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Beauregard
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The Muppets discovered to their shock that a Hiden Juhl inside them had gone...this is their story, writtendown by Together Again, Theprawncracker, and myself.
__
Kermit’s hand shook as he hung up the phone. The bustling theater suddenly seemed silent and empty. He knew he was surrounded by friends, and yet he felt terribly alone. Lonely in a way very similar to how he had felt once before, more than fifteen years before...
He felt dizzy, and grabbed the edge of his desk. He stared straight ahead, oblivious to the pandemonium on the stage, not wanting to think what he was thinking. Another one was gone. Gone forever, gone completely, gone and never coming back. Another essential piece of him, of them, was gone. He didn’t want to, but he wondered... who would be next?
He gently shook the thought from his head. He wanted to shout the words that only came out as a whisper. “Jerry... why?”
Jerry…
Beauregard stood outside the dressing rooms, he looked down aver the rails at Kermit below. Kermit, the desk, the phone in his hand. Kermit, shaking his head, holding onto the corner of the desk for support, reeling.
Applause rolled into backstage from out front, loud music of the band, Animal shouting, the swoosh of the stage curtains shutting, then the excited chatter of the last act rushing off stage. Fozzie slapped Rowlf on the back, “We’re such a team, ol’ pal, we’re such a team,” he said.
Rowlf laughed his deep laugh. “Don’t blame the pian’o player,” he said.
A wet fish struck Fozzie behind the ear, and Lew Zealand came running towards him. “Look what you did! You hurt Murray with your face!”
Suddenly, Kermit.
They saw him. Standing silently, staring ahead.
“Kermit? O’ Kermit. 60 seconds to the good-nights Kermit!” Scooter cried, stepping off stage, and poking his headphone-adorned head around the corner. “Kermit, Boss, are you ok?”
Rowlf held out a hand, clamped it on Kermit’s shoulder. “I’ll do the good-nights,” he said.
Beau stepped away from the railing, the mop brushing against Miss Piggy’s dressing room door. It pushed open inward, and he turned. Miss Piggy sat frozen by her dresser, a telephone in her hand. “Jerry…” she whispered.
Jerry…
“I’m hungry, let’s eat,” Rizzo said.
“Is dis all jou ever think about, h’okey?”
“What could be better than eating?”
“Jou wouldn’t understand it, h’okey.”
Rizzo stopped on the street corner, and glanced up at the sign of the shop Jerry’s Pizza Shop. It was a place they often came to eat. The cook was more than a friend to Rizzo.
“What did I tell you? Dis is closed, h’okey!” Pepe said. The lights were out inside. The plate glass windows, dark in the glow of street lamps. Rizzo peered through the glass, his breath fogging. Draped over the serving hatch was an empty floral apron with a nametag, and the words, “Kiss the Cook.”
Jerry…
Mildred spread out the white tablecloth, and laid it diagonally on the table. She lifted silverware from a box, and the best china from the shelves. It was a very important meeting, everything would be just right after now.
Ding, dong. The doorbell sounded. “Oh, dear, I do hope he is not early,” Mildred said. She hurried through the elegantly decorated hallway, and pulled open the door. “Hilda darling!”
“Ah, hello, Mil-dred. Imagine us all coming together after these years! Oh, it makes me all fluttery!”
“I was just setting the table, would you like a drink?”
“Of course, I’ll pour shall I? And, I must say, your shawl is fabulous young lady.”
“Thank you, Hilda.”
The door chime. Another guest. “We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas,” Wayne sang, his arm around Wanda’s waist, imitating carol singers.
“Oh, get in with you terrible two!” Mildred said.
Later George arrived. And Nigel.
The hands moved on the clock face. Hilda poured another round of drinks. Reminisces of past shows passed between them. “We shan’t eat until our guest arrives!” Mildred said excitedly. “He is determined to write us back into the show, you know. He really is.”
The telephone rang. Mildred lifted the receiver.
Jerry!!!
They met back at the theatre. Fozzie, Pepe, Rizzo, Kermit, Piggy, the gang. Everyone.
Kermit sat on an empty crate on the stage. “There’s something…I should confess…” he said.
Piggy blew her nose on a hankie. “What is it, my love?”
“I…I don’t think that I can run this show any more.”
“What?”
“No man!”
“Kerm?”
“Kermie?”
“You’re joking!”
