldn't take it. She started slamming her fists into her steering wheel and screaming, looking the woman right in her face through the window. "Leave me the fuck alone!" she shouted, loud enough for passerbys to hear. This seemed to work well enough, as the woman and her child quickly turned heel and rushed away. She collected herself, backed out of the parking lot, and headed towards her next errand. *** "Liam told me he'd met her at a show she did downtown. Perhaps she still frequents local theatre," Keagan said, "We could just go down there and see." "How would we know? She wore a costume," Michelle said, "We never saw what her face looked like. Unless he's got a photo he's willing to lend you, I don't think that's going to do the trick." "Oh...yeah, you're right. Dammit," Keagan stirred her coffee again and thought, chewing on her lip, "How about...well, no, I don't want to bother him anymore than we already have." "Sounded like the poor guy's been through the ringer lately, so that's probably the right choice," Michelle replied, before adding, "...damn, how do you find someone who doesn't want to be found?" "Wait, you have those episodes recorded right? In the end credits of shows, they always say where they're filmed at, what sound stage, what studio. Maybe we freeze frame it, figure out where they shot it and then go there for more information?" "That's...not a bad idea, actually," Michelle said, "We could go back to my place and I could load it up so we can screenshot it." A plan now coming together, the girls seemed happy, and it felt like things were starting to look up. *** "I'm sorry, we don't know where it is," the drycleaner said, "It's...it's somewhere in here, but we can't find it at the moment. I know this is probably extremely upsetting, but please just be patient and I'll call you immediately when we find it." "How do you lose clothes?! Your entire business is based around clothing!" the woman shouted, clearly agitated as she rubbed her hands against her face, "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It's a mistake, I know you didn't mean it." "We really don't, you've been coming here for years, you know we rarely have mistakes like this," the drycleaner said, "Tell you what, next cleaning is on the house, okay? Does that sweeten the deal?" "It does ease the pain a little, yes," she replied, smiling for the first time that day, "Alright Gino, just...please find it. It was very important to me." She stumbled back through the door, hearing the little bell ring overhead, and stopped on the sidewalk as a couple walked by with a large dog on a leash. The dog stopped and tried to smell her hands, then licked them gently. She smiled at this, then looked up at the couple. "He seems very sweet," she said, "What's his name?" "Corky," the woman holding the leash said, "He's usually scared of strangers, I'm surprised to see him act like this." "Dogs have always liked me," the woman said, "I used to have a dog myself, so he probably can sense that. They can sense a lot of things people can't. That's why when you see footage of haunted houses with pets in them, they can always see the ghosts, they stare at the walls, because they can see things we can't. They're brilliant, loving animals." She knelt down and stroked Corky's face, scruffing his ears a bit and smiling at him. "You're a good boy, Corky," she said, "Thank you for the kisses." After the couple led Corky away, she got back into her car and, fighting back tears, started up again to head on home. Her day was done, and it was time to relax, destress and have something to eat. *** "Leslie Swann Studios," Keagan read, squinting her eyes as she leaned as close to the television as she could, "Jesus it's in such small print and it's such an old recording, it was kind of hard to make out but that's what it says. Goddamn my eyes hurt now." "Leslie Swann Studios?" Michelle asked, quickly typing away into her browser and hitting 'search'; she scrolled a bit before finding something, "here we go, Leslie Swann Studios, downtown, here's the address right here. Public Access Television, she's the current owner and president, we could easily make an appointment to speak to her." "Really? That's an option?" "Well it says studio tour, but I'm sure if I asked to speak to her specifically I could finagle that," Michelle said, opening her e-mail and copy/pasting Leslie's address into the to field, before looking up at Keagan and asking, "...do we really wanna do this? What if all she wants is to be left alone?" "That coming from you?" "I know, it's weird, but...I want to meet her more than anyone else, but what if we're violating her space? Didn't Liam say she was, like, heartbroken over losing control of her lifes work and how it'd been treated? What if she just doesn't want to see anyone ever?" "Well, she should've thought of that before she became a public icon," Keagan said, "Once you're in that line of work you basically forfeit all rights to privacy." Keagan sat on the couch beside Michelle, and together they cobbled together a little e-mail to Leslie Swann. After they hit send, they got some Chinese food delivered and spent the evening just watching television and eating, waiting for a response. Finally, right as Keagan was getting her jacket on the head to work, a response blipped into Michelle's inbox. "She says to come down tomorrow," Michelle said, "3pm." "Well then let's get this party started," Keagan said, grinning. The hunt was on. *** The door to her apartment opened, and the woman entered, dropping