These images that flashed before her in the dark on the small television screen were things she hadn't seen in years. Sitting there on the end of her bed, looking into this television screen - the television that had the built in VCR, the only one capable of playing these tapes anymore, lest they be forever locked away - Beatrice couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse for those days gone by. Those days with the people she'd once considered her friends and coworkers, her co-conspirators in creativity. And what should've made her feel better, only made her feel more uneasy, because now, a young woman - a young woman she didn't know except via the osmosis of the television screen from years prior - had rebuilt her shows entire set in her basement, and for some reason...this made Beatrice Burden extremely sad.
***
"I really wish you'd reconsider," Leslie said as she sat back down at her desk, handing an envelope to Bea, who was seated across from her as she continued, "we'd love to have you back. We'd give you a budget you'd be comfortable with and you would have complete creative control. Corporate sponsorship is the way of the past, gone like the dinosaurs, and even publicly funded groups like ours that provide free entertainment to the lowest of income families can manage to make productions of grandeur out of seemingly very little."
"I appreciate the sentiment, you've always been extremely kind to me," Bea said, smiling as she used one of her nails to undo the envelope, "But I'm fairly comfortable in semi self imposed exile."
She opened the envelope and slid out a card, which she smiled at briefly before opening it to wide eyed surprise.
"Happy?" Leslie asked, smirking as she leaned back in her comfy leather desk chair, arms behind her head.
"Uh...this is extremely generous," Bea said, "I...I don't know that I can accept this."
"Think of it as back payment, for all the money stolen from you in years prior," Leslie said, "I'm doing my best to make things right between you and this station. Now that Nassar is no longer in charge, and we're all doing things my way, I've been doing my best to make amends between everyone he wronged. Turns out it was a lot of people."
"You say that as if it's uncommon for a businessman," Bea said, making Leslie chuckle.
"Well, be that as it may, I hope you like what I've tried to do for you," Leslie said, "And, like I said, if you ever want to come back, you have my number and the station would welcome you with open arms. Most people here thought you get a bad rap. You're a childhood icon, please don't forget that."
Much as she'd like to, even if she wouldn't admit it, she couldn't forget it even if she tried.
***
Beatrice paced her lofts living room, chewing nervously on her nails.
She had been waiting for a phone call for a few weeks from an event organizer getting together people from public access kids shows, and they'd been trying to get Beatrice on the phone for ages. Eventually she realized she couldn't just ignore them, and so she promised to speak to them tonight. This organizer, her name was Diana, was attempting to make a small convention of sorts, but needless to say, Beatrice wanted nothing to do with it, and ignoring someone was considered rude so she decided she'd just politely decline.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the phone rang and Bea quickly answered it, hoping to get this awkward conversation over with as quickly as possible.
"Hello?" Diana asked, "Miss Beagle?"
"This is Bea," Beatrice said, "How can I help you?"
"I'm so glad we finally get to talk! I've been dying to speak with you for weeks now, and you just seem so unavailable! My name is Diana Riggs, and I am-"
"Miss Riggs, I don't mean to be rude, but I am not interested in whatever it is you're trying to do. I'm sure your intentions are good and that you mean well, but honestly, I just want to be left alone. I hope you understand" Beatrice said, blurting it out, not even letting her finish. When she finally spoke again, the disappointment in her voice was clear as day, even as she tried to hide it.
"I...I understand," Diana said, "I just had to ask, you know how it is. Thank you for at least speaking to me."
"Of course, and thank you for the invitation," Bea said.
"If you change your mind you have my number, and the convention is a week from tomorrow," Diana said, "Everyone would love to see you there, we're all big admirers of you. You're such an icon."
After Bea had hung up, she stood there staring at the phone, tapping her foot on the floor as she chewed on her lip. How could she be an icon, especially when compared to so many others that were still so fondly remembered? It just didn't make sense to her, and the label never really sat well.
***
Why? Why was Michelle the one who had remembered it as well as she had, and why had she clung to it so desperately for so many years? It just didn't make sense. But after seeing the set remade in the basement, Beatrice couldn't help but feel grateful for her lifelong admiration, because there was one thing Michelle never called her...and that was an 'icon'. Oh sure, she'd said the character of Beatrice had been inspirational, but the word 'icon' had never left her lips, near as she could remember.