“Shhh!” Fozzie said, standing up. “Uh, I, would say something else, but I don’t know….what. Because the speeches, they, well…I can’t do that anymore.”
A silence fell, and everyone glanced at Janice, but she was silent. No incongruous sentence, nothing shocking. She closed her eyes, looked away.
Pepe stared at them all. “What is going on here, ok?”
Kermit licked his lips. “I didn’t do it myself,” he said. “The scripts, the…show outlines…intros…I didn’t make them.”
“Then, what is this about, h’okey? Who did?”
“He was called Jerry,” Fozzie said. “Not Gag’s Beasley. There was no Gags Beasley.”
“What!?” that from Statler, in the balcony. They hadn’t noticed him there till now. “Jerry…”
“But he was,” Waldorf said. “Our heckling…he…”
Piggy’s eyes glistened with tears. “Wrote them,” she said. “The words that I, I mean, moi, er, could never find to say to my, mois, love…”
The Newsman buried his head in his hands. “My editor…”
Kermit looked around his people. “Jerry…”
“Wrote for us all, yes,” Piggy said.
“I never knew it,” Fozzie said. “I thought…”
“And he made delicious food,” Rizzo added. “He’ll be missed.”
“Yes, he will…” Kermit shrugged. “Then you know I am right,” he said slowly. “How can we go on without him?”
Silence fell like a black flag draped across the group, black curtains shutting on their show, the stage lights fluttering out.
“Kermit,” Fozzie said. “Yes, we can.”
Piggy looked up. “We can?”
Fozzie nodded. “After Jim, we went on, because he had given us a heart.”
“Yes, he had. But…”
“Jerry…he…he gave us a soul,” Fozzie said. “He made us what we are, and, he wouldn’t want for us to stop on his account.”
“But we may be no good!” Piggy shouted. “Moi is rubbish! I can’t even get my mind thinking about lines for moi to say! I mean, me to say…or…”
“It’s built into us,” Kermit whispered. “Jerry will always be in us, a soul, writing through us. He gave us life, Fozzie, you are right. We may never be, never can hope to be, as good. But. We can let the show go on. It’s what he would want.”
“It’s what he would need,” Fozzie said. “The craziness will go on.”
Tired smiles wavered on faces. Eyes began to glint once more. Maybe they couldn’t hold to the image they once had, but, they couldn’t let this ruin them. Whispers broke out, plans, goals…memories. There was even a laugh from somewhere.
And in the balcony, behind the old gentlemen, whispering so as not to be heard, three men stood and watched. “Together again…” said the tall one, with the brown beard. The younger one smiled, and the newest of them looked down at the soul of the Muppets, and smiled as well.
As long as the Muppets were there, they would be watching out for them.
Later...
Kermit sat at his desk, letting the hands of time keep ticking past him. Time would keep going. Life would keep going. The Muppets would keep going, too.
“Kermie?”
He flinched, looked up at her. “Hi Piggy.”
She put a hand on the back of his chair. “Kermie, are you... are vous alright?”
He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be fine. I think I- I think I’ll stay a little late tonight.”
“Kermie?” she said. “It already is a little late tonight.”
He shrugged. “Well then, I... I’ll stay a little later.”
She nodded. “I- Moi will be waiting for vous at home, Kermie,” she said. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and walked away.
He sat back in his chair. They would keep going. But there was something he had to do before he could keep going with them. He hesitated a moment, then stood up and went down to the basement. Past the stairs, past the cages for the monsters, past the extra storage, there was another door that was used significantly less than any other. Kermit opened the door, walked through, and closed it behind him.
It was almost completely empty. The only furniture was a single small cabinet, resting on the floor at the other end of the room. But that was the least important thing.
What mattered about this room were the walls. Framed 8x10 headshots were hung in a long line, almost all the way around the room. Kermit smiled. They would have to start another row soon. Beneath every picture, a name had been neatly painted in black. Beneath every name, a date of birth.
Beneath a very small handful of dates of birth, a date of death.
Kermit walked along the edge of the room, looking at the pictures, paying particular attention to those with a second date. Here was Don Sahlin, and Joe Raposo, and Lord Lew Grade... and here was Richard... and here, Jim... and here...
“Gonzo?”
The blue Muppet was sitting in the corner, holding his knees close to his chest. “Hi Kermit,” he whispered.
