Oswald, the Almost Famous Opossum

by Sara Katherine Pascoe

  “Mo!” Oswald rushed up to him, relieved to have finally found at least one of his friends. “I’m so glad to see you! Where are the others? I hope you don’t mind, but I—”

  “Oh, Grapejuice! You’ve come back!” The large brown animal wasn’t Mo. She clamped Oswald in a hug.

  “I’m ever so sorry, madam. I’ve mistaken you for someone else,” Oswald said with some difficulty, given how tightly this critter was holding him.

  “You always were a stitch.” She laughed with her head back, releasing one paw long enough to slap her own side, before clasping it around Oswald again.

  “No, really—I’m not who you think I am,” Oswald tried again as she dragged him away from the pizza place. He pulled his head away as best he could to get a better look. “Are you a groundhog?” She sure looked like one, a big one at that, bigger than Oswald, maybe even as big as Tiny.

  She tightened her vise-like hug. “Oh, how I missed you, dearie pie. Don’t worry. We’ll be home soon.” Oswald tried to wiggle out but couldn’t. The mammoth groundhog giggled. “You always were a snuggly one.”

  “Truly, madam. There’s been some mistake.”

  She stopped, pinned him on his back to the earth. She gnashed her impressive incisors inches from his face and blinked her unfocused eyes. “You bet there’s been some mistake—you leaving me was the mistake!” Then she picked him up with one paw, brushed him off with the other and continued the forced march. Her short, thick claws pressed through Oswald’s fur and into his skin, stopping just before piercing it. Her voice was sweet as syrup, “But that’s over now, isn’t it, dearie pie?”

  Surely she’ll realize her mistake as soon as the sun comes up. Fighting her seemed pointless, and he didn’t want to upset her further.

  Dawn finally made good on its promise this Saturday morning. The animal rush hour was in full swing as the nocturnal shift made its way back to their nests.

  “Good morning. How are you?” Oswald greeted the various animals they passed hoping for any chance for intervention. They mostly nodded and scurried on, especially, it seemed, once they saw this groundhog’s face.

  Then he saw a wonderful sight. Reggie and Tessa were walking with the three raccoons. They were all chatting away as they strolled in the other direction, back toward the pizza parlor.

  “Reggie, Tessa! Tiny, Mo, Chuck! What a wonderful surprise!” Oswald could feel the groundhog’s grip tighten.

  The rats and raccoons snapped their heads around and looked at the unlikely duo.

  “Oh, you left the pizzeria. We bumped into the raccoons and were just going back that way with them. Reggie really wants that plastic box.” Tessa rolled her eyes.

  “Hi, Oswald, why don’t you introduce us to your girlfriend.” Chuck beamed.

  “Girlfriend? You have a girlfriend, do you? And why are they calling you ‘Oswald’?” the groundhog said in a high-pitched chirp that didn’t match her size. She gave a quick sob without loosening her grip.

  “Help,” Oswald gasped.

  Tiny stepped forward. “Hello, madam. I’m Tiny. Do you know our friend Oswald?”

  She gave a dramatic sigh. “You’re breaking my heart. Are you telling me he has another identity? My Grapejuice has another life? My sister warned me about this!” She held Oswald away from her like a rag doll, stared at him with glazed eyes, then clamped him back to her side. “Don’t worry, dearie pie. All is forgiven—you’ve come back to me now.” Another sob stuttered out of her.

  “Oh, no, madam.” Reggie stood on his hind legs, his long tail balancing him. “That’s Oswald. He’s an opossum.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! What sort of fool do you take me for? Friends of his, I bet. In cahoots with him and his meandering ways!”

  “I’m Tessa. What’s your name?” Tessa said stepping forward. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your husband—”

  “I didn’t lose him. He’s not a set of keys, or an acorn. He left me.” The groundhog leaned down into Tessa’s face without loosening her grasp. Her incisors were much longer than Tessa’s. “I’m Pixie, thanks for asking.” She straightened up.

  “Nice to meet you, Pixie,” Tessa’s voice quavered. “But please understand. The fellow you have there isn’t your husband Grapejuice.”

  “Don’t you think I’d know my husband when I see him?” She glared with unfocused eyes inches from Oswald. “OK, well, I certainly recognize his wonderful scent, like a wet woolen mitten.”