But what was she honestly supposed to make of the basement set? Was it just the strange project of a strange lonely young woman with a breathing disorder? Or was there something deeper here that she was missing? Something Michelle had intended to jump out at her? Sure, she appreciated the effort to hell and back, but for some reason, other than Michelle's general love for her work, it didn't make sense to Beatrice why she'd done this.
Maybe the best course of action would be to simply ask her.
After all, time and time again Bea had found that had she just talked to someone things would've turned out a lot better. Communication is kind of strange like that.
***
"Am I an icon?"
This sudden question surprised Liam, who jumped a little and dropped his magazine on his lap in the hospital bed. He looked at Beatrice standing in the doorway, before she stepped into the room and took a seat on the chair beside the bed reserved for 'guests', of which she'd been the only one. Liam shook his head and shrugged.
"A simple 'hello' would've sufficed," he said, "Maybe a 'how are you doing? any better?', but I guess not."
"Hello, how are you doing? Any better? Also am I an icon?" Beatrice asked, making Liam laugh and, thusly, wheeze a little. She set her purse on her lap and watched him as he set his magazine down completely now and looked at her, cupping his hands in his lap.
"Yes, but not to the kids like the other shows...Those shows are icons because the kids grow up to remember them fondly, and thus they retain some semblance of relevancy in todays world. But you're not that kind if icon, Bea...you're an icon to the people in the industry," Liam said, shifting and sitting up better, "You're an icon to the creative people who want to do their things on their terms, and damn what 'the suits' might say, or anyone for that matter."
"That's...definitely an answer I didn't expect," Beatrice said, fingering her jangling charm bracelet on her wrist, "but...but what kind of legacy is that to leave?"
"You goin' somewhere?" Liam asked, making her chuckle.
"No," Beatrice replied, shaking her head, "Just thinking about the future. Is that really what I want to go down as? A creative person who inspired other creative people but became a self imposed hermit and burnt her only true venture to the ground for the sake of fighting back against a rabid capitalistic consumer driven culture that only demanded new content as soon as the old got boring?"
"Beatrice," Liam said, grunting a bit as he struggled to sit up straight and glanced at her, "Listen to me, okay? You accomplished something that most people in the entertainment industry never do, no matter how long they work for or how much success they achieve. You created something that people, especially other creative people, really connected with, and then - as if that wasn't enough - you ended it on your own terms because you weren't happy with the outcomes. You publicly fought against the way it was viewed and mishandled, and a lot of that was my fault and I have been so sorry you have no idea, but do you know how many other creative people would kill for the kind of guts you just seem to brazenly have?"
Beatrice smiled and pulled her hair back, tying it up in a messy bun as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, folding her arms.
"I want you to know that I'll forgive you one of these days," she said, "And that I'm very happy you didn't die."
"Which will come first? Your forgiveness or my untimely demise?"
"That remains to be seen," Bea said, making them both laugh.
An icon? Yes. This was something she might be able to work with after all, and she knew just the person to work on it with.
***
Michelle was standing in her kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal as she stared at the calendar tacked to the fridge. She couldn't help but notice a particular day coming up, one circled in red, October 17th. A day that she hated had to happen yearly. As she groaned and chewed, she heard a knock at the front door. Michelle set her cereal bowl down and pulled her mask back on over her face, tugging her oxygen tank along behind her as she headed to answer whoever it was knocking.
She pulled the front door open to reveal Beatrice, standing on her porch. This, she had to admit, was a surprise. Michelle stepped aside to let Bea enter, which she did, almost happily so. As she got into the living room, she turned quick on her heel and looked at Michelle.
"Having trouble today?" she asked, motioning towards the tank.
"Yeah, some days it's really bad," Michelle said, sounding out of breath.
"Well, that's good because now what I have to say can't take your breath away," Beatrice said, and then after realizing Michelle wasn't laughing, shrugged and added, "Sorry, that was likely in bad taste."
"What are you doing here?" Michelle asked, still somewhat starstruck by her sudden appearance.
"I realized the other day that...the thing I was running from all along wasn't my shame or my fear or my anger, but was my appreciation. I was mad that people appreciated me and what I'd done because I couldn't, so I figured if I wasn't capable of it, then nobody else should be allowed to either. I know it's ridiculous and unfair, and I put myself under my own scrutiny more than anyone else ever put me under, but it's the gods honest truth. Ever since the show went off the air and the whole thing went kaput, I've been told, repeatedly, that I am an icon. I hate that label."
