The sun peaked through the slit blinds of Leslie Swann's bedroom, splashing onto her face, making her skin warm ever so slightly. She rolled over, stretching and yawning, half her face hidden by her long bouncy hair, until she smiled, seeing Beatrice lying in bed beside her. Bea smiled back at her, reaching out and pushing Leslie's hair back behind her ear.
"When my husband and I split, after the miscarriage, I never thought I'd feel this safe in a bedroom again," Leslie said, speaking softly, "...amazing how things can change if you give them the chance." "I'm not used to being with others," Bea said, "I'm...it makes me almost...scared." "You don't have to be scared," Leslie said, "I know it's scary, but you never have to be scared with me. I always admired you. I was so touched when you asked if I would come on board, I couldn't believe it. And then that night..." Bea smiled again as Leslie wiggled closer and kissed her. After it broke, Leslie rolled back over and sighed. "People were right," Beatrice said, "It IS easy to bed women when you're famous." Leslie couldn't help it, she broke out in contagious laughter, making Bea laugh too. It was a good morning. *** Eliza spun around in her chair, holding up a small train, making Michelle smile. "Do you wanna do the honors?" Eliza asked, and Michelle nodded, getting up from the chair and walking to the table where Eliza attached the train to the rest of the line and then stepped back, pointing at the table, adding, "on the side there, you'll see a switch, just flick it and the whole thing will turn on." "Okay," Michelle said, fiddling around with her fingers until she finally found the switch and flicked it, the whole table coming to life; the streetlamps flickering on, the train beginning to whistle as it took off around the track that surrounded the cute little town Eliza had built. Michelle stepped back beside Eliza and admired it, hands on her hips. "This is what God must feel like," Michelle said, making Eliza scoff. "God doesn't see the beauty in what's made, to him creation is nothing more than an assembly line, churning out things quick and cheaply, hoping nobody will notice the shoddy craftsmanship," Eliza said, "...I'm way more invested than God in what I bring to life." Michelle laughed, just as Eliza's father opened the bedroom door and looked inside. "Uh, girls, you have a phone call," he said, "They're asking to talk to either one of you." Eliza and Michelle glanced at one another, then Eliza shrugged and went back to the table, leaving Michelle to take the cordless phone Don handed her. Michelle graciously took it from him, mouthing 'thank you' as he smiled at her and exited. She lifted the phone to ear. "Hello?" she asked, "Hi Bea. Yeah, I'm with Eliza right now." Eliza stopped looking at her train set and looked back at Michelle, one eyebrow raised now. "Okay, we'll be there shortly," Michelle said, before hanging up and looking at Eliza, adding, "That was Beatrice. She wants us to meet here somewhere." *** The show had been airing for a few weeks now, and the reviews were absolutely spectacular. Beatrice herself was called a "savant" by many, and one very kind write up even went so far as to state that she truly understood the child mindset, making her a remarkable asset to their developmental abilities. These reviews certainly made Beatrice feel good, better than she had in months actually, but she still preferred to stay out of the limelight and let Liam deal anything press wise. Liam, however, also didn't seem to enjoy his newfound responsibility to talk to the press, but he did it out of respect for Bea. Sitting in his office at the network, typing away something on his keyboard, he heard a knock on the door and looked up, only to see Stephanie standing there, grinning at him as he looked up at her and adjusted his oval glasses. "Hi," she said, "Am I interrupting?" "I fuckin' wish," Liam said, making her chuckle as she cautiously entered the room, clearly somewhat nervous about something. She folded her arms as she began to pace in his office. "Um...so," Stephanie said, "The show is a wild success, as we all know now. So we should talk about our next move. Obviously we still have a handful of episodes left to air this season, but we should talk about next season, and even potentially additional seasons beyond that, and also merchandising." "Bea's not gonna go for merchandising," Liam said. "I'm aware of that, which is partially why I'm here," Stephanie said, "You're her best friend, her closest creative ally, and I think you-" "No," Liam said sternly, "I already screwed up my friendship with her once, and nearly lost her for good. I...I was responsible for her losing faith in the creative industry and essentially shuttering herself away from the world for like 20 years. I can't...no, Stephanie, I can't be responsible for that again, I refuse." "We just need to have the conversation. It doesn't have to go anywhere. The higherups are pushing me to at least talk with her about this," Stephanie said. "The higherups? You run this place!" Liam said. "I have bosses, everyone has a boss," Stephanie said, "I just...please, talk to her." "I...if I do, you have to promise it can't go anywhere," Liam said, "As you said, we'll simply have the conversation, and leave it at a mutual disagreement, unable to meet a ground where everyone is happy. Stephanie, I understand where you're coming from, I do. I handled all the business stuff in the past for her, and she's essentially saddling me with it again this round, but I..." Liam leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his thinning hair, sighing deeply. "...Bea and I go back a long way, and we have a very...complex and strange and often times strained relationship, and I will never do anything to remotely jeopardize that again. We're already getting inundated with offers from toy companies and such that I have to sift through and either outright deny or potentially approve, and only once I run the potential approvals by her. A few weeks ago, she drove me out to her parents house, and after seeing what I saw there, I simply cannot morally allow any further bastardization of something so deeply personal and important to her." This remark piqued Stephanie's curiosity, as she seated herself on the edge of Liam's desk. "What do you mean?" she asked. "It's not really my place to expand upon it, honestly," Liam said, "maybe she'll tell you someday. All I'll say is this...if you try and make something out of Beatrice Beagle beyond her comfort zone, you'll be actively attacking a part of herself. This dog...is not just a character to Bea." Stephanie left Liam's office shortly after this discussion, all the more curious about Bea's past. She figured she'd approach Bea about it next time she saw her, and until then, well, she'd just let sleeping dogs lay. *** Michelle, driving with Eliza in the passenger seat, was curious why Bea wanted to meet with them. Eliza adjusted the air conditioner to blow directly on her face, and shut her eyes, enjoying it as her hair blew back. Michelle couldn't help but smile at appreciating such simplicity. After a few moments, Eliza looked at Michelle and adjusted her big glasses. "Um," Eliza said, "...can I ask you a question?" "Of course," Michelle said happily. "Beatrice is sort of like...a parent to you, in some way, right?" Eliza asked. "Beatrice isn't like a parent, she's...it's hard to explain. She's kind of like...my conscience, in a way," Michelle said, "Beatrice Beagle, the character, showed me how to like myself and how to be happy when I was a sick little girl. She often felt like the only friend I had. I understand parasocial relationships aren't healthy, but at the same time, what kind of relationship is? I mean they're all variations, right? No relationship is 100% healthy." "This isn't parasocial," Eliza said, chewing on her necklace, "You actually know Beatrice." "I do, but...at the same time, it's a very broad generalized knowing, you know what I mean? I do know her, but not in the same way that Liam, or even you, knows her. You know her extremely well," Michelle said, "and over time we will get to know one another better and better, but, right now..." Eliza nodded, looking at her glittery nails and sighing. "Can I tell you a secret?" Eliza asked. "Always." "After my mom died, I used to pretend Bea was my mom. In my head, I mean. I would, uh, go into these maladaptive daydreams and fantasize about what it'd be like