her grocery bags on her counter before heading into the living room to take off her coat and scarf. She hung them up neatly on the rack against the wall and then headed back to the kitchen to put her groceries away when she heard something fall. She turned to see a framed photo on the ground. She sighed and walked over, picking it up, reminding herself internally to get a new frame. This had been happening for months because the standee on the back had been broken for ages, and it wobbled, constantly falling off the table. She held the photo in her hands and she smiled. There she was, younger and vibrant, her dog sitting right there by her side, the two of them licking a Vanilla ice cream cone. Her absolute favorite photo of her now deceased dog. She sat on the couch and continued looking at the photo, and ran her fingertips down the glass in the frame. The dog had been gone for a number of years by this point, she was used to the loneliness, but she still missed her incredibly so. But despite being deceased, the dog had lived on. After all, she'd modeled the costume after her. The phone rang and voicemail picked it up. Liam spoke. "Bea, it's Liam. Um, thank you for your message, it's....been hard lately, for me, and now that he's gone, I...I guess I just wanted to hear a familiar voice. Anyway, you don't have to call me if you don't want to, but I'd sure like to hear from you. I miss you. Everyone does. Bye." Beatrice looked back at the photo and shook her head, pulling the frame to her chest and starting to cry. She'd never really dealt with loss well, and her grief had, over time, eaten up the majority of what was left inside of her emotionally. She just couldn't handle it anymore. Where had all the years gone? Where had her creativity died? Where had her drive diminished to? She no longer wanted to do anything, but doing nothing was also just as equally bad. She felt stuck. Bea stood up and placed the photo on the table again, then went back to the kitchen to start cooking dinner. That night she had a nice dream, though. She dreamt she and her dog were together again, playing in a field, the field near her house where she'd grown up, and she was a little girl once more. God how she longed to feel her fingers running through that dogs fur, feel the warmth of its body pressed against hers as they slept in front of the fireplace during the winter, hear its bark when she came home from school every day. God how she missed that dog. God how she missed Beatrice Beagle. The sound of the dial clicking as she rolled through the channels, flipping past each one until finally landing on the one she was searching for, that was a sound she carried with her throughout the rest of her life. Even after getting home from the hospital, she tuned into the new episodes of Beatrice Beagle every Saturday morning, like clockwork. She'd hold her stuffed Beatrice that she'd gotten at the pizzeria gift shop, and she'd laugh and smile and sing along with the characters who had kept her company lo those many lonesome months in her hospital room as she struggled to breath properly. Her oxygen tank beside her, her tubes in her nose, Michelle couldn't be happier every Saturday morning than she was, and it was good too, because the brightness and the songs distracted from the screaming that went on behind her.
God, when had things gotten to be this way? When had things gotten to be that television was the only form of escape for little Michelle? All she knew was she was grateful for it. Beatrice was the doting mother she wished she could have, even if she only knew her and could feel her love emanating from the screen of a television once a week (or daily in reruns). Beatrice's warms words of wisdom became pieces of advice to live by, things that Michelle followed to a hilt in her day to day life, even as a little girl. She didn't have much choice, it wasn't as if her parents were going to give her anything like that. Sometimes Michelle would throw a big blanket over the television and herself, to try and keep the sounds of screaming and crying from creeping into the perfected puppet world she was immersed in. It only worked to a certain extent, and Beatrice's show only lasted a finite amount of time for each episode, after which the credits rolled and Michelle was once again thrust back into the world of familial misery. But Beatrice...god how Beatrice saved her life, even moreso than the oxygen tank. *** The closest Michelle ever got to meeting Beatrice was the animatronics at the pizzeria. Oh sure, they had people in full character costumes walking around, but they weren't Beatrice, even Michelle knew this, because despite looking like her, they didn't sound like her. Beatrice was nothing without her soft wilting voice, and this was the key difference. But on the stage? During the showtimes? That was Beatrice, visually and audio wise. The thing about the people from Beatrice Beagle is they never did shows. They never ever did live performances. They never even did public appearances, so this was the only way Michelle could ever manage to get even remotely close to meeting her hero, and she took it in stride. One night, while the pizzeria was preparing to close down and her parents were, likely, arguing in another part of the restaurant, Michelle snuck backstage during the downtime for the animatronics, and as she stood gazing up at this enormous robotic Beatrice, she couldn't help but feel safer than she ever had in her entire life. Michelle threw her arms around it and squeezed