Familiar Heartbeats (#9)

Sometimes, you know. - For the love of a dog.

I am drowning in my tears, for every cough of grief as the one who has loved so deeply is about to leave. Hours, days, weeks, months - I hope this current mellows to a rough wave of yesterday.  I can’t say goodbye, not ready to surrender. the one at my side every day and night, like no other.  - I love you CoCo. 💖🐶💖

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Intro ⭐️ Script ⭐️ Featured Song ⭐️ Writer’s Notes

©️ Juliette Cove

Intro: Red Alert❣️❣️-🚩

He loves me. He loves me not. He ... could not have possibly met me. Critically cuffed to a chihuahua’s healing 24/7 since December, I’m aware as the last berry on a plate of what’s going on around me.

Sixty - over - sixty - labored breaths, CoCo struggled rest in my arms. “This is it. - I love you,” silently locked my eyes. “Please stay with me, for as long as you can.” I wrapped my sweet familiar’s tear fountained soul firmly within mine, as if gravity of my earthly existence could shield. Telling all my love, I begged him to stay. BonBon border guarded, shaking, as I fired our single most valued wish.

Signs fell. I fussed refusal. Years since lost, the sudden appearance of his yellow bow tie from under the passenger seat dropped my heart, slow motion.  My eyes burned; death was mine. “I am not leaving urgent care with just a tie! I refuse!” Dogs, carrier secured, stared frozen at my ferocious unravel. ... “One to six months,” given organs tolerate meds throttling urgent tree breaks,  CoCo was sentenced.

December 29: breath rate mellowed eighteen over sixty; a full chihuahua pound devoured. For fattened rescue, I drifted in grocery parking, immediately followed by my *Purple Dream Jeep* - visioned in 2017 therapeutic exercises. “NoO! Take it away! I want CoCo! ... in - HIS! - BROWN! - Mayfair Mini Cooper!”  I yelled at a Jeep door while the driver braced with concern for exiting the vehicle. - My wish was made.

Perpetual purée styled hair, zombified sleep deprivation, mangled fingernails, and a few days gone commando, I vapored through Whole Foods demanding the finest lean beef of the land, salmon, omega eggs, goat milk, oatmeal, and zero sodium peanut butter. Under appetite stimulant, all CoCo ate was mud from a houseplant, adding “detoxing organic Miracle-Gro” to my goal sheet.

Twenty-one patient syringes a day manifested a giant perfectly crafted RAINBOW shaped poop. “NO ONE is going over any rainbow!” I fussed the turd, reaching to remove it from grass. Neighbors understood my middle finger over poop bag raised to sky while cuddling a dog who required belly harness suspension to stand. Every sign, I raged obliteration of mortality’s departure.

Moons o’many ago, my own head - a heavy lead in awaited sunshine melted blinds - sunk a perfect park day. My f-word reigned back then. Coco stood on my chest, eye to eye, welling a tear for the first time. In the most broken moment of my life, surely to die, he held my strongest reason to heal.  - I replayed his continuous days at my side, now curled around his.

“I don’t want to live without you. I want to go where you’re going. Always, I choose you. Nothing matters. All is a means to be with you. After this world, I want us together. Please stay. I ‘m never letting go, and breathe your every breath. I’ve lived enough. “ - I didn’t realize voice to text was activated on my iPad.

2am, as every hour, I carried CoCo’s staggering  brain-fog senses to the courtyard. A silent appearance, the once clear pathway supported an observant, midsized dog resting belly on the ground. “Don’t you come near him.” Startled leg forward, eyes fixed, I scooped CoCo close. “He is STAY-ING.” Opaque as black and white film, this was no neighbor’s dog. I blinked; vision remained. Placing CoCo safely inside, I glanced back. - Gone! - I think I’ve seen a ghost!

I thought it a senior dog moment: CoCo’s window barking from mid living room. Any near presence, he’d round the blinds. I look. I go outside. Nothing! - Is he barking to ghost dog? - Is this guardian or grim reaper? - In days stabilizing, I imagined CoCo saying: “My dinner is late again. I’m still waiting.” ... “My food’s not poisoned anymore. I can eat now.” ... “I dig the new dog stroller, and I’m playing fetch - let’s keep in touch.” From the kitchen I’d yell, “CoCo. - Stop calling ghost dog,” taking a personal criticism.