if Bea was my mom. Beatrice was always so comforting, and so trusting, and she always believed in me and my skills. My mom loved me, I can't deny that, but she did sometimes make remarks that I could've done more. My mom wanted me to reach for something I couldn't grab, but Bea was just happy with what I was able to hold at all." Michelle smiled, tears swelling in her eyes. "I don't know. That level of acceptance is, to me, far better," Eliza said, "No expectations, just joyous respect." As the car pulled up to a stop at a storage unit, they saw Leslie standing outside, waving at them. They hadn't expected to see her here, but Eliza rolled down her window as they approached so Leslie could bend over and tell them to pull into the lot and then follow her, which they did. After parking and getting out, they followed Leslie into another area of the unit, until they finally saw Beatrice leaning against the wall, spinning a keyring around her index finger. "They're here," Leslie said. "Thank you," Bea said politely, "You guys, all of you, need to follow me please." The three women followed Bea to a staircase, and up it to the second, then the third and finally the fourth floor. By the time they reached the floor, Michelle was leaning against a wall, panting, as she pulled her inhaler out of her pocket and took a few puffs. Eliza stopped and walked back to her, kneeling down, touching her shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Yeah," Michelle said, "Just...wish this place had an elevator." Eliza helped Michelle back up and together they caught back up with Bea and Leslie, who had by this point stopped at a unit near the end of the floor. Bea was pushing a key into the lock attached to the unit and clicking it open, removing the lock. She then turned and looked at the three women, smiling at each of them as their eyes made contact. "I asked you three to come here because...outside of Liam, you guys are my best friends, and...and you're who I trust to open myself up to the most," Bea said, "that's why I need help cleaning this out." All Michelle could think about was the unit Liam had taken her to months previously, and now here she was, back at another storage unit. How many buried secrets did this people have? Bea reached to the handle and lifted the door up, then reached inside and pulled the string on the light hanging from the ceiling, blasting the unit with blinding brightness. After the woman were finished shielding their eyes momentarily, they each stared ahead at the interior, each unsure of how to react. Inside the unit sat a plethora of things, ranging from photo albums of Beatrice and her family to boxes of rejected various merchandise to, of all things, suit prototypes. As they each entered the unit, Bea stepped back, folding her arms and clearing her throat. "Up until now, even with knowing each of you for various lengths of time, I've remained kind of a mystery, and for this to work, I can't be an island anymore. I want you to look through these things, ask me questions, and then help me move it out of here. It's time to stop living in the past." Eliza asked Bea about her parents, while Michelle asked Bea about the stuff from the show, while Leslie just sat in silence, smiling, enjoying seeing Bea finally open up to people. She had a feeling this was going to be a wonderful partnership. Lying in bed that morning, Bea had talked about how secrets were the one thing holding her back from those she wanted to connect with most, and how she was finally ready to be free of them. How her parents had never lied to her, how her parents had taught her to be an honest person, and show business was what had driven her to create fabrications, how grief had managed to manifest untruths in order to cope. But she was ready to move past all of that now, and she made a promise to never lie to those she loved. If only she knew the irony. *** It was dark, and Amelia Burden was standing in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. She was 11 years old, and she was in her pajamas, ready to get into bed. The only issue was that Beatrice wouldn't come inside. It was getting dark, and Bea was outside barking her head off, despite how many times Amelia had called for her to come in. Gordon, standing, watching his daughter brush her teeth, kissed the top of her head as she passed him on the way exiting the bathroom. "I can't sleep without her," Amelia said. "I'll get her in, you just get in bed and she'll join you. She's a dog, sweetheart, she needs to bark," Gordon said, smiling as he led his daughter to her bedroom. Amelia climbed into bed and pulled the covers up. Gordon tucked her in, kissed her nose and knelt by her bedside. "I love you, and I hope you have sweet dreams," Gordon said, "I'll go get Bea, okay? When you wake up, she'll be right here with you as always, I promise." Amelia smiled and nodded, yawning. She was sleepy, actually. With that promise, she felt like she could actually go to sleep comfortable with the knowledge that her dog would be with her the following morning. Gordon headed back downstairs, made himself a bowl of ice cream and then sat in his recliner to finish reading the chapter of the book he was currently engrossed in. He'd go get Bea after he finished this. A few minutes later, he heard the backdoor open swiftly and his wives shoes tapping on the floor as she rushed to the living room. Gordon turned to look at her; her hair a mess, her eye makeup running, she was covered in dirt and blood. "...what the hell?" he muttered. "gordon," she whispered, "you need to come." Gordon immediately got up and, after pulling on his jacket and grabbing a flashlight, followed his wife outside, the two speaking in hushed voices as they walked briskly across the field, towards the road. "Jesus it's cold tonight," Gordon said, "What's happened?" "it's terrible, and i don't...i don't know what to do, and..." Gloria muttered, "i needed you." "Well I'm here, I'll fix it, whatever it is." "no..." Gloria said, stopping and looking at him, "...you can't fix this." A few moments later they reached the road, and Gordon immediately knew she was right. His stomach dropped, the wind knocked out of him. Lying there, dragged to the side of the road - presumably by Gloria, noting the blood on her clothes now - was Beatrice's body. Gordon approached the dog cautiously, and then knelt down, running his hand over her soft fur. He shook his head, his eyes shutting tightly, tears rolling down his face. It was over. She was already dead. After a few moments, he stood up and approached Gloria, putting the flashlight in her hands and then putting his hands on her shoulders. "Listen to me, okay?" he asked, seeing her nod as he continued, "you're going to take Bea back to the house, and you're going to bury her. Do it deep. Use the good shovel from the shed, okay? Then wash your clothes, take a shower, and go to bed. Do not let Amelia wake up, okay? I'm going to go into town." "What are you going to do?" Gloria asked. "I'm going to find a new dog," Gordon said. He'd made a promise, and god dammit he was going to keep it. Gloria did as she was told. She went back, got a wheelbarrow, managed to hoist Beatrice's body into it and then take it back as quietly as she could. Once back at the house, she found the shovel and quickly dug a deep hole. As she looked at Bea's body in the wheelbarrow, she wanted to throw up. She reached down and kissed the dogs soft head, trying not to weep loudly. She told the dog that she was loved, and that she was sorry this had happened. She promised they'd find whoever had hit her. They never would. Then she lifted Bea's body out of the wheelbarrow and plopped it into the grave, quickly burying it and making it look natural. Then she went inside and she took a shower, washed her clothes, and went to bed. Gordon had read an ad in the paper recently about someone close by who had a dog they were trying to get rid of because it was too much work for them as they got up there in age, and he drove there immediately. He explained the situation, realized the dog looked nearly identical to Beatrice, and he paid cash. Sitting in the truck on the way back to the house, he glanced over occasionally at this imposter Bea and shook his head. "She can never know," he said, as if the dog would respond somehow, "okay? She can never find out about this." He was surprised when the dog nuzzled his arm and licked his hand. He took that as an oath of trust. When he