it tight, crying against its fur, wishing she could just stay here. The plush doll she took home was a nice substitute, but nothing ever matched the animatronics, and that's why, ever since those days, Michelle had spent countless hours scouring the internet for any information on them. Often times things like these come up at auction, but she never once ran across any of them, and it broke her heart. All she wanted was a Beatrice all her own, a guard dog for her heart. *** Sitting on her couch, her mask tightly on her face, Michelle continued searching for the animatronics online. This was her day off, and she'd spent most of it right there on the couch since it was raining outside. She didn't feel good enough to go downstairs into the basement and work on her project, so instead she was taking it kind of easy. As she clicked through to yet another site selling off pieces from now defunct business - be they theme parks, restaurants or schools - her landline rang. She glanced over her shoulder at it and sighed. She knew exactly who it was, even before the machine picked up. "Michelle, it's your mother. Call me back when you get this, I'd like to talk to you about something regarding your father, thank you." The message lasted a measly 15 seconds, and Michelle had absolutely no intention of calling her back tonight, or anytime soon really. The way she saw it, her parents could deal with one another themselves, because she'd already put up with more than enough. She turned her attention back to the webpage loading in front of her and sighed, typing into the search field "Beatrice Beagle". Nothing, as always, came up. *** The banging had started again. Curling up under her blanket in her closet, squeezing her plush Beatrice to her chest tightly, Michelle knew that they'd never hit one another or break anything. It was always slamming doors and foot stomping. She hated it, though, the context didn't make it any less horrible to be around. She shut her eyes and cried against Beatrices head, wishing she could be anywhere else, especially at the pizzeria right then. When her father finally left that night, he didn't come back, and from that point on it was only Michelle and her mom. Not that this made things any better, her mother didn't become anymore open with her than she had been before, but at least the fighting stopped. No more screaming was worth the change, and Michelle took it for what it was. She only saw her father a few times a year after that, and one of those times was for her 11th birthday, when he insisted he take her to the last remaining pizzeria that was about to shut down that coming week, for, as he put it, "old times sake". The way Michelle saw it, though, was that in order to do something for old times sake, you had to have enjoyed the old times enough to want to relive them, and aside from being at and loving the pizzeria, she didn't. Sitting at the table, eating greasy pizza that was nowhere near as good as childhood her had once thought it was, her father loosened his tie and leaned across the table, cupping his hands in an almost prayer like act of forgiveness. "You know it wasn't about you, right?" he asked her, "I mean, your health issues didn't make things any better, but...but it was never about you." "I know," Michelle said, picking pepperoni out of her braces, "I know that." She knew it, sure, but she barely believed it. He and mom only seemed to fight when it came to the fact of her health. That always appeared to be the catalyst for their fights, even if he didn't want to openly cop to it. Michelle set her pizza down and looked around the restaurant, at its aging and poorly maintained technology, and realized that once this place shut down, the only place she'd ever really felt safe at as a child would be gone, and this made her want to hide and cry. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and sighed. "Dad?" she asked, and he finished chewing, wiping his mouth with his napking. "Yeah?" he asked, mouth still half full of pizza. "...what happens to all this stuff when they shut down?" "I don't really know, honestly," her dad said, "I guess they probably sell it at discount prices to whoever is the highest bidder, or maybe break it down and repurpose it all." "So they're going to tear the animatronics apart?" Michelle asked, the fear of what was about to befall her beloved icons evident in her voice. He shrugged and scratched his forehead, clearly unsure if whether what he said was even remotely true or not. That had just been what he figured, that everything got recycled in the tech world because it was so expensive to rebuild it from scratch. "I don't know, Shell, I really don't," he replied, "I'm not in this business, I have no idea what they do with all this stuff." Seemed like no matter where she was, something was always tearing down the things she wanted to stick around, and she was completely incapable of stopping it from happening. *** "You know," Michelle said, on the phone with her mother the following morning as she poured cereal into her bowl, "I don't really care whether dad wants to see me or not. I'm busy, I'm working now, so he'll have to see me when I have time." "And where are you working?" her mother asked, always needing to know each and every detail. "I'm an assistant," Michelle said, sitting down and eating her cereal dry, "I have to go. I'm going to be late for work." With that, she hung up, but she was also lying. She wasn't going to be late for work, she'd called in sick. She was sick too, it wasn't a