Kermit sat down next to his friend. “We’ll all miss him, Gonzo,” he said.
Gonzo nodded. “Yeah...” he sighed. “I don’t know, Kermit. He always had a knack for thinking up my acts. He really understood Great Art.”
“You know Gonzo?” Kermit said. “For once, you’re using the words ‘Great Art’ in a sentence and I actually agree with you.”
Gonzo kicked his leg out. “See, I’m already screwing up without him.”
“You can’t screw up, Gonzo,” Kermit said. “You’re still you.”
Gonzo looked up at him slowly. “Am I?”
“Of course,” Kermit said. “I’ll prove it to you. Suppose for moment that the door to this room is locked. What’s the best way out of here?”
Gonzo looked around. “Well,” he said as he ran his hand against the floor. “If we pull a nail out of the floor and use it as a pick, my nose could be a hammer, and we could make a hole in that wall over there...”
Kermit scrunched his face up. “Sheesh,” he said. “You’re still definitely The Great Gonzo.” He stood up and held out his hand. “You might feel better if you help me with this,” he said.
Gonzo looked at his friend for a moment. Understanding crystallized in his eyes. He took the outreached hand and stood up.
They opened the cabinet. Kermit took out a small can of paint and a small paintbrush. They walked back towards the door, stopping at the right picture. Kermit opened the can of paint, dipped the brush in, and hesitated. He handed the brush to Gonzo.
Gonzo stared at the frog for a moment. “You want me to do it, Kermit?” he said. “But...”
Kermit shook his head. “No buts, Gonzo,” he said. “I’ve only done Jim. Keep it that way.”
Gonzo sighed. He took the brush. Slowly, carefully, he painted below the date of birth.
September 26, 2005
When he finished, he took a step back. “Rest in peace, Jerry,” he said.
Kermit nodded. “Amen,” he whispered. They stood there for a long time, looking into the eyes of the man in the picture.
Two Day's Later...
Everyone was dressed in black. And no one spoke. It was as if their voices were gone. As if their reason to be here was gone. The casket was closed. Its golden rims shown brightly in the afternoon sunlight.
Miss Piggy dug her face into Kermit’s shoulder, holding back tears. Kermit couldn’t find words within him to comfort her. All he could do was gently pat her back.
Rowlf played a slow, sad tune on the piano. He was supposed to sing at the service, but he couldn’t. This was too much for him to bear. And not even Fozzie would make a joke about that today. This was no time for jokes.
Gonzo walked down the aisle arm in arm with Camilla. They stood over the casket. Camilla clucked comfortingly towards Gonzo. Gonzo just shook his head. He rubbed his hand along the casket and sighed. Nothing could bring him back. Nothing at all. Rizzo walked up to his best friend. He tried to tell him it would be alright. But right now...he couldn't speak. Soon, he would be able to once agian...but not right now.
Grover, Herry Monster, and Cookie Monster all sat in their chairs. Cookie Monster had tried to eat cookies, but his stomach wouldn’t let him. He was too depressed. Grover couldn’t stop crying. Every time someone would mention his name, Grover cried. No one could blame him either. This was a time to cry.
Big Bird hated this. No one explained what had happened. All he knew was that his friend was like Mr. Hooper now. And he wasn’t coming back. Big Bird remembered the first time he met him. It was as far back as Big Bird could remember. It seemed as if nothing before that day mattered.
The Fraggles had been alerted of the disaster by Traveling Matt. He sent an urgent postcard regarding it. Gobo didn’t know what to think. He was the man who made Gobo how he was today. Gobo loved him. He was sure they all did. Everyone. How could they not?
The casket sat in the sun. It gleamed and glistened. Everyone knew what lay inside. They just couldn’t bear to open it. Kermit and Piggy stood up. They held in their hands a wreath. It was beautiful. It had been decorated by all of them. Robin added his Scout Badge. Elmo added his crayon. Gonzo left a mold sample. Fozzie, a page from his joke book. Big Bird left a feather. Cookie Monster left a cookie. The Fraggles used Doozer sticks. Oscar placed his prized fish skeleton. Pepe left a cell phone. Clifford left his sunglasses. Anyone who saw this wreath would certainly decree that it was strange. But to The Muppets, and Jerry Juhl, it was perfect.
Three Day's Later...
The bright morning sunlight glinted against every pane of glass. Two teenagers stood in front of Jerry’s Pizza Shop.