got home, he put Bea's collar around the new dogs neck, carried it up the stairs, carefully opened Amelia's bedroom door and put the dog on the bed before retreating. He went back downstairs, took a shower, did his own laundry, and afterwards, in his pajamas, found his bowl of ice cream now melted. He wasn't even mad about the waste. He could let some ice cream go to waste. He couldn't let his daughters faith go to waste. He washed his bowl, and he went to bed. The following morning, when Amelia awoke, she was none the wiser. She and Beatrice were tight as ever, and she never learned of the extremes her parents had gone to keep this horrible tragedy hidden from her. Years later, when Amelia put Beatrice to sleep after she'd been riddled with cancerous tumors, it was a loss brought on by her own accord, not a loss life handed to her. It was natural, not cruel. After Bea was put down, when Amelia had gone back to college, her parents sat at their dinner table, each sipping a mug of coffee. "...we did the right thing," Gordon said, "she didn't have to say goodbye twice." "She didn't, but we did," Gloria said, making Gordon grimace. "That dog made this family," Gordon said, "I wasn't about to let that dogs absence tear us apart." "We're good parents, right?" Gloria asked, and Gordon, reaching across the table and holding his wifes hand gently, smiled at her. "She's never hated us yet," Gordon said, "and that counts for something." Oh yes, if only she knew the irony.
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Eliza Tartt was standing over her mothers headstone, looking down at the name, feeling like she was going to be sick. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she noticed her father shuffling up beside her. Don sighed as he pulled his daughter a little closer and looked at the headstone with her.
"It was a nice service, wasn't it?" he asked. "Mhm." "You did a good job," Don said quietly, "She'd be proud of you. She always was." Eliza appreciated the kind words her father was giving her, but she didn't really believe it. She only knew deep down two things for certain. The first was that she was an expert puppet maker, and the second...was that she'd killed her mother. Oh sure, it was an accident, but they'd been involved in it because of her, and that was something nobody could ever convince her otherwise of. *** "Well, here's to wrapping everything up," Leslie said, clinking her glass together with Bea, clinking it with Liam as well before taking a swig from it, adding as she licked her lips, "You know guys, I'm really grateful you asked me to come on board." "I'm glad you agreed to," Bea said. "I just saw the fire in your eyes, and I could tell you really were dedicated to it again," Leslie said, "So here's to hoping everyone else sees that same dedication when it starts to air. Any plans beyond this celebratory post filming night of debauchery?" "I'm gonna go to Disneyland," Liam said, making them laugh; he chuckled at his own joke then said, "actually, I think I am gonna go out of town for a while. I haven't had a vacation in years, and I could certainly use one, especially after everything that's happened. Last vacation I took was when Marvin and I..." He paused and looked at his drink, almost as if he were debating whether or not to say this out loud. "...was when we went to Canada, and saw Niagra Falls on our way up," he continued, "we went on the Maid of the Mist boat ride, went underneath the falls. That was pretty spectacular, and I always wanted to go back, but...few weeks later he was dead, so." "You should take that vacation," Bea said, patting his hand and smiling warmly. "I actually already bought tickets," Liam said, "I should probably get home early tonight so I can finish packing and get some sleep before heading out tomorrow." "I'll probably just hermit myself for a while," Bea said, "I never get alone time during shooting, so I kind of need it after the shoot's over. Need time to recharge, you know?" "I understand. As a hermit myself, I completely get why it's necessary," Leslie said. "Well then, here's to the Beagle, she rides again," Liam said, the three of them clinking their glasses once again before all drinking once more. *** Eliza heard the door to The Hole open and turned in her chair to see Michelle coming in. "Oh," Eliza said, setting her puppet down on the work table, "...hi." "Bea asked me to come out with her and Liam, but I'm running kind of late. You wanna go? I'm finally leaving now." "Where's...you know, your friends?" Eliza asked. "Keagan? She and Lexi had things to do. But I meant to ask you all day and I just kept getting sidetracked," Michelle said, pulling her inhaler from her pocket and huffing on it before stuffing it quickly back in her pocket, "but if you don't wanna go-" "No, I'll go!" Eliza said, quickly getting up from her chair and grabbing her coat, pulling it on and joining Michelle as they exited The Hole and walked down the hallway towards the parking lot; Eliza continued, "I'm surprised Bea didn't, uh, I guess come say something. She usually tells me." "She was busy today," Michelle said, "Final editing and everything, so. I only learned about it when Liam mentioned it and then she brought it up to me when she saw me around lunchtime. Usually she tells me that kind of stuff too, but, like I said...busy." "...thanks for asking," Eliza said, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "I don't...I'm not used to people asking me to go with them anywhere." Michelle smiled and patted her back, "We're friends! That's what friends do!" Eliza smiled. She liked that. She liked having friends. *** Leslie brought the table a few club sodas, taking a break from the champagne, setting the glasses down on the table. Bea quickly pulled hers towards herself and sipped it through the straw. Liam had left a short while before this, so it was just the women now. Bea exhaled deeply as she sat back in her seat and looked across the table at Leslie, who was also sipping her drink. "It's kind of remarkable when you think about it," Bea said. "What is?" Leslie asked, wiping her mouth on her napkin. "Just...everything that's happened, really. Michelle and Keagan finding me, discovering how much the show actually meant to some people, getting a new deal for a new batch of episodes, just...everything, you know? It feels surreal. Having people be respectful of my work instead of simply using it to shill their product. That one especially surprises me." "Showbusiness is a fickle bitch and it doesn't care who it hurts," Leslie said, "And people think streaming services are the saviors, and they might be for a short time. Willing to take on the things a normal broadcast network wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole because it doesn't have an automatic built in audience, but...that's changing, and quickly. They're becoming a less restrictive yet more brutal version of cable, honestly. Sure, they'll take your project on, but if it isn't immediately globally successful, then nuts to you." "You sound bitter," Bea said, smirking, "I like it. It's a good look for you." Leslie threw her head back, laughing loudly, "God! Thanks! I'm not bitter, I'm just...it hurts. As someone who works in the industry, grew up on the industry, it saddens me to see it become what it is. I was at an industry party once and I was talking to someone whose show had gotten canceled after just one season on a streaming network, and they were saying how much the network promoted it, and how much of a budget they gave them and how little notes they had to deal with, and then a week after it drops they were canned because nobody 'binged' it. Streaming networks don't seem to realize that people have lives, responsibilities, and we can't just sit glued for hours to our couches watching the same thing, besides, it simply isn't enjoyable that way. Everything is so easily digestible and just as easily disposable because of it. Anyway, after she told me that, she said 'nobody makes a show now, they make content', and that always stuck with me." "She's not wrong," Beatrice said. "I guess that's why I have remarkable respect for you, because you genuinely appreciate what it is you're doing, and the impact it can really have on others," Leslie said, "and that...there's just something so...refreshing about that, I guess." "It's getting loud in here, let's go for a walk," Bea said, standing up and pulling her jacket on. Leslie did the same, and