Oswald, the Almost Famous Opossum

by Sara Katherine Pascoe

  “Look at the size of that rat,” she gasped. The insult was softened by her dropping her entire lunch. Stuffed to the gills, Oswald napped in a tree, setting his internal alarm for three thirty.

  Joey sat on the front porch and jiggled his leg. His overnight backpack, stuffed to the max, was on the floor next to his feet. His mother stood over him. Having overslept, Oswald had rushed over to Joey’s. When he heard him and Miss Ann on the porch, he slid into the overgrown lilac bush at the side. He peered over the edge, able to watch without being seen.

  “This is for the best, Joey. If I catch you playing with that possum—”

  “Oswald. His name is Oswald.” Joey crossed his arms and looked away from his mother.

  She pulled the other chair up and sat down. She tried to take both of Joey’s hands in hers, which he didn’t seem to want. Miss Ann laughed and settled on holding one. He made a face.

  “I’m putting down the law, Joey. No contact with Oswald or you lose all computer privileges for three days—each time.”

  “But my biology project is due this Wednesday, and he was helping me with it, the ‘Tale of Tails’. It’s really cool, about all kinds of tails, like his, and the kangaroo’s, and—”

  “ENOUGH,” Miss Ann said. Oswald flinched and dropped down into the overgrowth.

  Joey clammed up. Miss Ann took a deep breath. “There’s no school tomorrow—teacher training day. You get a long weekend over at your dad’s. Isn’t that nice?” She looked at her watch. “He’ll be here any minute.”

  Joey grunted.

  “Come on. You’ll have fun with them over there. I’ll pick you up on Sunday. We could stop by the animal rescue place where Naja is. Would you like that?”

  Joey must have nodded because, after a beat, Miss Ann said, “Good. We’ll do that. You might get more ideas for your school project. And I’m sure your dad can help you, too. And don’t forget next Sunday a few folks, including Ria and her mom, are coming over for a barbeque. You like Ria, don’t you?”

  Oswald thought there was an awful lot planned. This wouldn’t leave enough time for all the things he and Joey usually did together.

  “She’s OK.”

  “Joey, honey, it’s nobody’s fault Bradyn’s dad got a job in Chicago.”

  There was a moment of quiet, except for two squirrels chasing and yammering at each other in a tree: “My tree. No, MY tree. No, MY tree. Nope, MY TREE. . .”

  “I know you’re shy, boo. It’s OK, you’ll make more friends.”

  “It’s hard, Mom. I never know what to say. Kids invite me to play kickball and stuff, but sometimes I freeze. I don’t know why. What if I never make any more friends?”

  Oswald’s heart sank. It took all his self-control not to jump up and tell him how smart and fun and interesting he was. This was exactly why Joey needed him in his life, and why his mother’s meddling made no sense. Oswald couldn’t help but sigh—a great heaving one that luckily coincided with Miss Ann sighing, too.

  “You’re just naturally shy, Joey. Everyone’s different. We’ll figure this out. I promise,” she said.

  “Promise?” Joey’s voice was shaky.

  “You bet. Hey—shy kids make great grown-ups. Did you know that?”

  A car pulled up in front of the house. Chairs scraped, and Oswald heard the rustle of Joey’s backpack heaving onto his shoulders.

  “Give me a minute with your dad, OK?”

  Oswald waited to hear her walk down the steps, then hoisted himself onto the porch.

  “Psst, Joey, over here.”

  Joey startled out of a sullen stare. “You gotta get out of here. I’m going to lose computer privileges. Seriously.”

  “Yes, yes. I heard all that. Just nod or shake your head—that’s not talking, is it?” Oswald said.

  Joey nodded while keeping an eye on his mom and dad talking by the car.

  “You still like me, right? I mean, I’m not so bad, am I?” Oswald said.

  Joey shrugged. “Sometimes, it seems like you think you’re better than everybody,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth. “And sometimes you don’t know when to stop talking.”

  Oswald was taken aback, but didn’t have time to explain to Joey that he was just keeping everyone’s standards high, challenging them to be their best selves.

  Instead he cut to the chase. “Everyone seems to think I wanted to hurt that goose.”