The wind played at the younger one’s brown hair as he paced. He checked his watch. “It’s time,” he said. “Where is he?”
The girl pulled her coat a little closer. “He’s coming,” she said with her Chicago accent. “He had farther to go.”
The heard a screech of brakes and turned to see a yellow taxi come racing around the corner. It flew down the street, slamming to a stop in front of the pizza shop, mere inches from a lamppost. The back door opened and another teenager stepped out.
“Sorry I’m late,” the British boy said sheepishly as the cab swerved away.
The three of them turned and looked at the darkened restaurant.
“Ready?” the girl whispered.
No one answered. After a moment, they unlocked the door and went inside. The boy from Illinois turned on the light.
They stood there in silence, taking in the place they had admired for so long. They could still feel him here.
“We’ll never be as good as he was,” the British boy said quietly. “Will we?”
“I don’t know,” the boy from Illinois said. “But we can try, can’t we?”
The girl walked over to the counter and picked up the abandoned apron, holding it, looking at it, deep in thought. “Of course we can try,” she said as she held the apron up so they could read it. “That’s all we can do.”
The two boys came and stood on either side of her, looking at the apron.
“We should hang it up somewhere,” the British boy said.
The girl nodded. “Good idea,” she said. “Where should we put it? Someplace where everyone can see it...”
“Maybe that wall,” the British boy said, pointing to the right.
“You think so?” she said. “There’s already a lot on that wall...”
The boy from Illinois cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t we get to work?” he said.
The girl set the apron back down on the counter. “Right,” she said. “Work.”
They started by cleaning, wiping away dust, sweeping up dirt, scrubbing away grime. After a few hours, Jerry’s Pizza Place looked like it had never closed. They were almost ready.
Almost. But not quite.
Together, they hung the “Kiss the Cook” apron on the wall, complete with the nametag.
Then they hung the “Open” sign in the window. It was almost lunchtime. All they had to do now was wait.
It was only a few minutes before the first customer came in.
The three teenagers each took a deep breath, each hoping Mr. Juhl would somehow show them his magic once more, and that they would live up to his name.
They smiled at the customer and spoke in perfect unison. “Welcome to Jerry’s Pizza Shop!”
And the customer smiled back...
__
Kermit’s hand shook as he hung up the phone. The bustling theater suddenly seemed silent and empty. He knew he was surrounded by friends, and yet he felt terribly alone. Lonely in a way very similar to how he had felt once before, more than fifteen years before...
He felt dizzy, and grabbed the edge of his desk. He stared straight ahead, oblivious to the pandemonium on the stage, not wanting to think what he was thinking. Another one was gone. Gone forever, gone completely, gone and never coming back. Another essential piece of him, of them, was gone. He didn’t want to, but he wondered... who would be next?
He gently shook the thought from his head. He wanted to shout the words that only came out as a whisper. “Jerry... why?”
*****
Jerry…
Beauregard stood outside the dressing rooms, he looked down aver the rails at Kermit below. Kermit, the desk, the phone in his hand. Kermit, shaking his head, holding onto the corner of the desk for support, reeling.
Applause rolled into backstage from out front, loud music of the band, Animal shouting, the swoosh of the stage curtains shutting, then the excited chatter of the last act rushing off stage. Fozzie slapped Rowlf on the back, “We’re such a team, ol’ pal, we’re such a team,” he said.
Rowlf laughed his deep laugh. “Don’t blame the pian’o player,” he said.
A wet fish struck Fozzie behind the ear, and Lew Zealand came running towards him. “Look what you did! You hurt Murray with your face!”
Suddenly, Kermit.
They saw him. Standing silently, staring ahead.
“Kermit? O’ Kermit. 60 seconds to the good-nights Kermit!” Scooter cried, stepping off stage, and poking his headphone-adorned head around the corner. “Kermit, Boss, are you ok?”
Rowlf held out a hand, clamped it on Kermit’s shoulder. “I’ll do the good-nights,” he said.
Beau stepped away from the railing, the mop brushing against Miss Piggy’s dressing room door. It pushed open inward, and he turned. Miss Piggy sat frozen by her dresser, a telephone in her hand. “Jerry…” she whispered.
*****
Jerry…
“I’m hungry, let’s eat,” Rizzo said.
“Is dis all jou ever think about, h’okey?”
“What could be better than eating?”