the two headed out of the bar and grill, onto the sidewalk outside. Fairly empty, a cool night just before summer, and the streetlamps glowed softly overhead. "I was scared," Beatrice said, "I really was, to come back. I was afraid that, you know, I'd just get taken advantage of again, and that nobody would respect me or what I was trying to do." "I think you found a good place to be," Leslie said, "After talking with Steph for a bit, she seems to be more level headed than most streaming network bosses, and bringing me on board definitely helps, since I work with public broadcasting. The two of us can really get into the nitty gritty of it without involving you, which I think is good for your mental health." "...I came up with Beatrice in college," Bea said softly, "it was just a way for me to cope with things, and eventually I started putting on one man shows downtown, and that's where I met Liam. He believed in what I was doing, but Liam also allowed himself to get starstruck and carried away with the faux glitter that is Hollywood. That's why he sold us out, much as I might've begged him not to. I understand why, and...and I do forgive him now, but for so long it made me so wary of trusting anyone who told me they believed in me or my work." "Did you not believe Michelle?" "At first, I think I was...cautious, yeah. I just thought she was another over enthusiastic fan and that...ya know...once she met me perhaps that interest would wane, but when she showed me the set in her basement, that really changed everything. That's when, I think, I really started to understand the profound impact something can have on someone else, even twenty years after the fact." Leslie chewed on her lip and nodded, thinking. Beatrice reached down and slipped her hand into Leslie's, surprising her. She squeezed gently, but didn't look at her, and didn't say anything. Leslie smiled. Together, the two of them continued down the street, together, yet alone. *** "I guess we missed them," Michelle said as she and Eliza took a seat in a booth near the back. They both pulled off their coats, and Michelle started eating from the complimentary bowl of chips on the table as Eliza let her hair down. "I never go to places like this," Eliza said. "I usually don't either, and I wouldn't have if I didn't think she was still going to be here," Michelle said, "...so how did you wind up knowing Bea?" "She hired me for the original show. She had a little get together with college kids who knew how to sew and make puppets, and I was the one she picked. She was always very kind to me. She paid for my medical bills after I was in a car accident and lost my mom." "I'm so sorry," Michelle said, "I didn't know. Sounds like something Bea would do though. She's rarely interested in her own happiness, and far more invested in making sure others are happy, even if it means making it happen herself." "You're not wrong, she, uh, she should probably should focus on her own happiness now and then," Eliza said, "I mean, I know that she loves the show, and that that makes her happy, but still, she should have something to focus on when the show isn't in production. It's like me with my puppets. I love them, but at home I work on model trains." "I don't...I don't think I really have anything outside of the show either," Michelle said, "I should probably get a hobby." "You could come see my trains!" Eliza said excitedly, immediately feeling weird for being so joyous about it, adding, "I...I mean, you know...if you want to." "That would be cool, yeah," Michelle said, smiling. After they spent a little time, having a few appetizers, the two pulled their jackets back on and piled back into Michelle's car, heading to Eliza's. When they arrived, all the lights were off, meaning Don wasn't home, so Eliza didn't feel self conscious about bringing someone home. She shut the door once they had gotten inside, and told Michelle she could hang her jacket on the coat hanger by the door, which she did. Eliza asked if she'd want something to drink, and Michelle said sure, making Eliza rush out to the kitchen. While she waited, Michelle strolled down the hall, looking at the photos of Eliza as a child, and with her parents. She smiled at these when she heard Eliza reenter the room, handing Michelle a juice box, which Michelle gladly took. "Sorry, it's all I have," Eliza said softly, almost as if she were embarrassed. "It's perfectly fine," Michelle said, chuckling, "Was this your mom?" "Yeah..." Eliza said, "...I miss her." "I have a mom but we don't get along, so a lot of times it feels like I don't," Michelle said. "I feel like I killed my mom," Eliza said quietly, "I know it isn't actually my fault, I'm not stupid, but...I can't help but feel responsible for it. If she hadn't been driving me, if I'd learned to drive myself...I don't know. Everything just...feels like it was because of me." "Oh, don't say that," Michelle said, turning to face Eliza, "You couldn't have known, nor would you have meant for it to. Terrible things happen every single day to perfectly decent people. My family is a great example. My mother wanted to live vicariously through me, was mad when she couldn't, then decided to continue being an artist instead of a mother, or both. My father, well, the less said there the better. But I'm not the cause of my familys rifts, and I'm certainly not the cause of my health problems. These things happen." Eliza nodded and began to head up the stairs, Michelle in tow. As they entered her bedroom, Michelle was awestruck by the amounts of puppets and miniature model towns covered with model trains filling the room. She grinned wide as she could, almost feeling intensely jealous. "This is so cool," she said quietly. "This one's my favorite," Eliza said, pointing at a very small table with an entire model town built on it, "because, well, it just is. I like the colors. It looks like a good place to live." "You know, I built a set in my basement," Michelle said, "and after a while I realized I was living more in a fantasy world than reality, but really, where's the harm in that if it's making me happy and it isn't damaging anyone else? I think that's what Beatrice sees more than anything, is the ability to reconnect with the real through the unreal. Children live in fantasy worlds, and the best adults don't ever fully grow up." Eliza smiled. She knew she could trust Michelle. "They call me the Puppet Master," Eliza said, "and I like to think it's, uh, just because I'm, well, ya know, good with puppets. But truth is, I'm also pretty good with people, when I wanna be. I know exactly how to manipulate them to get them to do whatever I want, or get them to do the things they wanna do but are too afraid to." "...like what?" "Like be alone with someone they might otherwise not have been alone with," Eliza said, "That's why I told Bea not to wait for us." "...what?" "I knew she and Leslie needed some time together," Eliza said, "I hope you're not mad at me. Sorry you got roped into it, I just...I knew they needed time to talk." "I'm not mad, no, I'm impressed if anything," Michelle said, chuckling, "you really do know how to pull strings." *** Walking up the steps to Leslie's house, Bea pointed at the porch light and Leslie sighed as she dug her keys out of her purse. "I knooow, it's been doing that for months," she said, "I keep reminding myself to fix it, and I just never do. One of these days, when I'm not swamped in work." "I could fix it for you," Bea said, "It would take all of 5 minutes." "That's very appreciative, thank you," Leslie said, "You really are a jack of all trades aren't you?" Leslie, now holding her keys in her hand, turned back to Bea and looked at her. In this soft glow of this flickering porch lamp, she looked...different. Warmer. Almost comforting. Leslie smiled and jangled her keys as she tossed her hair back a little. "Thanks for letting me join you tonight, and in general," Leslie said, "It's nice to be a part of something I can feel proud of, not that I'm not proud of my work or whatever, but you know what I mean." "...can I ask you a question?" Bea asked, and Leslie nodded. "Sure," she replied. "...you ever get the feeling that, in some way, you're lost? Like, you have your life, your friends, your job, but something still doesn't feel right? I thought finding people like Michelle would help, and it has, she's my best friend besides Liam, and I thought getting the show back would help, and it has, and I can't wait