Dearest love fades the world. December passed the heart shaped holiday on my sole carousel. If a chihuahua lives atop my unconscious, exhausted dogs-breakfast body mounded under wee wee pads, I’m winning melded magic meant to be. “You are enough for me, and I know I am enough for you.”  Playgrounds shift when a special chihuahua who would dig under the gate for you appears. Red flags hit the wind for the warmest love ever known, sweet to the bone. - Oh, and the flags are mine.

Not all battles are won. People missing someone: you have been in my heart and thoughts. For those holding on, may you stay lucky.

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Script: Shadow From Stars

Ocean bubble edges deposited by the gentle giving surf illuminate. A woman’s bare foot steps forward,spreading darkness while her toe ring, glitter polish, and sparkling heart charms of an anklet absorb all light. (2 seconds)

The giving surf returns all atop her footsteps (2 seconds)

Through wide open shutters of a cafe window, her fork clangs as it hits the ground - knocked away by the opposite seated preoccupied gent leaning forward to speak with a grip on the table, one candle glows bright in a red netted bulb between them - In a red spaghetti strapped mini dress, she does not flinch. (1 seconds)

Palm facing insistently forward for a waiter behind her, his lips purse and eyeballs stress as his hand struggles for shoulder height, restricted by a non-stretch tweed snug fit caramel jacket. (2 seconds)

Distant rollercoaster carts on a level stretch of track slowly pass in a night beach landscape as her silhouette within a chiffon red mini dress steps twice forward, sandals dangling from one hand. - Belmont Park, San Diego (2 seconds)

Seated alone at the same cafe table in an ice blue chiffon mini dress, a candle glowing in an cobalt blue netted bulb highlights her inhaling blank gaze. (1 second)

Her hand dangles a phone, chair-side, displaying a message from Harold: Still at work. Canceling tonight, but can maybe replan the weekend. (2 seconds)

Harold hovers over a desk in a dim office, wearing the same tweed jacket, struggling to stretch his arm while patting a wad of beige paper towels over his laptop’s keyboard, tilted forward. Coffee from an extra large tipped paper cup drenches onto the floor. The full moon glows through his large window, a blank secondary monitor glows on his desk. (2 seconds)

Leaving the amusement park, her ice blue dress indicates still air, a bunch of iridescent balloons behind her part down the middle as in a breeze. (1 second)

June

 (passing a gypsy fortune telling booth)
Not a word from you to close this night.
 (she turns to the adjacent claw machine, grabs a quarter from her waist bag, and shifts the control knob)

The claw descends Aimed for a pastel-green frog stuffed animal holding a flower.

June (voiceover)

A flower for me? C’mon cutie. Let’s bust away to warm my new space.

Off the frog’s shoulder the claw rolls.

June (voiceover - cont.)

Enn-hann-henn—han-ha-ha.
 (she groans a falling defeat by the displaced claw)
I should have known. You’re machine owned!

Into the piled assortment (faint sound of an incoming wave as) a rubber ball, three inches wide, rises to (zoom out to include) her eye level, revealing reactive glow in the dark material with recessed stars shaded in deep purple. She leans forward, peering through the glass housing.

At home in her loft, a black & white film (no sound) plays on a wide TV. Purple candles light the room; low volume music graces the air. she glances in mild curiosity while sorting garments in stacks on the bed, The rubber ball to her right glows.

June

  (exasperated)
Not even I know what to do with all my lingerie! - apparently.
  (holding up a strappy teddy, admiring the artistry, she reaches into   an adjacent sewing basket for a scissors and knocks the rubber ball onto the wood floor with a thud)
Yet I’ve designed a ton, and then some.
  (with a laissez-fair smile, she begins cutting straps at the seam)

Seen through the open space of the disassembled raised garment, Across the bedroom floor the ball rolls, catching in Dupioni hand-stamped silk drapery.