  “Naja,” Joey broke his code of silence again. “You did look fierce.”

  Oswald saw a sadness in Joey’s eyes and remembered something else he wanted to say. “Joey, you’re a terrific human, my favorite, as a matter of fact. You mustn’t forget that. Ever. Will you give me your word?”

  Joey looked at Oswald as though he didn’t know what he was talking about, when footsteps approached the porch. Joey stood up and Oswald jumped off the side. Oswald scuttled around the corner to the front of the house, keeping cover under the shrubs—Miss Ann’s neglected garden came in handy.

  Joey’s dad, Carlton, and Miss Ann stood at the bottom of the porch steps.

  “Hey, Joey. You ready?” Carlton said. Oswald saw him quite a lot, although they hadn’t been introduced. He stopped over once or twice a week and took Joey places. Joey said they usually went back to his dad’s house in Upper Marlboro. Carlton lived with his wife Suzette and their two kids. Joey had his own room. “They have a pool and everything,” Joey told him. It was often at that point that Oswald couldn’t bear to hear anymore. Melvin knew all about Joey’s dad, stepmom, and stepbrother and sister, and thought Oswald was jealous. Oswald thought that was ridiculous. He was sure no one was more important to Joey than Melvin, his mom, and of course him.

  15

  AN AIM AND A PURPOSE

  For the first time since his mother died, Oswald didn’t know what to do. He’d had lots of plans for the weekend, but now with Joey, Melvin, Zola, and the Edwards not talking to him, his plans sank like pebbles in a pond.

  Oswald walked down Perry Street, stopped, turned around, and walked the other way. He walked and turned, walked and turned, until he was pacing in front of a house where some young guys called roofers were working. This seemed to be a type of human who climbed onto the tops of houses with no hesitation or fear. Sometimes they sat on top of the roof eating sandwiches or laying in the sun. They were loud and boisterous and with the way they climbed, these roofers reminded Oswald of raccoons.

  The raccoons! They would know what to do. This thought gave Oswald the possibility of some company and help, as well as an aim and a purpose. And he always felt better with an aim and a purpose.

  After a number of failed tries to cross Eastern Avenue, he remembered to go to the corner with the signaling device. He waited for some people to cross at the same time because he couldn’t remember which of the three lights stopped the traffic.

  Oswald turned left on Randolph Street NE. It looked wide as a river with trees lining both sides. There was a narrow path worn along the park; it was soft and warm on his paws. The smell of green grass was rich and comforting. He felt better already.

  This is splendid. We can all go for a garbage buffet tonight. He saw a big tree with a hole halfway up and couldn’t believe his luck. He climbed up to say hello, but found another opossum in it instead.

  “So sorry. My mistake. You don’t happen to know the raccoons, Tiny, Mo, and Chuck? They live in a big tree with a hole in it, much like yours?”

  “Sorry, can’t say I do,” the other possum said. She gestured across the park. “There are lots of trees with good nesting holes.”

  Indeed there were. As this patch of earth turned away from the sun, Oswald realized this was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

  He spent the rest of Thursday and into the night searching the many trees with dens. Nighttime was a bustling animal world. Possums, other raccoons, skunks, rats, mice, and house cats who liked to wander on the wild side filled the park. It was like rush hour on four paws. Darnell was right—there were plenty
of animals in the park.

  Oswald got turned around more than once and went in a few circles. He thought he’d ask someone about the basic layout and shape of the park. This would help him navigate. He approached an orange-and-white cat. He reasoned a pet who comes to the park must know enough to get home.

  “The shape of the park?” she said. “Something like a triangle.”

  “Equilateral, isosceles, or scalene?”

  “Show off.” The cat flicked her tail and turned away.

  “I was merely trying to clarify.”

  The cat huffed.

  “Oh dear, oh dear,” Oswald said. He bit his front claws, a habit he’d picked up from Joey. “I only aim to elucidate and communicate, never alienate. I want us all to collaborate and cooperate and—”

  The cat turned toward Oswald. “Do you ever listen to yourself?” she said, then disappeared into the dense thicket.

  “Oh dear, oh my. Now I’m offending beings I’ve just met.” He realized he’d moved on to biting his back toenails and stopped.

