After the Fairy Tale
I press the doorbell and a loud magnificent ding-dong reverberates sonorously through the cavernous palace. I mutter to myself “some doorbell!” as I step back and admire the heavy brass bell button’s gold and turquoise trimmings and the sparkle that can only come from regular spit and polish.
The glittering two-door entrance parts slowly, like in some old Disney movie, and I can almost hear Puccini sung by a fat lady somewhere.
“Can I help you?” utters a peculiar voice as the doors open wider and I can peek inside. My eyes quickly fix onto the splendid pair of round winding stairs that rise majestically under an equally resplendent chandelier. There are mirrors and paintings everywhere and a cozy smell of hickory smoke wafting from a fireplace inside.
“I said… can I help you?” says the voice again with a hint of irritation.
I look around, but don’t see anyone. I look down and I see… a beagle.
“You’re a beagle!”
“Yes… and what are you, Sherlock Holmes?”
I don’t know whether I should pinch myself or head for the nearest asylum. “But… umm… you can talk?”
“Yeah, yeah… I talk, I listen to music, I drink gin… I bark sometimes… you humans bark too, but we sound way better.” He starts scratching his neck with his back paws.
“I’ve never talked to a dog before…” I knew I wasn’t sounding too smart.
“And judging from your performance, this might just be your last time.”
“Look, I’m sorry… Beagle… umm… should I call you ‘Beagle’?”
“My friends call me Farnsworth. As for you, well… I don’t really care.”
“Farnsworth?” I repeated. “Sounds very British.”
“Yes, well…born and bred near Grasmere, in the Lake District of Cumbria. So are you some kind of census guy?”
“Listen, Farnsworth. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that… I came here looking for Charming… Mr. Prince Charming, that is.”
His ears prop up suddenly, as dogs tend to do. “Oh, Charmie! Umm… look, I’m sorry. He’s left this house already. He used to live here but he moved out quite a while ago.” Farnsworth’s head droops as he stares at the floor with a tinge of sadness reflected in his soulful eyes.
“Oh… sorry to hear that,” I said. I had crossed an entire enchanted forest to get to this address, hoping to see my old friend.
Farnsworth finally deemed it worthy to wag his tail and tried doling out some sympathy. “Look Mister. Last I’ve heard, Charmie has signed the lease on an apartment somewhere in Bavaria. Go to Munich and ask some questions and I’m sure you’ll find him.”
I was debating what I should do when I heard familiar lyrics coming from one of the palace chambers in the back. Sounded like a pretty good stereo system.
(When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.)
“You listen to The Beatles?” I asked Farnsworth.
“You like them too?” He was now wagging his tail, big time. “Love all their songs. What a band!”
“So how’d you learn about them?” I asked, trying to make small talk. After all, I didn’t know canines had musical tastes and what better chance to ask but to a talking dog.
“You know, I was misinformed at first. I thought it was ‘The Beagles’… yeah, yeah, stupid me… I know. But after hearing their music, I was hooked. By that point, I wouldn’t have cared if it they were named ‘The Pussycats’ or something.” He raised his head and looked into my eyes. “Look, I’m sorry if I was a bit rude back then. It’s just… we’re not used to too many strangers coming here and knocking on our doors.”
“Hey, no worries!” I said, trying to be cheerful. “Yeah, I guess you were a bit rough there… or should I say… ‘ruff, ruff’.” I’m sure I had a toothy smile, stupid face, and a bad impression as I said that. Wished I could take it back.
Farnsworth grimaced as if he’d just swallowed a chicken bone. “Decent taste in music but… awful sense of humor. Lost some points there, cowboy.”
“Umm… yes… but tell me,” I ask quickly, hoping the supply of goodwill hadn’t dwindled yet completely. “I thought he was happily married to Cindy and all that. They don’t live here any more?”
Farnsworth took a deep breath and sighed. “Well… they did…happily at that. But that was a while ago. He’s moved on since then… but Cindy, she still lives here. I’m her pet and companion.”