  They were all quiet for a moment. Then Tessa tried again, “We all make mistakes, Pixie . . . isn’t that right, guys?” The other animals nodded and made soft noises of agreement.

  Pixie squeezed him harder. He gasped for breath. “Oh, you think you all know so much. Well, if this isn’t Grapejuice—prove it!” She gnashed her teeth.

  Reggie stepped forward and put a paw around Tessa. “How?”

  Pixie stood her full height, lifting Oswald off the ground. “If this isn’t Grapejuice, then you go find him and bring him back to me. We’ll be home.” She nodded toward the opening to a large burrow in the roots of a bigger tree. “We’ll be right there, won’t we, dearie pie?” Oswald squeaked for air again.

  18

  FLOCK DISORDER

  “Don’t slam the door,” Miss Ann said, sitting in the car as Joey got in.

  “I didn’t,” Joey said.

  His mother started the car and waved at Joey’s stepmom, Suzette, on the steps of a rectangular house with the lawn mowed in stripes. Joey’s dad, Carlton, washed his car in the driveway. He smiled and waved.

  Joey’s half-siblings, Mary, six, and Noah, four, ran around on the grass. Noah flapped his arms while looking at Joey.

  “You did not tell that child he could fly, did you?” Miss Ann said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “You are not still mad about the ‘no possum’ rule, are you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Ann drove out of the neighborhood and onto Route 301 North. She turned the radio on. Joey turned it off and the air conditioning up.

  “OK, so you do want to talk?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, did you have a nice time at your dad’s over the weekend?”

  “Yeah. It was OK,” Joey said and stopped hunching his shoulders.

  They drove through another patch of quiet. The tires hummed against the asphalt.

  “Remember when you learned this road was called Blue Star Memorial Highway and you wanted to know who killed the blue star?” his mother said.

  “I was little then.” He stared out the window.

  “Well, I thought it was cute, and I still think you’re cute. Even if you’re not talking to me.”

  Thick rows of trees lined the road like they were waiting to take over. They gave way to a few stores and a traffic light. Miss Ann turned right. After passing Fredrick Douglass High School, the road got more countrified: fields, barns, woods, and more fields.

  “Where are we going?” Joey said.

  “Merkle Wildlife Sanctuary. Remember? I said we’d go see how Naja’s doing.”

  “I don’t get it. You don’t want me talking to animals, then you take me someplace where there’s loads of them?”

  They passed a few houses and she turned left. “I think your talent with animals is great. Maybe you’ll be a vet when you grow up.” They passed a few historic-looking brick buildings and a church. “When you’re in high school, you could try to get a job at a place like this.”

  Joey stopped slumping. “You can get paid for hanging out with animals?”

  “You know that. You go to the vet when we bring Melvin, and you’ve seen Animal Control in action—”

  “Animal Control stinks.”

  They turned at a sign painted with Canada geese and the words Merkle Wildlife Sanctuary. Fields of tall sun-tired grass stretched out before them. Trees edged the left, and to the right at a distance was the Patuxent River. There were streams and marshy areas closer in. They pass
ed a pole with a wooden box at the top, brimming with twigs and grass. A peregrine falcon eyed them.

  His mother parked next to a cinder block building. There was a truck and a van out front with the center’s insignia on the sides.

  It was as hot as a pizza oven. Miss Ann pressed the doorbell, and Ms. Harris, the woman who had taken Naja from their house, came out.

  “Hi, Ms. Jones, Joey. Glad you could come on my shift.” Her badge read Barbara Harris. “Follow me, it’s a bit of a walk.” She had a camera around her neck.

  “What’s the camera for, Ms. Harris?” Joey asked as they continued on wooden walkways above sodden, marshy ground. A rich smell of green gave way to the aroma of swamp. Joey and Miss Ann slapped at hungry mosquitoes. Ms. Harris must have had on bug spray—they left her alone.

  “We’d like a few pictures of Naja with her rescuers for our website, if that’s OK?” Ms. Harris said.

  “Of course,” Ann responded. Ms. Harris stopped in front of a wooden building on the edge of a finger of the river. A sign on the door read Flock Disorder—Infirmary.

  “What’s flock disorder, Ms. Harris?” Joey said.