  As he continued his search, he was chased by dogs, was told off for having a quick nap in another possum’s tree, and didn’t find much food. With all the customers, the garbage buffets were emptied before Oswald figured out where they were. He found a good pizza crust with sauce on it, but a rat ran by and nabbed it right out of his paw.

  Pizza. That’s right! The raccoons stop at Twenty-Second Street Pizza every night.

  16

  THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

  It took Oswald until nine o’clock the next morning to find the pizza place. But by then it was too late. No one was there, not the raccoons, not other animals, nor any humans. He decided to wait, not wanting to risk missing them again. Ravenous, he resorted to eating earthworms, like his mother taught him. He hated eating food that moved.

  What if I never find Tiny, Mo, and Chuck? What if Joey and Miss Ann don’t let me move back home?

  At least, no matter what happened, he’d still have his writing career. Maybe he’d branch out from poetry. Everything is material for a writer, Oswald thought. Yes, after this, I could write a survival guide for possums. The Suburban Opossum’s Guide to Living in City Parks. I think there could be a good market for that!

  Having explored all sides of the building, Oswald thought his friends were most likely to come to the front. For one thing, there was a nice large wire trashcan. It was easy to climb up and into, and it didn’t have a lid. Starting at lunchtime and into the evening, people kept tossing their crusts into it. Before he realized it, he had scaled the trashcan and was climbing in toward the sumptuous scraps. As he did, two teenaged girls emerged from the pizza parlor, each holding a hot slice. They chatted away, pausing to take bites.

  “Good evening, young ladies. Let me introduce myself. I’m Oswald the opossum, and I was wondering if either of you might be so kind as to save me a bite of your pizza? Possibly some with cheese and sauce on it?” Oswald said as he wobbled on the rim.

  One girl gave a long, high scream. Oswald fell to the ground. He was beginning to appreciate how rare Joey’s talent for speaking Animal was.

  A man with a white apron rushed out of the shop holding a baseball bat. “Everyone all right? What’s going on?”

  “You’ve got rats. Huge ones,” the girl squeaked and pointed.

  The man lowered his arm and chuckled. “That’s just a possum.” But it was too late. The sight of the large man with a bat made Oswald faint. The last thing he remembered was someone grabbing him by the base of his tail and tossing him into the trash can, but he was too far gone to do anything about his proximity to all those crusts. What a waste.

  Oswald opened his eyes to a small slice of the night sky. He was warm and cozy with lots of stuff around him—paper, empty soda cans, crumpled paper napkins. He could smell himself—he must have fainted and let off that rotten smell. How embarrassing. He was often confused and befuddled after a faint. Then it started to come back to him—everyone shunning him at home, coming to the park to look for the raccoons, eating worms, and waiting for his friends at the pizza place.

  Then he remembered the pizza man laughing, wielding a baseball bat. In his memory it looked like a scene from a horror movie. He wondered how badly he’d been beaten. Odd, nothing hurts—I must be in shock.

  “Hey, it stinks here. Let’s skip it,” a voice said.

  “When did smells ever stop us?” a sweeter voice said.

  Oswald roused from his thoughts. “Help. Please, help! Someone? Anyone?” Oswald said.

  The owner of the first voice scampered up the outside of the wire-mesh trashcan.

  “Did you hear something?” the second, sweeter voice said from the ground.

  Oswald looked through the wire mesh; there were two shiny eyes above a pointy nose and below small round ears.

  “Aghh!” said the owner of the eyes before leaping down. Oswald could see him; it was a rat, who scampered over to another rat.

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” the second rat said. “It’s another critter. Maybe they’re stuck.” She climbed up the side until her face was level with Oswald’s.

  “Hi. I’m Tessa and that’s Reginald, but everyone calls him Reggie. Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I can move.”

  “Have you tried?” Tessa said.

  “I’ve been attacked. Who knows what injuries I’ve sustained? I thought it best not to move.”

  “Oh,” Tessa said and blinked. “Well, if you don’t mind, I see some nice pizza crusts in there.”