I gazed at Farnsworth and I could see him turning his head away slightly. Were those tears in the beagle’s eyes, I wondered? Whatever it was, he exuded sorrow… and I shared in it.
“You know,” he said, almost at a whisper, “those fairy tale endings? Well… sometimes they’re just the beginning. Nobody hears about what happens afterwards… but a lot can happen afterwards. Life is like that. ‘Happily ever after’ isn’t a guarantee.”
I was seeing the picture. The beautiful couple had split up. And Farnsworth had stayed behind to mop up the melancholy.
“That’s so sad,” I say, really meaning it. “So who’s fault was it?” I ask. “Don’t mean to intrude, but… Charmie’s an old friend.”
“You know, sometimes it’s nobody’s fault. Life isn’t always so clear cut. Charmie didn’t suddenly run off with some exotic Asian dancer nor Cindy with some hot-blooded Italian gigolo. Both sides suffered equally, suffered greatly… and it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just… a matter of compatibility... two people who tragically find out they don’t belong together. Sometimes it works… sometimes it doesn’t.”
(And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree,
There will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is
Still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be.)
I pat Farnsworth on the head and he seems to appreciate the gesture. I was about to say “good boy” but thought better of it as it might not suit the vocabulary of an eloquent beagle.
“Is Cindy alright?” I asked.
“She’s hanging in there, I guess,” replied Farnsworth. “She still looks a million dollars, if you ask me… but she’s definitely lost some of that fairy tale vivacity… that youthful spunk… le joie de vivre.”
“I’m… I’m sorry to hear that.”
I swallow back the knot forming in my throat. “So much for fairy tale endings,” I mutter to myself cynically. Is this another typical flipside of the coin that people rarely hear about? Life can dole out so much crap that people know nothing about, while everyone around you figures everything is just hunky-dory. I recall a popular television series from the early 90’s; it was called Twin Peaks and it was about normal decent looking people in a small town somewhere in Idaho. Everything looked as normal as can be in rural America until the story started to unravel and it turned out everyone (every single one) had all kinds of bizarre personalities and circumstances. The story then took stranger and stranger twists until it ended with a supernatural climactic bang.
“So you think they’ll be alright?” I ask halfheartedly.
“How should I know?” barks Farnsworth. “What, do I look like a psychiatrist to you? You expect beagles to degree from Harvard and set up practice downtown?”
“Hey pooch, easy… no need to get bent out of shape.” I pat him again on the head, hoping to calm him down. His tail wags weakly.
“Look… I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. What I mean is… yes I’m worried and yes I hope they’ll somehow come out of it someday… hopefully soon. Both are lovely people, Cindy and Charmie, and it’s just that life dealt them a tough hand.”
I think about something that’s been on my mind lately. I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason. In the greater context of things, in the karmic ‘big picture’ of things that only He can understand, all our joys and tragedies, our euphoria and melancholies, our triumphs and tribulations… they happen for a reason. And we are not psychics nor prophets nor oracles. It is not for us to know… until it is time to know.
Farnsworth pants slightly with his tongue sticking out. Maybe he’s thirsty. Maybe it’s time for me to go.
“Hey Farnsworth… I think I better get back on my way. Maybe I’ll hit Munich, as you suggest. I’ll drop into Hofbrau House for a brew and ask around for Charmie. Can you please say hello to Cindy for me? Tell her I’m sorry about what happened and I hope she recovers soon. I know it’s not much help saying this… but tell her everything happens for a reason and I pray that someday she’ll figure it out.”
Farnsworth wagged his tail again and whimpered. “Nice dog” I said, patting his head, hoping he wouldn’t take offense.
“Hey, thanks for dropping by,” said the beagle. “Next time you see a cute poodle, somewhere in your travels, send her this way. Tell her I don’t bite and I can cook up some mean spaghetti.”