lie, she was having trouble breathing that day, and really needed to take it easy. Thankfully David understood her medical condition, and didn't make any issue of it. She was beginning to appreciate David more and more, and was growing grateful that she'd lucked out being told to meet him. As she scooped up a bunch of cereal into her mouth, her doorbell rang, and she rolled her eyes as she stood up to answer it, only to find - much to her surprise - Delores standing there. "Hello!" Delores said, pushing her way in, cheerful as always. "What...what are you doing here?" Michelle attempted to mumble, trying to keep cereal from following out from between her lips. Delores strolled inside, set her purse and coat down on the couch and turned around, looking at Michelle. "I hope you don't think of this as an invasion of your privacy," she said, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable." "It's...fine," Michelle said, even though it was so very clearly not fine, "Um...can I get you anything?" "Oh goodness no, I'm only stopping by on my way to work, I just wanted to check in on you and make sure you were doing well. David told me you weren't feeling well, so I thought I'd drop in and see how you were doing." "Oh, um, I mean, yeah...my...my breathing isn't super great right now and my chest has felt tight," Michelle said, "But, you know, I have my tanks and stuff, and as long as I take it easy I should be okay." Delores leaned against the couch and sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, maybe me coming here was inappropriate," she said, "I just...I worry about you because of your health. I know I shouldn't, I know we barely know one another and that I just help you find employment, but, I can't help it. Nobody should have to feel scared when they're sick." Something inside of Michelle warmed at hearing this. It had been a long time since someone had been so unashamedly kind towards her, especially in regards to her health. She knew Delores was nice, she'd always been nice, but this was a whole other level. Delores sighed and looked at Michelle. "Well, I guess I should get going. I'm glad you're doing okay," she said, gathering up her coat and her purse. "Um, do you...want to go get something to eat?" Michelle asked as she approached the door, making Delores stop and turn to face her. "That would be delightful, yes," she said happily. There was something about Delores that Michelle had never been able to grasp exactly, but she was beginning to think it was the same warmth that she felt coming from Beatrice. That same comfort and safety she had radiating off of her that made Michelle feel like she was actually okay around her, and that Delores - like Beatrice - would never do anything to hurt her. Sitting in a pancake house a few miles away shortly after, Delores told Michelle all about herself, and they shared a lot of laughs. It was the first Saturday morning Michelle had spent in ages not watching Beatrice Beagle reruns, and she didn't regret it for a second. *** Michelle could remember when the final episode aired, and she cried all the way through it. She was never going to see Beatrice again, and she knew this. Her parents, fighting as usual in the kitchen, were confused when they saw her run to her room, sobbing, clutching her Beatrice doll to her chest, and thought she was crying because of their argument. They would never have, in a million years, guessed it was because her favorite show, her only comfort in this world among all the pain and anger and sickness, had just been taken away from her. It's amazing sometimes, Michelle would later think, how very little parents can actually know about their children. Liam Grearson was sitting at a table by the window, sipping his coffee, bundled up against the oncoming storm when he heard the bell over the door ring. He glanced in that direction and spotted a young black woman enter, a scarf dangling around her neck, a backpack on her shoulders. She seemed to scan the cafe momentarily until her eyes met Liam's, and he nodded. She smiled and began approaching his table, seating herself.
"It's freezing out there," Keagan said, "It's the middle of March but it's still like it's winter." "Winters are getting longer and colder everywhere," Liam said, taking another sip of his coffee, letting the flavor rest on his tongue, savoring it, before he opened his eyes again and noticed Keagan had pulled out a tape recorder. "You don't...mind, do you?" she asked, motioning to the device, "I'd like to put it up on the site." "...no, not at all, it's fine," Liam said, "So what exactly do you want me to say?" "I have no idea, honestly," Keagan said, "Anything, really, would be appreciated. I'd love to hear some stuff about the production, your relationship to Marvin - I mean, if you're, you know, comfortable going into all that - or even, like...Beatrice herself? Because nobody knows anything about her." "Believe me," Liam said, leaning back in his chair, "That's exactly how she wants it." This caught Keagan's attention, and she settled in, prepared to hear a story. "So," Liam continued, "I guess I should tell you about how I met Beatrice." *** Liam Grearson was 19 years old, and attempting to live his dream of acting. He'd loved the theatre ever since he'd been a little boy, and the only thing he'd ever really wanted was to perform for people. He didn't care what the material was (so long as it wasn't absolute trash) and he wasn't picky, he merely did anything he could get his hands on, but lately things