"That must be frustrating, yeah, especially if you don't hold yourself in high esteem," Michelle said, making Bea snap her fingers and point at her.
"Bingo, see, you get it. You...you seem capable of appreciating the Beagle the same way I did," Beatrice said, "...she was my best friend in the whole world, and I simply wanted to share the love and comfort that she gave me with everyone else who never got to experience it, because I didn't want them missing out on her gifts."
Michelle couldn't believe this, Beatrice was spilling her guts to her. This was like a dream come true.
"Then what are you doing here?" Michelle asked.
"You're the only one who didn't call me an icon. I appreciate that. It made your admiration more...real, more believable. Like...like you didn't like what I had done, you liked me specifically. Aside from my parents, maybe Liam, I've rarely felt liked in the world."
"I know what that feels like."
"I'm sure you do, that's why we understand one another," Beatrice said, "Michelle, I want to do something for you. Something I've never thought about asking another person to do. I want to give you all my tapes, and I want you to digitize them so we can release them online for free. I want you to help me create an archive for something we both love. Will you help me?"
Michelle was speechless. She never in a million years could've expected this.
"Can I have a drink of water?" Bea asked, "I'm so thirsty."
"Yeah, there's a dispenser built into the fridge," Michelle said.
Beatrice excused herself and stood up, heading to the kitchen. She found the glasses in the cabinet, pulled a mug and filled it up. As she drank, she tapped at the calendar and looked back into the living room over the couch at Michelle.
"Why's this circled?"
"...it's my birthday," Michelle said.
"Not too happy about it?" Bea asked, walking back to the living room now.
"How...how would this work?" Michelle asked, as Beatrice once again seated herself.
"Well, I'd bring them over to you and we could sit together and watch them, take notes on things I'd like cut out, make some small edits here and there. But you're the only person I'd trust with this kind of project, despite barely knowing you. I just...I can sense you appreciate me, and because of that, I appreciate you. I'd happily pay you, of course, if that's what you're asking."
"That...that wasn't what I was asking, but I can't really turn it down. I am in need of employment..." Michelle said, sounding embarrassed.
"You know, when I was your age, I couldn't see myself doing anything else other than what I wound up doing. Can you honestly say you don't feel the same? Can you see yourself wasting away in some dreadful little office for the next 30 years, toiling away for someone who doesn't give a shit about you while your actual talents go to waste?"
Michelle chewed her lip and shook her head.
"Every job I've tried just...doesn't feel right. I've...I've never really known where it is I should be or what it is I should be doing, but I know it isn't any of the things I've tried, that's for sure," Michelle said, and Bea smiled, leaning forward.
"Because guess what, knowing what you don't want to do is more important than knowing what you want to do, and it's not an insight everyone gets, unfortunately," Bea said, "Help me help you. I know this is weird, I know it's out of the blue, I know we barely know one another but I see potential in you that I saw in myself, and I would never forgive myself if I didn't try and bring it out of you."
Michelle smiled, and tried not to cry. Her idol, a woman she'd long admired her entire life, was sitting in her living room and telling her she believed in her. How things had come to this she couldn't really understand, but they had, and she never felt more thankful.
"I have to go, I have some other errands to run," Beatrice said, standing up and pulling her purse back up over her shoulder as she headed for the door, "But please think about my offer. Interviewers, convention organizers, even Leslie herself - god love her - wanted to heap praise onto me for the things I made, not for the person I was so I can't help but appreciate that you tracked me down for a very personal reason. You liked the things I was saying, not the things I was selling. That means a lot to me."
As she stood in the door, about to exit to the porch, she pulled something out of her purse, along with a pen. She flipped open the little booklet and began scribbling in it before finishing with a flourish and tearing the paper out, handing it to Michelle.
"...this...this is three thousand dollars," Michelle said, staring at the paper, her eyes wide.
"Yes it is," Beatrice said, stuffing her things back into her purse, "Get yourself some new equipment, a new apparatus, something to make life easier. The people who've been abandoned by everyone have to look out for one another."
And then, without even asking, Beatrice leaned in and hugged her. Michelle couldn't breath - even more than she already couldn't - because these were things she never in a million years could've imagined happening. After the hug broke, Michelle watched Beatrice walk to her car, a tiny little hatchback, got in and honked goodbye as she pulled away. Michelle walked back around to her couch and plopped back down, her eyes glued to the check in her hands.