“Jou wouldn’t understand it, h’okey.”
Rizzo stopped on the street corner, and glanced up at the sign of the shop Jerry’s Pizza Shop. It was a place they often came to eat. The cook was more than a friend to Rizzo.
“What did I tell you? Dis is closed, h’okey!” Pepe said. The lights were out inside. The plate glass windows, dark in the glow of street lamps. Rizzo peered through the glass, his breath fogging. Draped over the serving hatch was an empty floral apron with a nametag, and the words, “Kiss the Cook.”
*****
Jerry…
Mildred spread out the white tablecloth, and laid it diagonally on the table. She lifted silverware from a box, and the best china from the shelves. It was a very important meeting, everything would be just right after now.
Ding, dong. The doorbell sounded. “Oh, dear, I do hope he is not early,” Mildred said. She hurried through the elegantly decorated hallway, and pulled open the door. “Hilda darling!”
“Ah, hello, Mil-dred. Imagine us all coming together after these years! Oh, it makes me all fluttery!”
“I was just setting the table, would you like a drink?”
“Of course, I’ll pour shall I? And, I must say, your shawl is fabulous young lady.”
“Thank you, Hilda.”
The door chime. Another guest. “We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas,” Wayne sang, his arm around Wanda’s waist, imitating carol singers.
“Oh, get in with you terrible two!” Mildred said.
Later George arrived. And Nigel.
The hands moved on the clock face. Hilda poured another round of drinks. Reminisces of past shows passed between them. “We shan’t eat until our guest arrives!” Mildred said excitedly. “He is determined to write us back into the show, you know. He really is.”
The telephone rang. Mildred lifted the receiver.
*****
Jerry!!!
They met back at the theatre. Fozzie, Pepe, Rizzo, Kermit, Piggy, the gang. Everyone.
Kermit sat on an empty crate on the stage. “There’s something…I should confess…” he said.
Piggy blew her nose on a hankie. “What is it, my love?”
“I…I don’t think that I can run this show any more.”
“What?”
“No man!”
“Kerm?”
“Kermie?”
“You’re joking!”
“Shhh!” Fozzie said, standing up. “Uh, I, would say something else, but I don’t know….what. Because the speeches, they, well…I can’t do that anymore.”
A silence fell, and everyone glanced at Janice, but she was silent. No incongruous sentence, nothing shocking. She closed her eyes, looked away.
Pepe stared at them all. “What is going on here, ok?”
Kermit licked his lips. “I didn’t do it myself,” he said. “The scripts, the…show outlines…intros…I didn’t make them.”
“Then, what is this about, h’okey? Who did?”
“He was called Jerry,” Fozzie said. “Not Gag’s Beasley. There was no Gags Beasley.”
“What!?” that from Statler, in the balcony. They hadn’t noticed him there till now. “Jerry…”
“But he was,” Waldorf said. “Our heckling…he…”
Piggy’s eyes glistened with tears. “Wrote them,” she said. “The words that I, I mean, moi, er, could never find to say to my, mois, love…”
The Newsman buried his head in his hands. “My editor…”
Kermit looked around his people. “Jerry…”
“Wrote for us all, yes,” Piggy said.
“I never knew it,” Fozzie said. “I thought…”
“And he made delicious food,” Rizzo added. “He’ll be missed.”
“Yes, he will…” Kermit shrugged. “Then you know I am right,” he said slowly. “How can we go on without him?”
Silence fell like a black flag draped across the group, black curtains shutting on their show, the stage lights fluttering out.
“Kermit,” Fozzie said. “Yes, we can.”
Piggy looked up. “We can?”
Fozzie nodded. “After Jim, we went on, because he had given us a heart.”
“Yes, he had. But…”
“Jerry…he…he gave us a soul,” Fozzie said. “He made us what we are, and, he wouldn’t want for us to stop on his account.”
“But we may be no good!” Piggy shouted. “Moi is rubbish! I can’t even get my mind thinking about lines for moi to say! I mean, me to say…or…”
“It’s built into us,” Kermit whispered. “Jerry will always be in us, a soul, writing through us. He gave us life, Fozzie, you are right. We may never be, never can hope to be, as good. But. We can let the show go on. It’s what he would want.”
“It’s what he would need,” Fozzie said. “The craziness will go on.”
