"I'm so glad we started doing this," Michelle said as she clicked her seatbelt in and Beatrice pulled out of Delores' driveway; Michelle continued, "I feel like a lot of times we don't get to see eachother much cause of work, despite working together, so this is a nice way to rectify that. Where do you wanna have breakfast?"
"I was thinking of this little diner on the other side of town called Lazlos, it's really old but the line cooks are incredible, somewhere Liam and I went for years," Bea said as they drove down the street. Since the show had started production again, Michelle wasn't wrong, she and Bea hadn't had as much time together. Between the shows schedule and their individual recoveries from the surgery, it just felt like they hadn't been seeing one another as often as they'd liked, so when Beatrice approached Michelle with the idea of having breakfast every three days on the way to work, she hopped on that immediately. "Are you ever nervous about burnout?" Michelle asked, and Bea shrugged. "I don't know, kind of? I have the easiest part of the job, I think," she replied, "cause all I really do is memorize some lines and act in a suit. It's not as difficult as, say, editors or prop makers. Eliza's got it way worse than me. But she also could never get burnout, she loves what she does so much. I mean, I guess I do have to write the damn thing, but a lot of times I have help from you or Liam or whomever." "I worry about it, but I don't know why. It's not like my duties are that intense," Michelle said, "if anything, I worry about burnout on a personal level, with people, relationships, stuff like that. Not from work." Bea nodded, completely understanding what she meant. As they came to a red light, Bea lit a cigarette and rolled down her window. "You're still smoking?" "On occasion," Bea said, "I'm trying hard to quit, but it's difficult. When something's been a habit for long enough, it can be a tough crutch to walk without, you know? Anyway, Michelle, I completely understand what you mean. Work is laser focused. I don't doubt myself of my abilities. But I DO doubt myself when it comes to interacting with others and keeping things afloat, companionship wise, yeah...I worry. Lately Leslie and I haven't had a lot of time to ourselves either, and it's been bothering us. I worry Liam and I are growing distant just because we're both so focused on different aspects on the property, and you..." Bea looked over at Michelle, who smiled at her, easing her heart. "...I never want us to stop being friends. So I make a promise to myself every day to make the effort to interact, even when I don't feel like it, because not only does it help further the relationships I have and need, but sometimes, you never know, it might just be something the other person needs as well. Maybe they're not feeling well that day, and your interaction is the bright spot in an otherwise bad afternoon. Everyone deserves attention on some level." The light turned green and Bea started driving again. Michelle thought about what she said, and she understood why she felt that way. If you wind up in childrens entertainment, especially one such as hers where you're teaching kids things, your entire goal is to make a child feel seen, heard, respected, understood and cared for. Why not carry that same belief over to how you deal with the other people in your life? Michelle sighed happily. Beatrice was such a good influence, and it made her want to try even harder. Lazlo's was, as Bea put it, ancient. It's interior was still styled the way it had been in the 70s - its only remodel since it's opening in 1943 - and honestly, this made Michelle love it all the more. She had such an affinity for things that were stuck in time. Seated on opposites of a booth from eachother, Beatrice drinking tea and Michelle sipping coffee as they waited for their plates of food, Michelle couldn't help but wonder about what direction the show might take this year. She put her mug back down after taking a long sip and looked across to Bea, who was doing the papers crossword puzzle. But, before she could speak, Bea spoke instead without even looking up. "I'm thinking of doing a live show," Bea said, "do something on a stage somewhere, where kids can come and meet me afterwards." "I think that's a fantastic idea," Michelle said eagerly, "and you wouldn't be outside your element. You have theatre background, and many other kids shows do this very thing, so I think you're on a good path with this idea. Though...I must admit...lugging the set and all the props around would be kind of a hassle." "Well that's why you hire roadies," Bea said as the waitress finally set their plates down before them. "We're not a rock band, Bea," Michelle replied, giggling. The two ate in somewhat silence, only occasionally discussing the other ins and outs of what a live show could entail. Michelle didn't want to get her hopes up, but she was sure her enthusiasm was obvious enough. After finishing breakfast, the ladies got back into the car and started the drive back across town, towards the studio for the work day. As they drove, Michelle texted Eliza, telling her about Bea's ideas about the potential live show but to also keep it under her hat, to which Eliza, much in character for herself, replied "I don't wear hats." Michelle snickered endlessly to