After everything in her life, it wasn't her parents that came through for her.
It was a long forgotten childrens public television host.
And she could appreciate the humor in that.
***
"I really wish you'd reconsider," Leslie said as she sat back down at her desk, handing an envelope to Bea, who was seated across from her as she continued, "we'd love to have you back. We'd give you a budget you'd be comfortable with and you would have complete creative control. Corporate sponsorship is the way of the past, gone like the dinosaurs, and even publicly funded groups like ours that provide free entertainment to the lowest of income families can manage to make productions of grandeur out of seemingly very little."
"I appreciate the sentiment, you've always been extremely kind to me," Bea said, smiling as she used one of her nails to undo the envelope, "But I'm fairly comfortable in semi self imposed exile."
She opened the envelope and slid out a card, which she smiled at briefly before opening it to wide eyed surprise.
"Happy?" Leslie asked, smirking as she leaned back in her comfy leather desk chair, arms behind her head.
"Uh...this is extremely generous," Bea said, "I...I don't know that I can accept this."
"Think of it as back payment, for all the money stolen from you in years prior," Leslie said, "I'm doing my best to make things right between you and this station. Now that Nassar is no longer in charge, and we're all doing things my way, I've been doing my best to make amends between everyone he wronged. Turns out it was a lot of people."
"You say that as if it's uncommon for a businessman," Bea said, making Leslie chuckle.
"Well, be that as it may, I hope you like what I've tried to do for you," Leslie said, "And, like I said, if you ever want to come back, you have my number and the station would welcome you with open arms. Most people here thought you get a bad rap. You're a childhood icon, please don't forget that."
Much as she'd like to, even if she wouldn't admit it, she couldn't forget it even if she tried.
***
Beatrice paced her lofts living room, chewing nervously on her nails.
She had been waiting for a phone call for a few weeks from an event organizer getting together people from public access kids shows, and they'd been trying to get Beatrice on the phone for ages. Eventually she realized she couldn't just ignore them, and so she promised to speak to them tonight. This organizer, her name was Diana, was attempting to make a small convention of sorts, but needless to say, Beatrice wanted nothing to do with it, and ignoring someone was considered rude so she decided she'd just politely decline.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the phone rang and Bea quickly answered it, hoping to get this awkward conversation over with as quickly as possible.
"Hello?" Diana asked, "Miss Beagle?"
"This is Bea," Beatrice said, "How can I help you?"
"I'm so glad we finally get to talk! I've been dying to speak with you for weeks now, and you just seem so unavailable! My name is Diana Riggs, and I am-"
"Miss Riggs, I don't mean to be rude, but I am not interested in whatever it is you're trying to do. I'm sure your intentions are good and that you mean well, but honestly, I just want to be left alone. I hope you understand" Beatrice said, blurting it out, not even letting her finish. When she finally spoke again, the disappointment in her voice was clear as day, even as she tried to hide it.
"I...I understand," Diana said, "I just had to ask, you know how it is. Thank you for at least speaking to me."
"Of course, and thank you for the invitation," Bea said.
"If you change your mind you have my number, and the convention is a week from tomorrow," Diana said, "Everyone would love to see you there, we're all big admirers of you. You're such an icon."
After Bea had hung up, she stood there staring at the phone, tapping her foot on the floor as she chewed on her lip. How could she be an icon, especially when compared to so many others that were still so fondly remembered? It just didn't make sense to her, and the label never really sat well.
***
Why? Why was Michelle the one who had remembered it as well as she had, and why had she clung to it so desperately for so many years? It just didn't make sense. But after seeing the set remade in the basement, Beatrice couldn't help but feel grateful for her lifelong admiration, because there was one thing Michelle never called her...and that was an 'icon'. Oh sure, she'd said the character of Beatrice had been inspirational, but the word 'icon' had never left her lips, near as she could remember.
But what was she honestly supposed to make of the basement set? Was it just the strange project of a strange lonely young woman with a breathing disorder? Or was there something deeper here that she was missing? Something Michelle had intended to jump out at her? Sure, she appreciated the effort to hell and back, but for some reason, other than Michelle's general love for her work, it didn't make sense to Beatrice why she'd done this.