to see it start airing now that the editing is all done, but...it still feels like there's a hole inside you that you can't fill with anything? It was full, once, when I had a dog. It's never really been full since then though." "I think I know what you mean," Leslie said, "I...I keep going on dates and it never works, and I keep wanting to push new projects but they don't get funding, and I just feel oddly stagnant despite my life going well. It's like nobody really understands me, even though I'm surrounded by people who theoretically do. And then, at night, I lie in bed and I think about my life and my career and my goals, and I realize that even if I got everything I ever wanted, even if I somehow found a way to achieve everything I sought out to do...I'm still alone, and there's nobody there to tell me victories to. Nobody to hold me when it gets bad." "Exactly," Bea said, stepping up one stair, getting closer, "and sometimes you're scared, right? You're scared of trying because you think that, no, that can't be who I am, I can't be this way, especially when I work in a public field like entertainment where I'm constantly viewed and recognized and held up as an example. But don't we all deserve that? No matter what career we wind up in, we all deserve to have that person we come to, that we tell our secrets and fears and successes to. That person who just...maybe they don't understand, fully, but they try, and more than that, they're there." Leslie dropped her keys back into her purse and let her purse slide off her arm and onto the porch. "I don't know if I can do it," Leslie whispered, almost as if she was going to cry, but Bea gently wiped her tears from her face with her hand and smiled back at her. "It's okay, nobody knows if they can," Bea said, "but that dog I had, she taught me the one thing that dogs all know, which is to leap brazenly into the unknown. Chase cars that you may never catch, because it's better than being too afraid to try." Leslie nodded and looked at her shoes, crying. "...you want to come in?" "I'd love to come in." Leslie picked up her purse again, finding her keys and opening the door, letting Bea walk past her. As she shut the door, she thought about what she was doing, and she realized she didn't care suddenly what anyone else might think. Afterwards, when she and Beatrice were lying in bed, Bea spooning her close, her face shoved against her shoulderblade, Leslie realized she was right about what dogs do. They chase the unattainable, they enjoy the simple pleasures, and, above all else, they comfort you when you least expect it. It'd been a while since Leslie had had a dog in her bed. She'd forgotten just how much she'd missed it. If there was one thing Keagan Stills had heard time and time again, it was resigned reluctance to allowing her to be involved in something. Sure, she could come to the sleepover. Sure, she could be on our soccer team. Sure, she could get a job with the network too. All her life Keagan had been the odd one out, and now, sitting here and watching Michelle so easily become friends with the makeup girl and the puppet maker on the show, she could feel it happening once again. And she knew why. She knew why even if they didn't know why.
Because she was black. She was certain this time it wasn't intentional, it was simply innate for white folks to exclude her because society has told them it's okay to do so. That didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell though. Suddenly she heard someone shuffle up behind her and seat themselves beside her. She stopped eating her yogurt and turned to look at Beatrice, who was sitting next to her now. "Hey," Keagan said, and Bea smiled warmly. "Hello Keagan," she said, unfurling her paper bag to gather her lunch from, "how are you today?" "...you're a human, right?" "So they tell me." "Why are interpersonal relationships so much harder to maintain than simple conversations with strangers? Wouldn't it be the opposite way? Shouldn't it be that, over time, as you get closer to someone, you wouldn't have to work that hard for things to be good between you?" Keagan asked as Beatrice opened a small plastic container and started eating apple slices and cheese. Keagan couldn't help but chuckle at her lunch. She even ate like the demographic she made the show for. "Let me ask you a question," Beatrice said, "let's say you rent an apartment, and you never have to worry about it because you know it's just a temporary domicile, right? Eventually you move into a real home, and that requires constant upkeep, but at least you know it's yours, and something to be proud to have. Which one is more worth the effort?" "In this economy?" Keagan asked, making Bea laugh as she continued, "The house, I guess." "Exactly," Beatrice said, "sure it takes more effort, more work, but its something worthwhile. Sure, we'd all love to just have things so good we can take them for granted all the time, but that just isn't how things work, sadly. Some things, most things arguably, take a lot of work, or at the very least, the bare minimum of work." Keagan looked back at the table where Eliza, Clara and Michelle were eating lunch together and laughing. She sighed and stood up, tossing her empty yogurt container in the trashcan before looking at Bea. "You might be right, but the effort shouldn't always fall on me," Keagan said before turning and heading back inside to her office. Bea watched her go, then glanced to the table she had been looking at, and she understood. *** "My dad said I can't be friends with you anymore," the boy said in the school library, "I shouldn't even be talking to you right now." "Why not?" Keagan asked, standing there somewhat in shock as she asked, "we...we've been friends since 4th grade! Why is it a problem now?!" The boy sighed, looked around, then leaned in and lowered his voice, saying, "he says it's because you're black." It had always been because she was black. Her skin color had always been the sole determining factor in either her exclusion or inclusion. She was either the token black child at birthday parties or she wasn't invited because she was black. It never failed. Depending on what district the school she currently attended had been in, she was either held up as an example of excellency, or ignored because they didn't want black students to be equals, even though she'd always been the best student at all her schools. "They're intimidated," her father had once told her, "they're scared of you because they know you're so capable, and thusly capable of making their own children look as dumb as they actually are." But Keagan didn't care about the reasoning, she wanted friends, not adversaries, and certainly didn't want the adversaries she had to be the parents of the very kids she wanted to be friends with. It was one thing for a peer not to like her, that she could take, but an adult who'd never met her? To dislike her purely because of the color of her skin? That sickened her. Which is why, when Keagan was finally hired by the fast food place and started working with Lexi, she was surprised at how welcoming Lexi had been, and why, when she and Michelle had finally met, she was surprised at how kind Michelle had actually been, and suddenly it all made sense. Hatred was taught, not innate. Those kids had been taught to dislike her, and these women were grown ass adults who knew better. Which is what made her accidental exclusion from the current group hurt even all that much more. *** "I'd like to do a show on racism," Keagan said, sitting with Beatrice, Michelle, Eliza, Stephanie and Leslie in Steph's office. "...well, that's an admirable concept, certainly, and one that's rife for discussion amongst kids," Stephanie said, "but how would that work?" "I was thinking that Eliza could make a puppet and I could voice it, and we could base the entire episode around a black woman who's moved into the neighborhood because she felt she didn't belong anywhere else, and learns through Beatrice and her friends that she belongs just as much as anyone else," Keagan said. "I could make you a puppet," Eliza said softly. "Tackling big subjects like this on childrens shows is often good for notoriety, it could get some pundits discussing us," Stephanie said. "I don't wanna do it for the acknowledgement, I wanna do it because it's right," Keagan said, and Beatrice smiled. She knew this girl reminded her of herself, and know she knew why. She had the same moral compass that