“Yeah, sure thing, Farnsworth… sure thing. You take care now.” A couple of friendly waves, and I’m on the road again…
(And when the night is cloudy
There is still a light that shines on me,
Shine on til tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.)
The glittering two-door entrance parts slowly, like in some old Disney movie, and I can almost hear Puccini sung by a fat lady somewhere.
“Can I help you?” utters a peculiar voice as the doors open wider and I can peek inside. My eyes quickly fix onto the splendid pair of round winding stairs that rise majestically under an equally resplendent chandelier. There are mirrors and paintings everywhere and a cozy smell of hickory smoke wafting from a fireplace inside.
“I said… can I help you?” says the voice again with a hint of irritation.
I look around, but don’t see anyone. I look down and I see… a beagle.
“You’re a beagle!”
“Yes… and what are you, Sherlock Holmes?”
I don’t know whether I should pinch myself or head for the nearest asylum. “But… umm… you can talk?”
“Yeah, yeah… I talk, I listen to music, I drink gin… I bark sometimes… you humans bark too, but we sound way better.” He starts scratching his neck with his back paws.
“I’ve never talked to a dog before…” I knew I wasn’t sounding too smart.
“And judging from your performance, this might just be your last time.”
“Look, I’m sorry… Beagle… umm… should I call you ‘Beagle’?”
“My friends call me Farnsworth. As for you, well… I don’t really care.”
“Farnsworth?” I repeated. “Sounds very British.”
“Yes, well…born and bred near Grasmere, in the Lake District of Cumbria. So are you some kind of census guy?”
“Listen, Farnsworth. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that… I came here looking for Charming… Mr. Prince Charming, that is.”
His ears prop up suddenly, as dogs tend to do. “Oh, Charmie! Umm… look, I’m sorry. He’s left this house already. He used to live here but he moved out quite a while ago.” Farnsworth’s head droops as he stares at the floor with a tinge of sadness reflected in his soulful eyes.
“Oh… sorry to hear that,” I said. I had crossed an entire enchanted forest to get to this address, hoping to see my old friend.
Farnsworth finally deemed it worthy to wag his tail and tried doling out some sympathy. “Look Mister. Last I’ve heard, Charmie has signed the lease on an apartment somewhere in Bavaria. Go to Munich and ask some questions and I’m sure you’ll find him.”
I was debating what I should do when I heard familiar lyrics coming from one of the palace chambers in the back. Sounded like a pretty good stereo system.
(When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.)
“You listen to The Beatles?” I asked Farnsworth.
“You like them too?” He was now wagging his tail, big time. “Love all their songs. What a band!”
“So how’d you learn about them?” I asked, trying to make small talk. After all, I didn’t know canines had musical tastes and what better chance to ask but to a talking dog.
“You know, I was misinformed at first. I thought it was ‘The Beagles’… yeah, yeah, stupid me… I know. But after hearing their music, I was hooked. By that point, I wouldn’t have cared if it they were named ‘The Pussycats’ or something.” He raised his head and looked into my eyes. “Look, I’m sorry if I was a bit rude back then. It’s just… we’re not used to too many strangers coming here and knocking on our doors.”
“Hey, no worries!” I said, trying to be cheerful. “Yeah, I guess you were a bit rough there… or should I say… ‘ruff, ruff’.” I’m sure I had a toothy smile, stupid face, and a bad impression as I said that. Wished I could take it back.
Farnsworth grimaced as if he’d just swallowed a chicken bone. “Decent taste in music but… awful sense of humor. Lost some points there, cowboy.”
“Umm… yes… but tell me,” I ask quickly, hoping the supply of goodwill hadn’t dwindled yet completely. “I thought he was happily married to Cindy and all that. They don’t live here any more?”
Farnsworth took a deep breath and sighed. “Well… they did…happily at that. But that was a while ago. He’s moved on since then… but Cindy, she still lives here. I’m her pet and companion.”
I gazed at Farnsworth and I could see him turning his head away slightly. Were those tears in the beagle’s eyes, I wondered? Whatever it was, he exuded sorrow… and I shared in it.