hadn't been going so well. Offers had all dried up, going to people much more handsome than he was, theatre boys willing to do the things that Liam wasn't willing to do in order to land the parts he so desired. So he began searching for work elsewhere, only to find it in the most unexpected place. "You have to see this to believe it," his roommate at the time, a young woman named Hazel, told him, "It's this totally surreal thing, it's unlike anything you've seen on stage, I guarantee it." "I still don't really understand what it is," Liam said as she dragged him up the street in the frigid fall weather to the small unknown theatre. "I've been back like eight times already, just trust me," Hazel said, and Liam did. They seated themselves, a small but thoroughly packed crowd surrounding them, and only after a bit did the lights finally dim and the curtain rose. A dog house was sitting on the stage, and next to it, in a full body dog suit, like a theme park mascot, was a adult sized Beagle. Instantly, Liam was hooked. Quiet music, not somber but uplifting, played in the background (clearly something that was on a loop on a CD player nearby, not being performed live), and Beatrice turned to face the crowd. "We only live so long," she said, "And yet we feel so much more than you do. We know so much more than you do. We experience life on a grander more intense scale in a shorter amount of time. When you collapse seven years into one year, it's guaranteed to assume that life speeds up. Everything comes faster, everything feels stronger, and everything's over quicker." Beatrice leaned against the doghouse and looked down at her bowl. She sighed and folded her arms. "And then, we're replaced. You don't replace other members of your family. You don't get new grandparents when the old ones die. And while so many might claim that dogs aren't replaceable, that all you're doing is bringing another new friend home, we know that's bullshit. You miss the companionship, not the dog. You replace us for selfish reasons, not out of grief. We know this, and yet...we love you still the same. With the same ferocity that we always would've, because we're forgiving, loyal and understanding creatures." Liam's jaw had dropped. Hazel wasn't wrong, this was unlike anything he'd ever seen before on the stage, and he was so thankful he had allowed her to drag him down here. After the show ended, Liam waited as Hazel went to the coffee house a few blocks down to wait for him. Liam wanted to meet the woman who had created this character, this magnificently deep and human like dog. When she finally exited out the back, she was surprised to find him waiting there. He almost didn't recognize her, until he noticed the dog head under her arm. "Hey," Liam said, "I'm...I wanted to congratulate you." "...oh," she replied, her voice low, her eyes flighty. She had light skin and strawberry blonde hair, not exactly curly but bouncy; her face was adorned with freckles, and her eyes were home to the longest pair of natural lashes Liam had ever seen. She was so very the opposite of what he expected. He expected theatre girls, especially weird ones, to be quirky and boisterous, loud and obnoxious, but Beatrice...she was intensely reserved. "Well, thank...thank you," she said, shaking his hand, "um...thank you for coming, I'm glad you enjoyed it." "You just...you speak so eloquently, and with such depth, it was really something else," Liam said, walking alongside her now down the street, presumably to her car. "I'm always surprised to find people on the other side of the curtain every time it parts. I always expect it to be empty, even after the sold out shows for the last few weeks," Bea said, "Can you hold this?" She handed the head off to Liam, who looked at it. It was so expertly crafted, so intricately detailed. He was surprised, he'd never seen anything like this this well done before. He watched as she opened up a junky old beaten up car and began loading her things into the trunk. After a bit she turned and he gave the head back to her. "Um, listen, would you like to meet sometime again, and, I don't know, discuss ideas for projects?" he asked. "You're not an agent are you?" she asked, sounding cautious. "Hah! No, thank god no. No, I'm just another theatre dork, looking to do what you're doing, honestly," Liam said, and this made her smile. She agreed to meet him again, and they exchanged phone numbers. Liam was so excited for whatever the future might hold that night that he barely slept, and he'd barely sleep for the rest of the time he knew her. *** "The thing about Beatrice that you need to understand," Liam said, now leaning forward and cupping his mug tightly with his hands, "is that she doesn't...god, how do I put this...Beatrice isn't just a woman who created this thing that was bastardized. She really IS the Beagle. It's...it's not a character to her." "What does that mean?" Keagan asked, probing a bit further, licking her coffee off her lips. "Phew, um," Liam scratched his forehead with his pinky, "Beatrice was the most intense person I ever knew, which doesn't make sense because she was so quiet and collected. Intensity, when you think of it in a person as a trait, you think they're explosive and adventurous, but Beatrice wasn't like that. Everything was calculated to her. She didn't act on something without it being planned to perfection, beat by beat. That's what I admired most about her, was the fact that she...she was so dedicated to what she did. That's why I hate myself for meeting