Bea herself had once had in her fiery youth. "I'm definitely on board," Leslie said, "I think children who learn about things at an early age are far more understanding than if they are taught after prejudices have already begun to form. I think Keagan has the right idea, and I think we should support her on this. After all, isn't the whole idea of having a platform to use it for the betterment on mankind? To push progressiveness forward?" Keagan couldn't help but smile. Sure a lot of it sounded performative, but she knew Leslie's heart was in the right place. Michelle finally spoke up. "I think it's a good idea too," she said, "I'm not black, but I experienced a lot of prejudice myself thanks to my health issues. Growing up was hell, with kids making fun of my inability to breath properly. I know it isn't the same, but I feel like it's in the general ballpark at least." Steph chewed on the cap to her pen, then shrugged. "Alright, if this is what you wanna do, let's do it," she said. Out in the hall, as everyone dispersed and Eliza went to go start work on the puppet, Keagan stopped Michelle in front of the snack machine, grabbing her by the shoulder. Michelle continued to push quarters into the machine as she smiled at her friend. "Thank you," Keagan said. "Hey," Michelle said, "We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you reaching out to me. Honestly, you have just as much control here as anyone." "Sure doesn't feel like it. Every day you and the other girls all eat lunch together and...I just...I don't feel welcome or comfortable joining you, and it isn't because of you guys, but because I've been conditioned to believe I don't belong in your white circle. That isn't fair, to you or me. I wanna make this episode so that other little black girls don't grow up feeling as left out, ignored or outright hated as I did when I was their age. So they can turn on the TV, see someone who looks like them being accepted, and think 'yeah, I DO deserve that kind of humanity and kindness', not because someone decided they did, but because they actually do, because they're human." "I understand," Michelle said, grabbing her candy bar from the drop tray and unwrapping it, breaking it in half and sharing it with Keagan as they walked down the hall, each eating their pieces; Michelle pushed her hair from her face, and said, "I'll never know what you went through, my reasons for being hated are far different from yours. Racial hatred and disability hatred are two very different things, even if they are part of the same general sphere, but I want you to know you're not alone, and that I'm your friend." "I know I'm not alone, and I know you're my friend. It's just that my whole adolescence I had to put up with either being the perfect African American child at my school, or that African American child at my school. Anytime I would go into a new school, it'd start all over again. Am I an example this time, or a target? Same thing with trying to find work. Do they really want me to work with them because they believe in my skillset, or because I make their progressive ideals look realistic? Am I simply a marketing tool used to portray the companies forward thinking diversity? It's so hard to separate all that and come away with an identity that isn't wrapped up in my skin color. And that isn't to say that I'm not proud to be black, because I am, I'm very happy with who I am, but...but I'd be lying if I said the perception others have of me because of my blackness hasn't damaged my self worth a bit." Michelle stopped and leaned against a wall, finishing her half of the candy bar and wiping her mouth on her sleeve. She then exhaled deeply and spoke again. "When I was 12, I was invited to a birthday party. I was thrilled, because I never got to go to parties. I just didn't have friends, really. But when I got there, I discovered I was early and nobody else had shown up yet. They'd told me to actually come a few hours before the party started, because they wanted to use my oxygen tank to fill up their balloons." "Jesus," Keagan said, sounding genuinely disgusted. "After that, I didn't go to any other parties, even on the rare chance I was invited to one. And that one? I didn't stay. I mean, I stayed, but I stayed in the garage where nobody could see me," Michelle said, "Everyone who's labeled different by society has these kinds of stories. Stories where our difference is met with either indifference or outright disdain, and that's why I wanna make your episode, because, yeah, no child should have to feel like they don't belong simply because they're different in some way. Children, more than anyone else, should feel they have the right to exist and be treated as equals. When I was in the hospital, I watched a lot of Beatrice on the hospital TV, and it was what comforted me. I want it to comfort others now too, and that's what Bea wants as well." Keagan smiled and hugged Michelle, who happily hugged her back. "Thank you," Keagan whispered. "You're my best friend, Keagan," Michelle said, "I know we haven't spent much time together lately, but that doesn't change the fact that you're my best friend." From down the hall, near the water fountains, Bea stood and watched. Suddenly a cactus puppet popped out from around the corner and looked at her, and she looked at it and scoffed joyfully. "Boy you really are the thing that brings others together, ain'tcha?" Liam asked in his puppet voice, before appearing beside her. "Sometimes I think about the fact that the show was used to primarily promote a pizzeria, and I get angry," Bea said, "but then I see these girls work together, believe in what they're doing, and I realize there was purpose within that promotion. Maybe what we did wasn't all bad after all." "That's the spirit," Liam said, patting her on the back before walking off to the set, leaving Beatrice there to think. *** "How was work?" Keagan's father, Mitchell, asked as he came into the kitchen. Keagan had been spending more time at her parents lately, and she'd enjoyed his company. She was waiting for Lexi to get out of class for the evening so they could go to dinner, so she was doing some inventory work in the meantime. "I got the network to listen to my idea, and agree with me," Keagan said as Mitchell opened up the fridge and too out a can of root beer, then grabbed another for his daughter. He slid it across the table to her before seating himself and popping the top of his can. "Really? Well good on you, then! I always told you you could make people do whatever you wanted," Mitchell said. Keagan put her pen down on top of her calculator and grabbed the soda. She popped the top open, took a few sips, then looked at her father as she pulled her bushy hair back into a big ponytail and tied it up. She sighed and smiled. "Dad, when you were a kid, did you get picked last for stuff, or not invited to things because you were black?" she asked. "All the damn time," Mitchell said, "but you know, the funny thing about that is how it made me see myself. Sure, I couldn't let it hurt my self worth, slaughter my self esteem, but I just told myself I was too cool for them, and really, they were the ones missing out. I know girls have it harder, so that probably wouldn't have worked for you, but I always thought that about you. Whenever you'd come home crying about not being included in this or that, I just thought to myself "man, what a badass I'm raising" because not only did you let others see how it affected you, being open with your feelings, but you soldiered and and became better than them anyway." Keagan blushed and took another long sip of her drink before they heard the front door open and her mother, Lauren, come in with Lexi right behind her. "She was at the front door," Lauren said, "Poor girl couldn't knock cause her hands were so damn full." "I'm so sorry," Keagan said, standing up and helping Lexi put her things on the kitchen table. "What are you guys talking about?" Lexi asked, tossing her blonde hair out of her face as she started to sit down and take a few sips from Keagan's can. "Just how cool it is to raise a kid," Mitchell said, "and what a cool kid we raised." He then stood up and escorted Lauren out of the room, leaving Keagan and Lexi together. Once they were sure the room was empty, Keagan grabbed Lexi by the shoulders and kissed her deeply, surprising her. Lexi didn't mind though, and happily kissed her back. The girls didn't know it, but Mitchell and Lauren