“You know,” he said, almost at a whisper, “those fairy tale endings? Well… sometimes they’re just the beginning. Nobody hears about what happens afterwards… but a lot can happen afterwards. Life is like that. ‘Happily ever after’ isn’t a guarantee.”
I was seeing the picture. The beautiful couple had split up. And Farnsworth had stayed behind to mop up the melancholy.
“That’s so sad,” I say, really meaning it. “So who’s fault was it?” I ask. “Don’t mean to intrude, but… Charmie’s an old friend.”
“You know, sometimes it’s nobody’s fault. Life isn’t always so clear cut. Charmie didn’t suddenly run off with some exotic Asian dancer nor Cindy with some hot-blooded Italian gigolo. Both sides suffered equally, suffered greatly… and it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just… a matter of compatibility... two people who tragically find out they don’t belong together. Sometimes it works… sometimes it doesn’t.”
(And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree,
There will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is
Still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be.)
I pat Farnsworth on the head and he seems to appreciate the gesture. I was about to say “good boy” but thought better of it as it might not suit the vocabulary of an eloquent beagle.
“Is Cindy alright?” I asked.
“She’s hanging in there, I guess,” replied Farnsworth. “She still looks a million dollars, if you ask me… but she’s definitely lost some of that fairy tale vivacity… that youthful spunk… le joie de vivre.”
“I’m… I’m sorry to hear that.”
I swallow back the knot forming in my throat. “So much for fairy tale endings,” I mutter to myself cynically. Is this another typical flipside of the coin that people rarely hear about? Life can dole out so much crap that people know nothing about, while everyone around you figures everything is just hunky-dory. I recall a popular television series from the early 90’s; it was called Twin Peaks and it was about normal decent looking people in a small town somewhere in Idaho. Everything looked as normal as can be in rural America until the story started to unravel and it turned out everyone (every single one) had all kinds of bizarre personalities and circumstances. The story then took stranger and stranger twists until it ended with a supernatural climactic bang.
“So you think they’ll be alright?” I ask halfheartedly.
“How should I know?” barks Farnsworth. “What, do I look like a psychiatrist to you? You expect beagles to degree from Harvard and set up practice downtown?”
“Hey pooch, easy… no need to get bent out of shape.” I pat him again on the head, hoping to calm him down. His tail wags weakly.
“Look… I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. What I mean is… yes I’m worried and yes I hope they’ll somehow come out of it someday… hopefully soon. Both are lovely people, Cindy and Charmie, and it’s just that life dealt them a tough hand.”
I think about something that’s been on my mind lately. I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason. In the greater context of things, in the karmic ‘big picture’ of things that only He can understand, all our joys and tragedies, our euphoria and melancholies, our triumphs and tribulations… they happen for a reason. And we are not psychics nor prophets nor oracles. It is not for us to know… until it is time to know.
Farnsworth pants slightly with his tongue sticking out. Maybe he’s thirsty. Maybe it’s time for me to go.
“Hey Farnsworth… I think I better get back on my way. Maybe I’ll hit Munich, as you suggest. I’ll drop into Hofbrau House for a brew and ask around for Charmie. Can you please say hello to Cindy for me? Tell her I’m sorry about what happened and I hope she recovers soon. I know it’s not much help saying this… but tell her everything happens for a reason and I pray that someday she’ll figure it out.”
Farnsworth wagged his tail again and whimpered. “Nice dog” I said, patting his head, hoping he wouldn’t take offense.
“Hey, thanks for dropping by,” said the beagle. “Next time you see a cute poodle, somewhere in your travels, send her this way. Tell her I don’t bite and I can cook up some mean spaghetti.”
“Yeah, sure thing, Farnsworth… sure thing. You take care now.” A couple of friendly waves, and I’m on the road again…
(And when the night is cloudy
There is still a light that shines on me,
Shine on til tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.)
No comments have been added yet.