  “Some of these mixed-breed birds have trouble fitting in with a flock. Their looks or behaviors are just that much different. The other birds don’t recognize them as one of their own—don’t let them join. Sometimes they never find a flock. That’s difficult for social animals like these.” Ms. Harris unlocked the door and swung it open. “Come on in.”

  It was cool, dim, and quiet inside. There were four pens with wire mesh tops, each with a wading pool, bedding, and food and water. One label read Mute + Trumpeter Swan.

  “Poor thing makes a sound and is surprised each time,” Ms. Harris said.

  Other labels read: Buff + American Blue Goose, and Mallard + American Black Duck.

  “Are they”—Joey looked around and lowered his voice—“a little dumb or something? Is that why they don’t fit in?”

  Ms. Harris stood in front of the fourth pen. “No, often it’s quite the opposite. You tend to get better, smarter, stronger animals when you mix up the genes.”

  “Really?” Joey stopped in his tracks and looked up at Ms. Harris.

  “Yes, a lot of the time it works that way. There’s a term for it, ‘hybrid vigor.’”

  Joey grinned. “Then I must be brilliant and super strong because I’m one-eighth Piscataway Native American, one-sixteenth Chinese, one-quarter—”

  “OK, Mr. Wikipedia,” Miss Ann said. “I’m sure Ms. Harris has better things to do besides listen to you carry on.”

  Ms. Harris laughed. She opened the gate to the fourth pen. “That’s OK, Ms. Jones. It’s great when kids are interested. I have plenty of info about hybrid vigor if you want to stop by my office later.”

  Joey looked at his mom. “Maybe I could do my science project on it.”

  “If you’re sure?” Miss Ann said to Ms. Harris.

  “Of course. But first, I think Naja could do with a visit.” She stepped away from the opened pen.

  There she was, a feathered mass on the floor. She had one wing bandaged to her body, her head tucked under the other, a bit of a pink foot visible. Her body expanded and slumped as if in a sigh.

  “Naja, what’s the matter?” Joey stepped forward. The bird heaved another sigh but kept her head under her wing.

  “Go on in. Maybe you two can cheer her up. She’s been depressed and hasn’t been eating much.”

  Miss Ann put her hand on Joey’s shoulder and drew him back. “Let me go first.” Joey was surprised to see tears in her eyes. She crouched down and stroked Naja’s back. She started to sing the same lullaby she sang to her after she crashed onto their roof. After a few notes, Naja ruffled her feathers and took her head out. When she saw Miss Ann, she gave a long, sad sound then draped her long black-feathered neck across Miss Ann’s shoulder.

  When she got to the end of the song, Naja spoke in quick, urgent tones. Joey looked up at Ms. Harris and then his mother.

  “Is it true? She’ll never fly again?”

  19

  SEEING CLEARLY

  “I don’t understand. Why are you all lying to me, saying this isn’t Grapejuice?” Pixie made some chirping sounds and blinked at Tiny and Tessa, who sat across from her in her den. It was a nice size, with packed earth walls and floor. There was a grass bed, a piece of wood for a table, and cubbyholes carved into the walls with seeds and dried plants in them. You could see two spots on the wall where pictures used to hang. It smelled clean and earthy. Oswald was pinned under Pixie, her four sturdy paws gripping his.

  “Everything all right down there?” Mo’s voice came in, along with the shaft of sunlight through the entrance hole. They all looked up—as much as they could, in Oswald’s case.

  “We’re just having a chat,” Tiny said.

  “A chat?” Pixie said, her mood brightening. “Well, it is nice to have company. But I’m afraid I don’t have anything to offer you. So, if you’ve stopped your silliness, it’s probably best you all go and give us some privacy.”

  “No!” Oswald managed. “Please don’t go, good fellows . . . and gal.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tessa whispered to him.

  “Has Chuck or Reggie found anyone that might help, yet?” Tiny called upward.

  There were other voices mixed in with Mo’s when he called down, “Ms. Pixie, we found two friends of yours, Esmeralda and Simone. All right if they come down?”

  “That’s great—yes, they know Grapejuice. They’ll tell you it’s him,” Pixie said.

  The nose of another opossum poked through the hole and hovered, then the whole possum scrabbled down. She nodded “hello” to everyone, then scooted next to Tessa.

  “Hi, Esmeralda,” Pixie said. She lifted one front paw and nodded toward her captive. “Look, Grapejuice is back—isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Um, well . . . ,” Esmeralda said.