Acknowledge-ignore, she continues editing her garment. The ball rolls from the curtain edge toward her, stopping mid-room. In peripheral awareness, she freezes.

Under the bed skirt, she reaches a small closed switchblade knife, concealing it inside her purple faux-Marabou slipper, eyes focused on the drapery. With a taser and a jagged-pointed rock-in-a-sock in either hand, she rises forward.

June

  (slapping drapery open she thrusts a crackling taser)
Wide eyes OUT!
  (spinning through, no one is behind it - in  embarrassed fret, she adjusts her hair)
Next up: gravity of another kind - 
  (a beat)
a cup-a-zen-tea will soothe.
  (surprised by her own resolution)

She sets weapons aside, situates drapes, tosses the ball bed-center, Then reaches the tea kettle on her nightstand. Surprised, it’s already hot to the touch. 

On the table, everything she needs is neatly arranged. Her finger presses the power button on the kettle, showing it’s already at 180°.

Curiously distressed, she fills the cup. TV remote-off dims all to candlelight. Plopping on the bed, she sits crossed-legged, hand rubbing her forehead, the glowing ball slowly rolls toward her.

June

 (curiously reaching the ball)
No battery outlives the claw.

As her hand touches the ball, the pushing hand in front of her illuminates into view.

Dyami

 (softly)
Except mine.

June

  (Raising gaze in paused-breath awareness: He’s not the first apparition she’s seen, and resonates a familiarity physically unrecognized)
I don’t suppose- you’re … glow ball genie, descendent of fortune teller?
  (uncertain of whether to speak or cry)

Dyami

 (warmly)
No -  but I like the idea of being your genie.

His physical appearance strengthens, revealing a woven bracelet with a wide eagle symbol stacked by a braided bracelet beaded in three black tourmaline hearts (it appears a heart is missing between the others). His upper-arm bears a purple tattoo band of stars, four contain the quartered lunar phases. a beaded necklace of moonstone, amethyst, and black tourmaline rests atop his collarbone. a slight horizontal forehead line is partially hidden by brown beachy-textured grown-out hair. He is clean shaven, yet mystically edgy.

June

It appears I need one. - Dyami.
 (she feels near to him in heart, and trusts)
Have we met?

Dyami

  (spoken in withheld knowing)
Your low pass filter finally kicked in clear. I name dropped your memobox.
  (touches a finger to her forehead) 
It’s time to introduce myself … tea?

June

You’ve been in my loft for a while, organizing my scatter. I’m not crazy - a tad chaotic, but not crazy.

Dyami

No, you’re mesmerizingly ideal … though an actual peeper behind your curtain might disagree.
  (restraining a laugh in a smile, he needs her calm)
The iridescent purple Fenton bowl is still packed in kitchen boxes. I’ve resided in our place as long as you.

June

The Realtor didn’t disclose…

Dyami

Not a house ghost. - I thought you’d have more fun with this glow ball than that frog.
  (pleased, confident)

June

The green one, or Harold?

Dyami

Both. Beige hangs like he’s negotiating for a loan, sans plan, sans research. - This ball 
  (he reaches his hand to her shoulder and slides it down her arm to her hand)
is handbag friendly and covered with stars in your favorite color.

June

You know of entrepreneurship, and Harold, more than I perhaps.

Dyami

Uncertain on the first comparison, though there’s a bank adjacent the indie cinema across the street where I chill. - We should catch a film, since I sort of call the guest list.

June

You’re asking me into the afterlife?- I’m about to die- into a hell of stale popcorn and cheap wine.

Dyami

As of now, it’s all fresh pop. C’mon-

June

  (contemplating her exit)
Handsome grim reaper, why didn’t I get you when I was alive?

Dyami

Beauty! I’m still hot. -
  (kisses his tattooed armband)
I don’t know. And, no. You’re staying alive.
  (Reaching forward, he’s glad to find her)
We were supposed to meet, not that I knew it then - and suddenly… I fell enough to find you, easily as joining you for breakfast.

June

  (she doesn’t wish to die)
I don’t eat breakfast -
  (yet feels embarrassed by her lack of living)
Much.

Dyami

  (he accepts her)
You’re a brunch type. Saying “hello” to sleeping you is - delicate; 
  (and wants the same)
I’m not your average guy.