Maybe the best course of action would be to simply ask her.
After all, time and time again Bea had found that had she just talked to someone things would've turned out a lot better. Communication is kind of strange like that.
***
"Am I an icon?"
This sudden question surprised Liam, who jumped a little and dropped his magazine on his lap in the hospital bed. He looked at Beatrice standing in the doorway, before she stepped into the room and took a seat on the chair beside the bed reserved for 'guests', of which she'd been the only one. Liam shook his head and shrugged.
"A simple 'hello' would've sufficed," he said, "Maybe a 'how are you doing? any better?', but I guess not."
"Hello, how are you doing? Any better? Also am I an icon?" Beatrice asked, making Liam laugh and, thusly, wheeze a little. She set her purse on her lap and watched him as he set his magazine down completely now and looked at her, cupping his hands in his lap.
"Yes, but not to the kids like the other shows...Those shows are icons because the kids grow up to remember them fondly, and thus they retain some semblance of relevancy in todays world. But you're not that kind if icon, Bea...you're an icon to the people in the industry," Liam said, shifting and sitting up better, "You're an icon to the creative people who want to do their things on their terms, and damn what 'the suits' might say, or anyone for that matter."
"That's...definitely an answer I didn't expect," Beatrice said, fingering her jangling charm bracelet on her wrist, "but...but what kind of legacy is that to leave?"
"You goin' somewhere?" Liam asked, making her chuckle.
"No," Beatrice replied, shaking her head, "Just thinking about the future. Is that really what I want to go down as? A creative person who inspired other creative people but became a self imposed hermit and burnt her only true venture to the ground for the sake of fighting back against a rabid capitalistic consumer driven culture that only demanded new content as soon as the old got boring?"
"Beatrice," Liam said, grunting a bit as he struggled to sit up straight and glanced at her, "Listen to me, okay? You accomplished something that most people in the entertainment industry never do, no matter how long they work for or how much success they achieve. You created something that people, especially other creative people, really connected with, and then - as if that wasn't enough - you ended it on your own terms because you weren't happy with the outcomes. You publicly fought against the way it was viewed and mishandled, and a lot of that was my fault and I have been so sorry you have no idea, but do you know how many other creative people would kill for the kind of guts you just seem to brazenly have?"
Beatrice smiled and pulled her hair back, tying it up in a messy bun as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, folding her arms.
"I want you to know that I'll forgive you one of these days," she said, "And that I'm very happy you didn't die."
"Which will come first? Your forgiveness or my untimely demise?"
"That remains to be seen," Bea said, making them both laugh.
An icon? Yes. This was something she might be able to work with after all, and she knew just the person to work on it with.
***
Michelle was standing in her kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal as she stared at the calendar tacked to the fridge. She couldn't help but notice a particular day coming up, one circled in red, October 17th. A day that she hated had to happen yearly. As she groaned and chewed, she heard a knock at the front door. Michelle set her cereal bowl down and pulled her mask back on over her face, tugging her oxygen tank along behind her as she headed to answer whoever it was knocking.
She pulled the front door open to reveal Beatrice, standing on her porch. This, she had to admit, was a surprise. Michelle stepped aside to let Bea enter, which she did, almost happily so. As she got into the living room, she turned quick on her heel and looked at Michelle.
"Having trouble today?" she asked, motioning towards the tank.
"Yeah, some days it's really bad," Michelle said, sounding out of breath.
"Well, that's good because now what I have to say can't take your breath away," Beatrice said, and then after realizing Michelle wasn't laughing, shrugged and added, "Sorry, that was likely in bad taste."
"What are you doing here?" Michelle asked, still somewhat starstruck by her sudden appearance.
"I realized the other day that...the thing I was running from all along wasn't my shame or my fear or my anger, but was my appreciation. I was mad that people appreciated me and what I'd done because I couldn't, so I figured if I wasn't capable of it, then nobody else should be allowed to either. I know it's ridiculous and unfair, and I put myself under my own scrutiny more than anyone else ever put me under, but it's the gods honest truth. Ever since the show went off the air and the whole thing went kaput, I've been told, repeatedly, that I am an icon. I hate that label."
"That must be frustrating, yeah, especially if you don't hold yourself in high esteem," Michelle said, making Bea snap her fingers and point at her.