were watching just outside of view, and smiling as they started to head up the stairs to their bedroom. "She didn't need to be included in anything," Mitchell said, "She gets more tail than all those stupid white boys who made her feel bad ever do." "You're just jealous," Lauren said. "I can't be jealous, not being married to you. How could I possibly have gotten anyone better?" Mitchell asked, making Lauren laugh as he kissed her cheek. That's the thing about being a black sheep, Keagan would think later that night, while watching Lexi sleep, basking in the warm blue glow of the television light...you might not belong to the flock, but there's a lot of other black sheep out there who are more than happy to have you. You just gotta find 'em. Delores Stiltskon was sitting at her breakfast table eating her morning oatmeal, drinking coffee, reading a magazine. It was raining outside, like it had been lately, and she didn't have to be into the office today, thank goodness. She hated going anywhere in the rain. Delores had always felt like rainy days should be spent indoors with warm drinks and good reading material. Maybe she'd finally tackle some of those chores she'd been putting off. As she took another bite of oatmeal, she heard a knock on the door, and she looked up, furrowing her brow in confusion...who could be here?
Delores stood up, walked through the foyer to the front door and answered, only to find a soggy and upset Michelle standing on her porch. Delores stepped aside and allowed her entrance. "You poor thing! Get in here and we'll get you warmed up! I'll turn on my fireplace!" Delores said, rushing to flick on her electric fireplace, before she helped Michelle pull her soaking wet sweatshirt off, before Michelle turned and just hugged Delores tightly, surprising her yet again as she started to cry into Delores's shirt. Delores just patted her on the back and smiled. "There there," she said warmly, "you're okay now. I'm here." *** Beatrice aimed the heater at herself as Liam turned, heading down yet another empty dirt road. He looked over at her as she chewed on her nails nervously. Liam sighed and shifted in his seat, adjusting his seatbelt with his free hand. "So why'd you ask me to come?" he asked. "I didn't wanna go alone, and we don't do much together anymore. We should do more together," Beatrice said. "Well, I welcome the opportunity," Liam said, smiling, "Besides, it'll be neat to see where you came from." "Take another right up here," Bea said, nodding her head at an upcoming fork in the road, and Liam did as he was told; she sighed and shook her head, "Don't call me Beatrice around my parents, please. My name is Amelia." "Okay, whatever you need," Liam said, surprised by this admittance. "God I'm nervous." "Don't they know you're coming?" "Yeah but it...it's still nerve wracking. My folks and I haven't spoken much in the last decade since the show went off the air. I kind of recoiled even from my family after everything went to shit. They weren't happy about a lot of my decisions in the first place, but...even then." "To be fair, I'm the one who made the bad decisions in regards to the shows success and longevity," Liam said, "But sure, a lot of show business people remove themselves from their past. I'm not one to judge you on that front. Lord knows I haven't spoken to my parents anywhere near as often as they'd wish I did. Then again, my folks were never really all that comfortable with me and Marvin, so." Liam pulled up a long dirt driveway and parked under a large old oak tree in front of a beautiful old fashioned farm house, complete with a white picket fence surrounding it. Liam turned the car off, undid his seatbelt and looked to Bea again, exhaling deeply. "You sure you're okay?" he asked. "Yes. I need to do this," Bea said, undoing her own seatbelt, then pulling herself out of Liam's car. They walked up the flagstone walkway that went from the end of the fence up to the front door, and Bea knocked firmly a few times, waiting for an answer. Finally the door opened and an old man stood there, looking at them. He smiled immediately and pulled Bea in for a hug, stroking her hair. "My baby," he whispered. "Hi daddy," Bea said. Gordon stepped aside, allowing Bea and Liam into the house. Liam was surprised to see the place was well kept, modern inside. Liam pulled his hand out from his rain slicker and stood his arm out towards Gordon. "Hello, I'm Liam Grearson," Liam said, "I'm Amelia's friend." "Welcome to our home, Liam," Gordon said, shaking his hand before walking past them and into the living room. As they passed through the small hall leading to the living room, Liam couldn't help but take in the photographs hanging on the wall. Photos of Beatrice as a little girl, doing dance, or reading, or learning how to swim, and a few family photos at various ages, and graduating high school and college. Liam smiled. He'd always knew someone as loving as Bea had to have come from a good home, and he was glad to discover she wasn't actually a tortured artist after all. Not all greatness had to be birthed from pain, he'd once told her. And then he saw it, the photo that stopped him in his tracks. There she was, sitting just outside, on a bucket under the same oak tree they'd parked under, and with her, partially jumped on her lap making her laugh, was a beagle. It was like the world around him, everything he'd ever known, suddenly clicked together, like a puzzle missing a singular piece that was necessary to complete the picture. He looked towards Bea and her father, talking in the living room, laughing lightly, and Liam couldn't believe how stupid he'd been all these years. Suddenly Liam felt a hand on his shoulder, and he yelped, jumping a little, turning to see an old woman standing behind him. She was chuckling slightly. "Sorry dear, didn't mean to surprise you," Gloria said, "Would you like some coffee?" she added, holding out a steaming warm mug for him to take, which he graciously did. "It's okay, uh, hi, I'm Liam Grearson, I'm Amelia's friend," he said, shaking her hand as well before turning his focal point back to the photo, "...was this her dog? She never told me she had a dog." "Yep," Gloria said, holding her mug with both hands, looking at the photo wistfully, continuing, "that's Amelia outside with Beatrice. She was the best dog, a girls best friend. Losing her absolutely crushed Amelia, she's never been the same since." Liam wanted to cry. He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt like he was going to sob uncontrollably. But he held it together, for Amelia's sake. Gloria then suggested they join the others in the living room and Liam happily agreed. As he plopped himself down on the couch and watched Bea interact with her parents, he couldn't help but smile. This was a side of Bea he'd never seen before, and he was so very thankful to be given the chance to. He still wanted to sob, though. *** "What are you even doing here?" Delores asked, bringing Michelle some fresh, dry clothes she could change into, which she did. Delores sat in a recliner while Michelle quickly changed behind her, grateful for the dry clothing. "My mother," Michelle whispered, like she was scared to even say those words together. As she finished, she came around and sat on the couch opposite of the recliner, looking at the floor. Delores sipped her coffee and leaned back in her recliner, nodding. "I know things aren't great between you two," she said. "You don't know the half of it," Michelle said, "I would've gone to Bea, but...she's having a hard enough time dealing with what happened on the set recently, and...and besides...she's not..." "Yes?" Delores asked. "...motherly, not like you are," Michelle said, "I don't know exactly how to put it, because she's great, but she's more like a cool aunt, and you're more like a mom. I'm sorry. You're just the woman who was helping my find employment, but still, I can't help but feel like-" "Did I ever tell you about my child?" Delores asked, interrupting Michelle, and surprising her. "...no?" "I had a daughter," Delores said, "I had two children, my son and my daughter; classic nuclear family situation. My husband and I bought this house years ago, I got pregnant and that was that. Raised my kids in this house. You may be surprised to learn I'm pushing sixty." "You don't look it." "Thank you," Delores said, "But I'm not one of those people ashamed of aging. I'm proud to have grown through so much time. My