June

 (she feels his love)
No, you’re out of this world. 
 (and their dilemma)
And I’m shattered and scared, radiating fresh wound warmth I wouldn’t dare close.

His hand reaches atop hers as every hair rises up her forearm, not a finger budges.

June (cont’d)

  (voiceover)
So, please don’t go.

Dyami

You’ll never beg me to stay. - Spend my time. I watch every dream, every night.
  (reassuring)
without leave, nor am I inclined to seek exit.

June

You didn’t intentionally persist. -  I’ve seen accompaniment unfolding light, a show from obsidian darkness to mind, and the mist.- I don’t understand.

Dyami

A blinding glaze reflects off a fractured image at times. I feel enough to find me, though I’m lost from living branches. 
It’s - ”Sleepwalking” in clarity, a grande mischief not of dreaming. I’m fairly sure this is real and true.

June

You’re real as our bouncy glow ball.

She holds the ball over the side of the bed, dropping it with force (camera motion speed curve slows slightly before impact)

From the floor, the ball bounces up and sticks to her open palm (camera motion speed curve increases after impact, pausing a second on the slack grip) Dyami’s hand appears supporting the ball.

Dyami

We’re tied, in illusioned string through a door to where we haven’t been. I’d break the line of its opening to unravel with you. 

June

Till our beckoning sidewalk bends
(she removes her hand from above the ball)
Hang a paper moon - till we’re dazzled physical again.

In the room, June sits alone on the edge of her bed (gazing where Dyami is) while the ball remains positioned in the air.

Dyami

This took some practice. I’m glad you didn’t see me the first day.

FLASHBACK: Dyami materializes (glistening particles form his presence) on a sidewalk adjacent to an outdoor cafe. Traffic passes behind him as he turns walking past the tables. As June approaches, nearly brushing his side, she fumbles and drops a magazine. Dyami bends to pick it up simultaneously with June, 

(ground level) June grabs the magazine first. They both look up slightly; He meets her eyes. 

Dyami

  (a soft charming smile)
Hi-I…

She stands and steps a few feet past him, looking for a table. He walks a semi-circle to face her, though doesn’t exist in her eyes. He continues to circle her. She sits at the nearest table at the edge of the crowd. Hand on top the magazine, she looks and listens.

Harold

  (walks directly in front of Dyami)
June?

June

Yes.

Harold

I mean you - not this month. 
(goofing the obvious in an odd laugh)

June

I’m not of the month.

Harold sits. June is groggy, out before brunch. Dyami tries to interrupt, though they ignore him. He attempts to address someone passing who nearly bumps him and is ignored. He waves his hands in front of June who does not respond. Then jumps up on the table and stands, staring at June. She Barely notices a napkin shift, and appears barely distracted.Dyami, frustrated, walks into the street in front of their table to stop traffic and cars pass through him. Understanding the issue, he returns to the table with June and sits in an empty chair, listening and attempting to move items on the table. 

PRESENT: June is sitting next to Dyami on her bed laughing. The candles begin to go out as they’ve burned down.

Dyami

You should get some rest, and find me when you wake. I’ll linger close as your loving ghost until our ground is the same.

He runs his hand over her hair and fades out as her eyes close.

A bright light surges and June pulls off a paisley purple silk sleep mask. Groggy, her smile seeps in brightly as she grows alert quickly, knowing her first day with Dyami is to begin. She turns her head, looking to the floor, ready to get her feet in motion.

On the floor, her purple feathered slippers sit in the center of a heart formed by leaves picked from her purple shamrock plants next to the window. 

The curtain draperies are pulled wide open, the source of daylight flooding the room and shining onto her plants.

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Featured Song

Émilie Simon lost her fiancé to Influenza; he was 29 years. She wrote the soundtrack for La Délicatesse, titled Franky Knight, bringing her personal loss into the music.

This is for CoCo … and Dyami 💜. (KC & the Sunshine Band was one of my favorites as a kid. 70s baby!)

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Lady BonBon & CoCo Puccino

Thank you for reading 💘

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Writer’s Notes