herself about this. She loved this girl very much. The car eventually, about 15 minutes away from the studio, came to another red light, this time thanks to kids crossing the street, heading to school. "You know," Michelle said, still texting Eliza, looking down at her phone, "if you ever wanted to do something with Eliza and me, the four of us could set up like a couples night. That could be fun. I know you're not super social, none of us really are, but-" Michelle looked over at Bea and noticed she was staring intensely at something. She followed her line of sight to the kids crossing the street, and landing on a little girl, maybe 7 years old, walking by herself, a Beatrice Beagle backpack slung over her shoulders. This was recently released merch, and neither had seen it on the street yet, so it was exciting. At least...that's how Michelle saw it. Bea, on the other hand, felt something else entirely. The light turned green, but instead of continuing on their route, Bea turned and followed the path the little girl was taking. "Uhhh..." Michelle said, "wh...what are ya doin?" "We're gonna follow her to school," Bea said sternly. "Okay, not creepy at all," Michelle replied, "why?" But Bea wouldn't answer that. She was dead eyed, focused. Michelle went and quiet and shot a final text to Eliza. "Beatrice has kidnapped me, if anything happens, I love you." She was half kidding, but...sometimes it was hard to know with Bea. *** Eliza heard her phone buzz and she smiled. She knew it was Michelle. She was the only person who texted her. She lifted the jewelers loupe from her eye and picked up her phone, turning the screen on and navigating to her messages where she read the last text, chuckling. The door to The Hole opened, and Eliza spun around in her chair, looking towards the visitor, who just happened to be Keagan of all people. "Can I help you?" Eliza asked, as Keagan cautiously approached. "Um," Keagan started, "uh, I...yeah. I need your help actually. Someone on the show asked me to create a character, a puppet, person of color, to represent the African American community on the series. So I...I came to you to ask if you'd...if you knew..." "Creating characters isn't easy for everyone," Eliza said, "but when you live mostly in your fiction, it's the easiest thing in the world, so I would love to help!" Keagan smiled, and nodded. She didn't know why she'd been so nervous. Eliza had never been anything but kind and willing to help. Keagan grabbed a nearby metal chair and picked it up, setting it down at Eliza's drafting table where she cleared some of her current work and started fresh with a new sheet and her charcoal sketch pencil. Eliza tapped her pencil a little bit, then turned and looked at Keagan before starting to draw. "Something to note," Eliza said, lisping as she spoke, "is that the colors we pick on paper won't be the colors picked for thread. They're two entirely different spectrums. So try not to get too attached to whatever comes out in front of us, cause the final product will be SO much cooler." Keagan nodded, listening, watching. "I...I guess I just," Keagan started, "I didn't know what to do, cause I didn't wanna screw it up, you know? Representation is...it's....so dangerous to handle, even if you're the one being represented doing the representing. I didn't wanna piss off my people." "When I was little," Eliza said, "I was watching a show, and on it, they had a character come visit the family. It was a cousin. It was what they called a 'very special episode', you know? Where they tackle heavy thematic aspects? Well, this cousin they had visit was mentally challenged, and the entire episode was everyone getting angry at her, until the very end, where they finally accepted her because she did something the right way, the 'normal' way. Sometimes representation can be worse than not having it." "That's awful." "It was," Eliza said, "cause, I...I thought I'd be seeing someone like me, but they weren't like me. They were....nothing like me. But I know that's how everyone sees me, and people like me, and it hurts." Keagan felt like crying. She felt so bad for Eliza, and she didn't know how to show her appreciation for her. Instead, she put her hand on Eliza's shoulder and leaned over her, looking at the sketch of a cool looking girl, with braided hair and overalls with patches on them. Keagan liked what she saw, and patted Eliza's shoulder. If there was anyone who could help create true representation, it would be someone who was also under represented herself. *** "Bea, we're, like...SUPER late," Michelle said, checking her watch, "we need to get to the studio. I have things to do, and I'm sure Liam is curious why-" "We're following her," Bea repeated, "once she's at school, then we can go to work." Michelle exhaled and shook her head. She looked down and sighed, checking her phone. No response from Eliza. They came to another crossing, red light, the car stopped. As they watched the little girl head across the street, they saw her trip and fall, before getting herself back up on her feet and continue along her way without even seeming remotely upset. She was traveling alone and seemed confident. Beatrice felt her heart rise in her chest. Michelle felt her phone buzz and she looked down at the phone, only to notice it was Liam texting. "Liam wants to know where