  “Hold on, I’m coming,” came from the opening, then the sounds of someone else sliding down.

  Oswald craned his neck—a skunk! “Please don’t spray us,” he yelped from under Pixie. Tiny and Tessa’s eyes were big. Tessa started for the exit.

  “Don’t worry. Of course I won’t spray,” the skunk said.

  The new possum nodded. “That’s right. Simone has good control.”

  “I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Simone. I’ve lived next door to Pixie, well, since I can remember. Please stay,” she said to Tiny and Tessa. “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, Simone. I’m so glad to see you. Tell these critters that this is Grapejuice! I don’t know why they won’t believe us, why they want to ruin our happiness—isn’t that right, dearie pie?” She gave a quick sob into her shoulder without loosening her grip. Oswald made a muffled sound. Tiny reached forward and extended a paw toward Oswald. Pixie gnashed her teeth aggressively in his direction. “See what I mean?”

  Oswald pushed his snout out a bit to see better. Pixie didn’t seem to notice. Simone looked at Tiny and Tessa then back toward Pixie with a very gentle expression.

  “Pixie, we know how hard this has been on you—Grapejuice up and leaving like that—” Simone started. Esmeralda nodded.

  Pixie let out a wail. “You have no idea. He was the green in my grass, the warmth in my fur . . . ” She trailed off.

  Esmeralda stepped up to Pixie and rested her head on Pixie’s shoulder. “Don’t be sad.” Pixie took her front paws off Oswald and hugged Esmeralda back. Tiny dove under her and grabbed Oswald by his outstretched forelimbs. Pixie swayed backward as Tiny pulled Oswald free. Pixie fell on her bottom, still hugging Esmeralda. Everyone untangled into a circle of panting animals in Pixie’s well-swept den.

  Simone was the first to speak. “Let’s find your glasses, Pixie. Remember, the ones your sister bought you for your birthday?”

  “What? Those? They make me look fat . . . and buck-toothed. They’re no good. I keep them in the cubbyhole, behind the nuts for when my sister co
mes around, but I don’t know why you want me to—”

  Simone gestured over her shoulder, then nodded to Tessa who immediately climbed on top of Simone, stretched upward, and dug in the first, then the second cubbyhole.

  “Found them!” Tessa balanced on top of Simone’s shoulder, waving a pair of sparkly eyeglasses above her head. Tiny took them from her and offered them to Pixie.

  “If y’all insist. I still don’t see the point . . . ” She put the glasses on and stared gape-mouthed. “Why, Esmeralda, who’s this other possum? Is it your brother?”

  After another hard sob, Pixie couldn’t apologize enough. “I’m so sorry. I’m mortified. I don’t know what’s got into me. Maybe I do need to wear these glasses after all.” She smiled a toothy, embarrassed grin below her glasses, which were glinting in the shaft of sunlight.

  “Ms. Pixie, I think if anyone here understands, I do,” Oswald said. All animals’ eyes turned toward him. “I know what it’s like to want something so much it clouds your thinking.”

  The animals were quiet, waiting for Oswald to continue. He stretched from his confinement, shaking out his limbs. “I’m sorry Grapejuice let you down, Ms. Pixie. There’s someone I don’t want to let down—a really nice boy named Joey Jones. I’m supposed to go to his school on Wednesday and help him with his project. But now, well, everything’s gone wrong. And it’s all my fault.”

  He fell silent as he looked up the light-filled exit, as though it were an impossible climb from where he was to where he needed to be.

  20

  HOMEWARD BOUND

  “I think that’s plenty, Joey,” Ms. Harris said. She looked over his shoulder at the computer he was working on at her desk. There were stacks of papers everywhere, a cup filled with large feathers, and a walkie-talkie she used to talk to other center staff.

  “You think?” But he didn’t wait for Ms. Harris to respond; he was unable not to talk about his project due tomorrow. “OK. So, I’ll start by explaining what hybrid vigor is, also called het-er-o-sis, and why mixing up genes can make animals stronger. How if there’s a bad gene—one that makes a problem—it’s more likely to be sort of covered up by another good one. And how having different genes for the immune system makes you better at fighting diseases. And how mules are a really good example of this because they’re much stronger than horses or donkeys, their parents . . . ” Joey paused to take a breath and clicked to a chart about how much mules, horses, elephants, and camels could carry.