"Bingo, see, you get it. You...you seem capable of appreciating the Beagle the same way I did," Beatrice said, "...she was my best friend in the whole world, and I simply wanted to share the love and comfort that she gave me with everyone else who never got to experience it, because I didn't want them missing out on her gifts."
Michelle couldn't believe this, Beatrice was spilling her guts to her. This was like a dream come true.
"Then what are you doing here?" Michelle asked.
"You're the only one who didn't call me an icon. I appreciate that. It made your admiration more...real, more believable. Like...like you didn't like what I had done, you liked me specifically. Aside from my parents, maybe Liam, I've rarely felt liked in the world."
"I know what that feels like."
"I'm sure you do, that's why we understand one another," Beatrice said, "Michelle, I want to do something for you. Something I've never thought about asking another person to do. I want to give you all my tapes, and I want you to digitize them so we can release them online for free. I want you to help me create an archive for something we both love. Will you help me?"
Michelle was speechless. She never in a million years could've expected this.
"Can I have a drink of water?" Bea asked, "I'm so thirsty."
"Yeah, there's a dispenser built into the fridge," Michelle said.
Beatrice excused herself and stood up, heading to the kitchen. She found the glasses in the cabinet, pulled a mug and filled it up. As she drank, she tapped at the calendar and looked back into the living room over the couch at Michelle.
"Why's this circled?"
"...it's my birthday," Michelle said.
"Not too happy about it?" Bea asked, walking back to the living room now.
"How...how would this work?" Michelle asked, as Beatrice once again seated herself.
"Well, I'd bring them over to you and we could sit together and watch them, take notes on things I'd like cut out, make some small edits here and there. But you're the only person I'd trust with this kind of project, despite barely knowing you. I just...I can sense you appreciate me, and because of that, I appreciate you. I'd happily pay you, of course, if that's what you're asking."
"That...that wasn't what I was asking, but I can't really turn it down. I am in need of employment..." Michelle said, sounding embarrassed.
"You know, when I was your age, I couldn't see myself doing anything else other than what I wound up doing. Can you honestly say you don't feel the same? Can you see yourself wasting away in some dreadful little office for the next 30 years, toiling away for someone who doesn't give a shit about you while your actual talents go to waste?"
Michelle chewed her lip and shook her head.
"Every job I've tried just...doesn't feel right. I've...I've never really known where it is I should be or what it is I should be doing, but I know it isn't any of the things I've tried, that's for sure," Michelle said, and Bea smiled, leaning forward.
"Because guess what, knowing what you don't want to do is more important than knowing what you want to do, and it's not an insight everyone gets, unfortunately," Bea said, "Help me help you. I know this is weird, I know it's out of the blue, I know we barely know one another but I see potential in you that I saw in myself, and I would never forgive myself if I didn't try and bring it out of you."
Michelle smiled, and tried not to cry. Her idol, a woman she'd long admired her entire life, was sitting in her living room and telling her she believed in her. How things had come to this she couldn't really understand, but they had, and she never felt more thankful.
"I have to go, I have some other errands to run," Beatrice said, standing up and pulling her purse back up over her shoulder as she headed for the door, "But please think about my offer. Interviewers, convention organizers, even Leslie herself - god love her - wanted to heap praise onto me for the things I made, not for the person I was so I can't help but appreciate that you tracked me down for a very personal reason. You liked the things I was saying, not the things I was selling. That means a lot to me."
As she stood in the door, about to exit to the porch, she pulled something out of her purse, along with a pen. She flipped open the little booklet and began scribbling in it before finishing with a flourish and tearing the paper out, handing it to Michelle.
"...this...this is three thousand dollars," Michelle said, staring at the paper, her eyes wide.
"Yes it is," Beatrice said, stuffing her things back into her purse, "Get yourself some new equipment, a new apparatus, something to make life easier. The people who've been abandoned by everyone have to look out for one another."
And then, without even asking, Beatrice leaned in and hugged her. Michelle couldn't breath - even more than she already couldn't - because these were things she never in a million years could've imagined happening. After the hug broke, Michelle watched Beatrice walk to her car, a tiny little hatchback, got in and honked goodbye as she pulled away. Michelle walked back around to her couch and plopped back down, her eyes glued to the check in her hands.
After everything in her life, it wasn't her parents that came through for her.
It was a long forgotten childrens public television host.
And she could appreciate the humor in that.