her, because...I ruined her life." "What?" Keagan asked, surprised by this admission, "How could you have-" "Because I'm the one who told her to take it wider," Liam said. *** The last day Liam Grearson saw Beatrice was a week after the show wrapped indefinitely. The set still hadn't been broken down, and Bea was sitting on the reinforced foam wall next to the doghouse. She was in full costume, and the lights were low in the studio. Liam opened the door, coming back to pick up a few things he'd left the night before when he had been here with a few cast members partying when he noticed Bea sitting by herself. He shoved his pockets into his coat pockets and walked across the room, plopping himself down on the wall beside her. "Everything's gonna be okay," Liam said. "Do you know what it's like to watch something you love die twice?" Beatrice asked, pulling the dog head off her own and looking into its eyes, her hair still up in a messy bun, her glasses sliding off her face, "...something you...you never wanted to lose in the first place, but now you've lost it twice?" "I'm not sure I understand," Liam said softly. "...nobody would," Bea said, "...why did this happen?" "The place went bankrupt, chains aren't bringing in money anymore, and so-" "No, not that. Why did I allow you to trick me into selling it all to hawk some food?" she asked, sounding angry, an emotion he rarely heard her display, "...you turned something personal into...into a mascot. She wasn't a mascot, she was Beatrice. You bastardized her for the money." "For you!" Liam said, "I did it for you! So you could go on and do something else! So you...you wouldn't be stuck doing this for years in the same dingy little unknown downtown theatre holes! You have so much talent, Bea! You just need to-" "I liked what I was doing!" Beatrice said, standing up, her eyes emptier than they'd ever been before, "I was happy doing what I was doing! Then you showed up and ruined all of it!" He didn't know how to react to that. Bea got out of the costume, now standing in just her leotard on the set, and slung the whole thing over her shoulder, the head under her arm as it had always been when not on her shoulders, and then she turned and walked out. Liam didn't follow her. He waited a bit, but she never came back. And they never spoke again. *** "She wouldn't take my calls," Liam said, "She wouldn't talk to me, no matter what I did, so I just...I gave her her space." "You loved her," Keagan said quietly. "In a way, like a child, yeah. Even though we were about the same age, she...she was so much younger than me in so many ways. She has the brain of a six year old, she never grew up, really, and she's able to connect to children. I betrayed what she held most dear, and the only right thing to do was let her go. She was my best friend for a long time, but she wasn't wrong, I'd sold the whole thing under so we could hopefully make something more out of our lives afterwards, but that's the thing about Beatrice that I never once considered...she never needed more. She was fine playing that dog for as long as she lived." "Jeez," Keagan said, her tape stopping. She took it out of the recorder and flipped it over, sliding it back in and starting again, "So...where is she now?" "Far as I know, she could be anywhere. But, and I hesitate to show you this but I feel like I should, she did send me this after Marvin died," Liam said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and, opening up his e-mail, pulled up an unlisted Youtube video. It was only a mere 45 seconds long, but it loaded instantly. It was her, Beatrice, in the suit, sitting in what looked like a childs room. "Hello Liam," she said, "I know we haven't spoken in ages, and this likely isn't the most direct method of communication, but it's what I feel most comfortable with. I want you to know I am thinking of you in these hard times. Marvin was a good friend to all of us. I miss you, and I hope you are well. I hope you don't take this too hard." And with that, the video cut to black. Keagan was beside herself, she couldn't believe what she'd just seen. She handed the phone back to Liam and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I know," Liam said, commenting on her reaction, "She has that effect on people." "I need you to help me find her," Keagan said. "I don't even know how," Liam said. "This woman needs to be spoken to," Keagan said, "She needs to understand the impact she had that she might be unaware of." "I'm not disagreeing, I just have no idea where she could be," Liam said. "Well," Keagan stated, "Everyone leaves a paper trail. We just need to find it." *** Keagan got home late that night, and then went to work. When she got off of work, she had only one thing on her mind. She stayed up late into the early morning, working on Liam's audio and cutting their conversation into something worthy listening to, but she didn't post it to the site like she'd claimed. Instead Keagan opened an e-mail and addressed it to Michelle, then added the audio as an attachment. She knew only one other person would truly appreciate what this was, and she was happy to have that person to share it with. When she woke up the following afternoon, she had a one sentence e-mail response from Michelle, which read: "This is so sad. I wish I knew what happened to her." Keagan responded back with a similarly simplistic message: "I'm working on it. Maybe we should meet." |
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
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