Tired smiles wavered on faces. Eyes began to glint once more. Maybe they couldn’t hold to the image they once had, but, they couldn’t let this ruin them. Whispers broke out, plans, goals…memories. There was even a laugh from somewhere.
And in the balcony, behind the old gentlemen, whispering so as not to be heard, three men stood and watched. “Together again…” said the tall one, with the brown beard. The younger one smiled, and the newest of them looked down at the soul of the Muppets, and smiled as well.
As long as the Muppets were there, they would be watching out for them.
*****
Later...
Kermit sat at his desk, letting the hands of time keep ticking past him. Time would keep going. Life would keep going. The Muppets would keep going, too.
“Kermie?”
He flinched, looked up at her. “Hi Piggy.”
She put a hand on the back of his chair. “Kermie, are you... are vous alright?”
He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be fine. I think I- I think I’ll stay a little late tonight.”
“Kermie?” she said. “It already is a little late tonight.”
He shrugged. “Well then, I... I’ll stay a little later.”
She nodded. “I- Moi will be waiting for vous at home, Kermie,” she said. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and walked away.
He sat back in his chair. They would keep going. But there was something he had to do before he could keep going with them. He hesitated a moment, then stood up and went down to the basement. Past the stairs, past the cages for the monsters, past the extra storage, there was another door that was used significantly less than any other. Kermit opened the door, walked through, and closed it behind him.
It was almost completely empty. The only furniture was a single small cabinet, resting on the floor at the other end of the room. But that was the least important thing.
What mattered about this room were the walls. Framed 8x10 headshots were hung in a long line, almost all the way around the room. Kermit smiled. They would have to start another row soon. Beneath every picture, a name had been neatly painted in black. Beneath every name, a date of birth.
Beneath a very small handful of dates of birth, a date of death.
Kermit walked along the edge of the room, looking at the pictures, paying particular attention to those with a second date. Here was Don Sahlin, and Joe Raposo, and Lord Lew Grade... and here was Richard... and here, Jim... and here...
“Gonzo?”
The blue Muppet was sitting in the corner, holding his knees close to his chest. “Hi Kermit,” he whispered.
Kermit sat down next to his friend. “We’ll all miss him, Gonzo,” he said.
Gonzo nodded. “Yeah...” he sighed. “I don’t know, Kermit. He always had a knack for thinking up my acts. He really understood Great Art.”
“You know Gonzo?” Kermit said. “For once, you’re using the words ‘Great Art’ in a sentence and I actually agree with you.”
Gonzo kicked his leg out. “See, I’m already screwing up without him.”
“You can’t screw up, Gonzo,” Kermit said. “You’re still you.”
Gonzo looked up at him slowly. “Am I?”
“Of course,” Kermit said. “I’ll prove it to you. Suppose for moment that the door to this room is locked. What’s the best way out of here?”
Gonzo looked around. “Well,” he said as he ran his hand against the floor. “If we pull a nail out of the floor and use it as a pick, my nose could be a hammer, and we could make a hole in that wall over there...”
Kermit scrunched his face up. “Sheesh,” he said. “You’re still definitely The Great Gonzo.” He stood up and held out his hand. “You might feel better if you help me with this,” he said.
Gonzo looked at his friend for a moment. Understanding crystallized in his eyes. He took the outreached hand and stood up.
They opened the cabinet. Kermit took out a small can of paint and a small paintbrush. They walked back towards the door, stopping at the right picture. Kermit opened the can of paint, dipped the brush in, and hesitated. He handed the brush to Gonzo.
Gonzo stared at the frog for a moment. “You want me to do it, Kermit?” he said. “But...”
Kermit shook his head. “No buts, Gonzo,” he said. “I’ve only done Jim. Keep it that way.”
Gonzo sighed. He took the brush. Slowly, carefully, he painted below the date of birth.
September 26, 2005
When he finished, he took a step back. “Rest in peace, Jerry,” he said.
Kermit nodded. “Amen,” he whispered. They stood there for a long time, looking into the eyes of the man in the picture.
*****
Two Day's Later...
Everyone was dressed in black. And no one spoke. It was as if their voices were gone. As if their reason to be here was gone. The casket was closed. Its golden rims shown brightly in the afternoon sunlight.
Miss Piggy dug her face into Kermit’s shoulder, holding back tears. Kermit couldn’t find words within him to comfort her. All he could do was gently pat her back.