we are," she said. "Tell him we're at breakfast," Bea said, and Michelle just did what she was told. After she sent the text, she looked back at Bea, whose face had lightened significantly, watching this little girl head to school, happy as ever. Michelle could sense a softness in her eyes that she'd never seen before, and it was something truly lovely. Almost like a mother watching their child take their first steps. Michelle decided then and there not to question again why Bea was doing what she was doing, and instead just enjoy being taken along for the ride. After a bit, they finally arrived at the elementary school, Mustang Elementary, where the little girl clearly attended. As she entered the school grounds and sat on a bench near the swings, waiting for school to start, Bea pulled over and parked the car, watching closely. "Beatrice?" Michelle asked, "...what is this about?" Beatrice then slowly opened the car door, slipped out of it and started walking towards the school. Michelle, not wanting to let her go alone, grabbed her cane and headed out with her. As they got closer to the fence that surrounded the school, Beatrice's eyes grew more intense. "Bea? What's going on? Why are we doing this?" Michelle asked, but yet again, no answer came. Finally they stopped, and Bea watched the little girl sit there and unzip her backpack before reaching inside and pulling out a book and a little snack container. She opened the container and started eating as she flipped the book cover to the side and began to read. Michelle looked from the girl to Bea, who now had tears streaming down her face, but wasn't making any audible crying noises. Michelle, with her free hand, reached over and grabbed Bea's, squeezing it tightly. "...it's just nice," Bea whispered, "it's nice seeing children love her. Need her. It's nice to know that the merchandise isn't being bought for hipster adults who enjoy the aesthetic, but instead for the intended audience. The targeted audience. The ones who need it most. Beatrice was a source of comfort, and now I'm seeing others realize it too. When Liam first came to me with this idea, I was so confused by it. A backpack? Who needs a backpack? But sometimes school is the worst part of a childs day to day life. Maybe school is where they get bullied. Maybe they don't perform well academically. Maybe they have no friends. And maybe a backpack, featuring their favorite comfort character, is exactly what they need to help get them through the day. The strength one can draw from fiction, especially at such a young age, can sometimes save you in the hardest of times." Michelle nodded slowly, listening, taking it all in. She squeezed Bea's hand, watching her cry a little bit harder. Michelle turned her eyes back to the little girl and thought about it, and how right Bea was. When she'd been sick, especially in the hospital as a child, Beatrice had been there for her, and now every child had that and that...that was a beautiful thing. *** Keagan was pacing back and forth, twirling her hair while Eliza continued to add details and color to the sketches she had been coming up with. Keagan was thinking about kids shows she watched as a kid, and trying to come up with what shows had African American characters, and she had a hard time trying to come up with anything. She stopped and leaned against the wall, chewing on her lip while she twirled her hair and was lost in thought. Eventually she heard the clicking sound of Eliza setting her drafting pencil down on the table and stretching, yawning. "Are you done?" Keagan asked, and Eliza shrugged. "You can tell me," Eliza said, causing Keagan to walk back over to the table and look at the drawings. She was thrilled with what she saw. Advancements on the original design, but still keeping it true to what they'd initially come up with conceptually. The character was black, that was clear even without skin tone, but it wasn't so overtly black that it'd be overplaying tropes. They were just a black puppet, nothing more, nothing less. "This is wonderful," Keagan said, "thank you so much. I love that they just are. There's no...no gimmicks to it. You know, sometimes things go over the top with representation. They're like 'oh if we introduced an Asian character they have to be good with technology or smart with numbers!' and it's just...those are traits, certainly, but not defining ones. They're a person first and foremost. Not a bag of concepts. I like this. They're just a person." "A puppet," Eliza remarked. "Well, you know what I mean," Keagan replied, laughing, "thank you Eliza. When do you think we can start working on it?" "Well, I need to get the right color thread, so maybe we can go shopping sometime this week. Once we have the supplies I can get to work on it immediately," Eliza said, "...any ideas for a name?" Keagan looked at it hard for a long time, thinking, and then smiled. "Serena," she said. "That's pretty," Eliza said, smiling, "where'd you come up with that?" "Just a name," Keagan replied. *** Bea and Michelle never made it to work that afternoon. Now, instead, sitting in a little cafe near the school, eating pastries and sipping tea, Beatrice and Michelle were both thinking back to the days events. Or, event, rather, since they only did one thing. Michelle picked up a donut and took a bite from it as Bea leaned