  “Of course. Be my guest,” Oswald said. Reggie was already scampering in and out of the trashcan, making a series of clicks and whistles as he went. Tessa took things from Reggie and tossed them to the ground. A pile of pizza crusts grew, along with a few bottle tops and a broken shoelace.

  “Wow, that looks like a lovely piece of tin foil under your back leg, Mr. . . . um, Mr. Possum. Would you mind?” Reggie said then made a few more clicks, apparently with his teeth.

  “Oh, yes—I’m sorry. I’m Oswald, the opossum of Perry Street,” Oswald said while handing Reggie the tin foil.

  “Look! Your leg is working—that’s great!” Tessa said.

  Oswald looked at his back leg holding the tin foil as though it wasn’t his. “Oh my, you’re right,” he said tentatively.

  Reggie popped his head out from the trash gripping a plastic food container between his teeth. “Look at this, Tessa,” Reggie said.

  “Oh, Reggie. What will you do with that? We already have three.”

  Yet Reggie seemed to be on a mission. He grabbed one edge with his teeth and tried to climb up the inside of the wire mesh. But the plastic box was bigger than he was, and the rat and box dropped back onto the heaped garbage.

  “Here. Maybe I can be of some assistance,” Oswald wrapped his tail around the box and climbed up to the rim of the trashcan before he realized what he’d done. Reggie and Tessa climbed up with him clicking and cheering.

  “Whoa,” Oswald said as he balanced on the rim. The box dropped from his tail to the ground. “I’m feeling rather dizzy.”

  “Easy does it there, buddy,” Reggie said. “Take my tail.” He waved it in Oswald’s direction. Oswald took it in his back paw. “Now what do I do?”

  “Climb down backward,” Tessa said. “That’s it—take it slow,” she reassured.

  When they reached the ground, the rats cheered again, and Oswald fought tears of relief and embarrassment.

  “What’s the matter?” was all Tessa had to say, and Oswald cried in earnest. Oswald told them his story between splutters and tears. Tessa dabbed at his tears with her tail. But Reggie couldn’t stay still. He went in and out of the trashcan, adding more things to their pile on the ground.

  “Would you like to come with us? We make the rounds to a number of spots,” Tessa offered.

  “Oh, that’s very kind, but I best wait here for my raccoon friends, Tiny, Mo, and Chuck,” Oswald said. “They c
ome every night.”

  Reggie skittered up to them after adding another scrap to the collection. “Do they have black masks?”

  “I think they all have black masks,” Oswald said.

  “Yes, yes, now that you mention it,” Reggie said as he arranged another pizza crust in his collection.

  “I think we’ve met them here at the pizza place. Tiny’s the big one? And Chuck’s missing a chunk from his ear?” Tessa said.

  “Yes, those are they!” Oswald said.

  “If we see them, we’ll certainly tell them you’re waiting for them. Otherwise, if you’re feeling all right now, we’ll be on our way,” Tessa said. “If we stay too long, Reggie won’t be able to leave his collection.”

  “You’re not taking those items with you?” Oswald said, eyeing the pizza crusts lined up.

  “Oh, no—the fun’s in the collecting. You’re welcome to it,” Reggie said as he scampered away from the pizza parlor with Tessa at his side.

  Oswald called out. “Reggie? Tessa?” They stopped and turned around, eyes bright and whiskers wiggling under the streetlight.

  “Yes?” Reggie said.

  “Thank you. You’ve been ever so kind to a complete stranger.” Oswald was mortified at having ever felt unkindly toward rats before. He made a silent promise to himself that if anyone ever mistook him for a rat again, he would simply say, “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” Reggie said and made more clicks.

  “Anytime,” Tessa added.

  The two rats turned and scampered out of the reach of the streetlights, and with their disappearing silhouettes came the realization that Oswald might never find the raccoons, might never be welcome back at Joey’s, and might have to make a new life here by himself.

  17

  MISTAKEN IDENTITY

  Oswald thought he would try to find Tiny, Mo, and Chuck one more time, by waiting out the night at the pizzeria. The hours after midnight and before dawn dragged. A few other animals came to check the trashcan. But so far, not his raccoon friends. Oswald passed the time eating the good things the rats had left behind. The sky was just promising to lighten when Oswald saw a large brown fur figure lumbering toward him.