Rowlf played a slow, sad tune on the piano. He was supposed to sing at the service, but he couldn’t. This was too much for him to bear. And not even Fozzie would make a joke about that today. This was no time for jokes.
Gonzo walked down the aisle arm in arm with Camilla. They stood over the casket. Camilla clucked comfortingly towards Gonzo. Gonzo just shook his head. He rubbed his hand along the casket and sighed. Nothing could bring him back. Nothing at all. Rizzo walked up to his best friend. He tried to tell him it would be alright. But right now...he couldn't speak. Soon, he would be able to once agian...but not right now.
Grover, Herry Monster, and Cookie Monster all sat in their chairs. Cookie Monster had tried to eat cookies, but his stomach wouldn’t let him. He was too depressed. Grover couldn’t stop crying. Every time someone would mention his name, Grover cried. No one could blame him either. This was a time to cry.
Big Bird hated this. No one explained what had happened. All he knew was that his friend was like Mr. Hooper now. And he wasn’t coming back. Big Bird remembered the first time he met him. It was as far back as Big Bird could remember. It seemed as if nothing before that day mattered.
The Fraggles had been alerted of the disaster by Traveling Matt. He sent an urgent postcard regarding it. Gobo didn’t know what to think. He was the man who made Gobo how he was today. Gobo loved him. He was sure they all did. Everyone. How could they not?
The casket sat in the sun. It gleamed and glistened. Everyone knew what lay inside. They just couldn’t bear to open it. Kermit and Piggy stood up. They held in their hands a wreath. It was beautiful. It had been decorated by all of them. Robin added his Scout Badge. Elmo added his crayon. Gonzo left a mold sample. Fozzie, a page from his joke book. Big Bird left a feather. Cookie Monster left a cookie. The Fraggles used Doozer sticks. Oscar placed his prized fish skeleton. Pepe left a cell phone. Clifford left his sunglasses. Anyone who saw this wreath would certainly decree that it was strange. But to The Muppets, and Jerry Juhl, it was perfect.
*****
Three Day's Later...
The bright morning sunlight glinted against every pane of glass. Two teenagers stood in front of Jerry’s Pizza Shop.
The wind played at the younger one’s brown hair as he paced. He checked his watch. “It’s time,” he said. “Where is he?”
The girl pulled her coat a little closer. “He’s coming,” she said with her Chicago accent. “He had farther to go.”
The heard a screech of brakes and turned to see a yellow taxi come racing around the corner. It flew down the street, slamming to a stop in front of the pizza shop, mere inches from a lamppost. The back door opened and another teenager stepped out.
“Sorry I’m late,” the British boy said sheepishly as the cab swerved away.
The three of them turned and looked at the darkened restaurant.
“Ready?” the girl whispered.
No one answered. After a moment, they unlocked the door and went inside. The boy from Illinois turned on the light.
They stood there in silence, taking in the place they had admired for so long. They could still feel him here.
“We’ll never be as good as he was,” the British boy said quietly. “Will we?”
“I don’t know,” the boy from Illinois said. “But we can try, can’t we?”
The girl walked over to the counter and picked up the abandoned apron, holding it, looking at it, deep in thought. “Of course we can try,” she said as she held the apron up so they could read it. “That’s all we can do.”
The two boys came and stood on either side of her, looking at the apron.
“We should hang it up somewhere,” the British boy said.
The girl nodded. “Good idea,” she said. “Where should we put it? Someplace where everyone can see it...”
“Maybe that wall,” the British boy said, pointing to the right.
“You think so?” she said. “There’s already a lot on that wall...”
The boy from Illinois cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t we get to work?” he said.
The girl set the apron back down on the counter. “Right,” she said. “Work.”
They started by cleaning, wiping away dust, sweeping up dirt, scrubbing away grime. After a few hours, Jerry’s Pizza Place looked like it had never closed. They were almost ready.
Almost. But not quite.
Together, they hung the “Kiss the Cook” apron on the wall, complete with the nametag.
Then they hung the “Open” sign in the window. It was almost lunchtime. All they had to do now was wait.
It was only a few minutes before the first customer came in.
The three teenagers each took a deep breath, each hoping Mr. Juhl would somehow show them his magic once more, and that they would live up to his name.
They smiled at the customer and spoke in perfect unison. “Welcome to Jerry’s Pizza Shop!”
And the customer smiled back...
The End