back in her chair, looking out the window, slowly sipping from her mug. Michelle chewed for a bit, then set the donut back down and sighed. "Are you okay?" she asked. Beatrice didn't even respond verbally, she just shrugged; Michelle continued, "cause, if you're not okay, Bea, we can talk about it. I'd like to talk about it. Cause it was...weird." "I'm weird," Bea mumbled. "Yeah, but you're good weird. This was just weird. Talk to me, please." A long moment passed, and Michelle sighed again, knowing her efforts were all for naught. She shrugged, picked the donut back up and started eating again. That's when she noticed tears coming down Bea's face, as she wiped them casually away with her sweater sleeve. Michelle furrowed her brow, but didn't push conversation and instead just sat back, waiting for Bea to speak, which she finally did. "I've made mistakes," Bea said quietly, "things I can't take back or undo. Things that can't be forgiven. So I try so hard to do right, and make good, and help others. I didn't come from a broken home. That isn't how I learned to appreciate life through art, was by escaping into it and finding solace within the imaginary. I came from loving parents who supported my every whim no matter how ridiculous it might've been at the time. So I'm happy that I can maybe help other kids who don't have it as well feel safe and seen. But at the same time, maybe those kids are happy. Maybe they have good lives too. Everyone is so adament on the belief that art, and thus appreciation of it, can only truly come from inner turmoil. But why can't things be born from joy? Why can't things be birthed by love? Why must everything we consider to be important be tinged with sadness? Sometimes art can heal, and be a meaningful window into the soul, and sometimes a painting of a sailboat has no deeper metaphor. Sometimes someone just wanted to paint a sailboat." Michelle nodded, chewing, listening, as Bea took another long sip and exhaled, wiping her face again on her sweater sleeve. "And that's what's beautiful, is that dichotomy. It can be both. Because art is whatever it's seen as, by the one perceiving it. One child might see Beatrice Beagle as a bastion of comfort, the only source of love in their life. Someone who can help guide them into understanding these complicated feelings when the rest of the world has let them down. And then one child might just see a backpack." Michelle felt her eyes tear up, and she reached across the table and held Bea's hand, causing her to finally look at Michelle and smile weakly. "It's hard, you know, to separate the concept of what an artist is from the artist themselves. You become so wrapped up within your own identity as a brand that you forget you were a person first. That's something I'm trying very hard to do, is be a person again. I had a life before Beatrice, and I'll have a life after. It isn't WHO I am. It's just a PART of who I am. Never forget that, Michelle," Bea said, "never forget where you came from, or where you might be going. Art can come from you, but it's never fully you. And that's a good thing." Michelle knew Bea had complicated feelings about her status in regards to artistry, commercialism and the whole shpiel, but it was nice to have it clarified a bit more. And as someone who made things for a living, albeit props, Michelle was happy to be given this advice by someone else in the field whom she so much admired. Eliza probably had been told this as well, she figured. Michelle might not be a little girl anymore, but it seemed Beatrice Beagle still had a lot to teach her about life. And she was willing to listen. *** Michelle sighed as she pulled her coat off and slopped it over the back of the dining table chair, sitting down in it and watching Delores begin to season some meat. Delores glanced at her and smiled, which made Michelle smile back. "Did you have a good day at work?" Delores asked. "I actually never made it to work," Michelle replied, "Beatrice got sidetracked, and we spent the whole day doing something else entirely." Delores stopped what she was doing, wrapped the meat in foil, then slid the baking tray into the oven and turned to look a Michelle as she wiped her hands down on her apron. Their eyes locked, but neither one said anything. Then Michelle started sniffling, and Delores walked over to her, pulled her apron off and tossed it on the counter and pulled Michelle's head against her tummy, stroking her hair. "I had a really weird day," Michelle whispered. "Life is full of weird days, pumpkin," Delores said, "but sometimes it's the weird days that make life make the most sense." Michelle nodded, listening, understanding, agreeing. If there was one thing Delores was great at, it was taking a bad situation and turning it on its head to see the positives. Michelle had to admire that, and it was a trait she was trying to pick up herself. She shut her eyes and relaxed. She'd worry more about things tomorrow. Tonight, right now, she just needed to be. And that was a luxury she was grateful to have, that she recognized not everyone else got. Maybe Delores was right. Life was in fact full of weird days. And she loved those days the best.
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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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