daughter, Justine, she was a lot like you. Wanted to do creative things. She went to college in Boston, trying to be a childrens book illustrator. Lord knows she had the skill. Anyway, one day she was going to fly back for summer break...she was seeing this lovely guy who had just gotten his pilots license. They weren't here by the time they said they would be, and I, being a mother, started worrying, and later I discovered it was for good reason. He wasn't familiar with this plane he was flying, and the whole thing went down." "oh my god," Michelle whispered, putting her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. "She survived, but she's never been the same. Her boyfriend wasn't so lucky. Ever since then, she and I don't speak much, and she hasn't been working on her illustrations like she used to. She's essentially been living off the money she got from various lawsuits regarding his family and the airplane manufacturer. You remind me so much of her, and I guess I just felt like..." "My mom's an artist," Michelle said quietly, "She is such a nasty woman, and she's so mad at me for not following in her footsteps, and for being so sickly. She says I took away her possibility for success because she had to spend so much money keeping me healthy growing up, as if I chose to be this screwed up medically." "That just isn't okay," Delores said. "And then, today, she sent me an e-mail of her at her latest gallery opening," Michelle said, "...she looked so happy, standing there next to the poster with her name on it, and pointing at one of the works to be shown in the gallery. She called the show 'Financially Free'." "...like, because she doesn't have to pay for your medical needs anymore?" Delores asked, sounding simultaneously disgusted and shocked, feelings which aren't mutually exclusive. "Yes," Michelle said, "and I just lost it. I was going to send this extremely aggressively worded rebuttal, but the more I thought about it, that's what she wants. She feeds off that negativity, and can use it to further her victim complex, especially to those she's trying to get to bankroll her future projects. No communication means no more ammunition. I just needed to see someone who would care about how hurt I was." "Well, you came to the right place then," Delores said, smiling again, adding, "you can stay here all night if you need to. We'll order in." And that's exactly what they did. Michelle knew Delores would take her in, and she was happy to know she'd made the right choice in deciding to come here today. As she waited for Delores to order food from the kitchen landline, Michelle sipped her drink and looked out the window at the pouring rain, wondering where in the world Beatrice may have gone off to. She'd catch up with her at work next week, she figured. Tonight was a night just for her. *** "It wasn't your fault, sweetheart," Gloria said, patting Bea on the knee as they sat in the kitchen together, "you didn't mean for that to happen, you certainly didn't cause it either, and nobody could've expected the response to it." "...I'm starting to wonder if I'm just cursed," Bea said, "ever since Beatrice died, it just feels like nothing has ever been good. Like that was a good as life was ever going to get. I feel stuck, trapped in a memory, and the hopes of getting back to that moment with her." "Beatrice wouldn't want you to feel that way," Gloria said, "You know that. She'd want you to be happy. She was always happy." "Yeah, she was," Bea said, smiling a little, "...she was my best friend." "That man you brought with you said he was your best friend," Gloria said. "...he did?" Bea asked, looking at her mom, "Really? Liam said that?...I guess he is, he's certainly the one I've known the longest at this point. I'll be back in a minute, mom, I need to see something." Gloria didn't even respond. She knew what Amelia was doing. Bea stood up and headed outside, in the backyard, pulling her slicker hood over her head and zipping the front up. She could hear the dirt squish underneath her feet, quickly turning to mud in the cold rain. The day garden was still there, lively as ever, just as it had been when she and her father had started it all those years ago. As Bea trudged along, she pushed aside a few bushes and made her way to the back of them, where a small engraved stone sat on the ground. She knelt and put her hand on the dirt, trying not to cry. "Hi Bea," she said, "I'm home. Not for long, but for today anyway." The stone had the dogs name on it, along with a little image of a bone Amelia had engraved herself, with her fathers help. Suddenly she heard the bushes part behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Liam standing there. "Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you," he said. "You didn't frighten me," Bea said. "...I think I finally got it," Liam said, stepping closer, kneeling down beside her, sitting on a somewhat large rock, "I think I finally got the passion, and the love for the character. Your protectiveness. Your name. Soon as I saw that photograph, it all made sense now. I'm so sorry, Bea. I've never had to feel this sort of loss. I mean, Marvin, but...I don't know what I'm trying to say, except that it all makes sense now and I'm sorry for trying to take her away from you, or changing her." "...you get a dog because you're lonely. Because you're the kind of person who relates to animals better than you do to people. You never think about the fact that their lifespan is a mere quarter of our own, or less in most cases. You just think 'finally, a friend who will love me unconditionally', and that's all that matters. You keep the reality of their mortality pushed down in the back of your head, just like you do to your own, knowing it's inevitable, yet praying it won't come anyway." Liam put his hand on Bea's back and rubbed the wet slicker, trying to comfort her. "...I'm not mad that I'm getting older. I'm mad that she's not getting older with me," Bea whispered, "She should still be here, and I figured by creating a character out of her, by sharing her personality with the world, maybe others would come to love her the way I did, but...it isn't the same. No matter what I do, whether I wear the suit or I change my name, I'll never be Beatrice Beagle." Liam got down on his knees beside her and pulled her to his side, hugging her warmly. "No, you won't, but that's the thing, she loved you, so maybe you should let others love you as well," Liam whispered. After a while, they got up and went back inside. After saying goodbye to her parents - her mother giving them a few tupperware full of home baked cookies to take with them - they climbed back into Liam's car and started driving down the dirt roads again, in the rain. Listening to the rain hit the windshield, Bea looked in the rearview mirror, watching the farmhouse, her parents, her past, get smaller and smaller, and she pried open the tupperware lid, handing Liam a cookie before taking one for herself. They stopped off at a small diner on the way into town and had some early dinner, before Liam dropped Bea off at her apartment, heading to his own place afterwards. Bea climbed the long stairs to her floor, put her key in the door and let herself in. She flicked the light on and saw the note posted to her door. Bea took it off and read it. "Needed to see you, but you weren't home. Call me. Michelle" Bea made a mental note to give her a ring tomorrow. Bea got out of her clothes, took a long bath, then made herself some cocoa and turned on her television set. She laid on the couch in her pajamas and watched a few shows about antiques. After a while she got back up, took the tupperware off the counter and brought it back to the couch. She plopped back down and pulled the lid back off, eating some more cookies as she watched TV. After pulling enough cookies from the center of the tupperware, she looked down to get another and stopped. There, sitting in the middle of all the cookies, was a dog treat, staring right back up at her. The very same ones she used to give Beatrice. Bea tried to hold back her tears, but failed. This time, however, she was happily crying. She would have to thank her mom for the little gift. Even after all these years, and all their differences, her mom still knew what would make her feel better. There was simply no denying it. Mothers really did know best. |
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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