Oswald, the Almost Famous Opossum

by Sara Katherine Pascoe

  “I was hoping for coffee,” Melvin said.

  “Hmm, it’s true. Cat’s do like good service,” his mom called over to Joey. She smiled. She was starting to understand Melvin now, too.

  Joey laughed.

  “No one said it was all good, what you’d hear when you understand Animals,” Mrs. Edwards said. She poured lemonade into glasses.

  “I hear that,” Miss Ann said to Mrs. Edwards then turned to Naja. “You ready?” She got up, and the goose struggled out of the basket. A plastic tube was fitted over her broken wing. It still dragged, but she was able to move it a little.

  Joey slurped the homemade lemonade. He whispered, “I don’t know what to do for my mom’s birthday. I don’t have much allowance saved up—not enough to buy anything nice.”

  “Not so good at planning ahead?” Zola said. She got up and went inside.

  “Don’t you worry about that. Why don’t we make her a birthday cake?” Mrs. Edwards said.

  “Oh, Lordy,” Mr. Edwards said, then got up with his newspaper and headed toward the door.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Mrs. Edwards said.

  “Not a thing. I’ll stay out of the way, is all. I know how you get when things don’t go right between you and cake.” He opened the screen door like he was about to go inside when Zola walked out with a blanket in her mouth.

  “Don’t listen to him, Joey. I’m a fine baker. Now what’s her favorite?”

  Joey thought a minute. “Lemon with raspberry stuff in the middle, I think.”

  “We can manage that. It’ll be our little secret.” Mrs. Edwards put her finger to her lips.

  “Until the oven blows up.” Mr. Edwards grinned.

  “Oh, you stop it.”

  Zola put the blanket at Joey’s feet. “This is my favorite. You could give it to your mom for her birthday.”

  Joey looked at Mrs. Edwards for guidance about how not to hurt Zola’s feelings. Mrs. Edwards responded, “That is so sweet, Zola. But I know that’s your favorite. How about you play ‘Happy Birthday’ on the keyboard for Miss Ann instead? I think that would be more special.”

  “You think?” Zola cocked her head to the side with her ears perked up.

  Joey didn’t know anything about Zola playing the keyboard and thought he must have misunderstood, but he didn’t want to ask about it now.

  “Absolutely. You are a dear, you know,” Mrs. Edwards said to Zola, who nuzzled her big head under Mrs. Edwards’s hand. “Joey, why don’t you go help with Naja’s training? Looks like you’re missing all the fun.” Mrs. Edwards nodded toward Joey’s yard.

  Naja and Melvin stood on the grass facing Miss Ann. Joey’s mom led them in exercises; she lifted her arm, and the goose and cat lifted wing and paw—right, left, right, left.

  “Thanks for making the cake and everything,” Joey said in low tones to Mrs. Edwards.

  “It’ll be fun. Come along Sunday morning around nine thirty.” Mrs. Edwards whispered.

  Joey bounded back to his yard and stood next to his mom as Naja continued with her workout. Right wing up, left wing up—that was the hurt one.

  “She needs to be up on something so she can move that wing better without bumping into the ground,” Melvin said. He’d stopped doing the exercises and sat like a sphinx in the sun.

  His mother turned to Joey, who interpreted as she still didn’t understand everything the cat said.

  “That makes sense . . . Let’s see . . . ” She looked around the yard.

  “I know,” Joey said and hurried toward the garage. “I’ll get my old wagon.”

  Joey returned pulling his old, trusty, rusty red wagon. It rattled across the yard.

  “Great idea,” Naja said and waddled up to Joey. Miss Ann lifted Naja and placed her on the wagon, then led the way, walking around the yard, lifting one arm then the other, saying, “Right—up, two, three. Left—up, two . . . ” Joey walked backward, pulling the wagon slowly.

  “That’s good, Naja. Keep going,” Joey said.

  Melvin watched from the deck. Naja held up both wings at once as Miss Ann counted.

  Naja gave some happy honks. “Thank you. The air across my wings again is heaven.” Joey sped up, and Naja lifted both wings at the same time again, momentarily lifting off above the wagon—she looked delighted. Then, like a rock in his stomach, the reality of helping Naja hit Joey. If this all went well, eventually Naja would leave them. He was happy for her, but his heart sank.

  27

  WAGON TRAIN

  “That should do it,” Mr. Edwards said. He stood back and smiled. Joey pushed his bike forward watching his trusty, rusty wagon roll along, hitched to the back.

  “This is great, Mr. Edwards. Thanks,” Joey said. He put the kickstand down and ran to the pool where Naja was paddling around on this hazy Saturday.

  “It’s ready, Naja. Let’s give it a try,” Joey said. The goose coasted to the edge, where there was a wooden ramp, and waddled out. She followed Joey, her left wing dragging less. Mr. Edwards and Joey lifted Naja on top of a couple of towels in the wagon. Naja nestled in, faced forward, then spread her wings, the plastic-tube splint still on the left one.

  “Ready,” she said.

  Melvin opened his eyes to yellow slits. He had been sleeping on a chair on the back deck. Joey pedaled forward on the grass as Mr. Edwards walked next to Naja in the wagon.

  “Go a little faster, let’s make sure it holds,” Mr. Edwards said. Joey obliged. Naja opened her wings about halfway. The air rippled her feathers. Naja opened and closed her wings a few times. Joey looked back and thought it looked like Naja was smiling, although he knew that wasn’t possible.

  “I think you’re ready for the road,” Mr. Edwards said.

  “I’ll go get my helmet.” Joey parked his bike with Naja still in the wagon and bounced up the deck steps.

  “What about me?” Melvin said. He stretched his body into a ski-slope shape. Joey stopped while holding the door to the house open.

  “I want to go, too,” the cat said.

  “Sure, hop in. The front basket’s all yours.” Joey was inside getting his helmet when the doorbell rang. He could hear his mother say hi to Mrs. De Leon, Valeria’s mom. He grabbed his helmet and went into the kitchen. Mrs. De Leon and his mom were maneuvering a large pot into the fridge.

  “That’s one big pot of veggie chili. Thanks, Lucia,” Miss Ann said.

  “Hi, Mrs. De Leon,” Joey said.

  She smiled. “Hi, Joey. I swear, you are taller and more handsome every time I see you,” she said.

  “Thanks, I guess. Is Ria here?” Joey said.

  “Sorry, Joey. She wanted to come, but she had soccer practice. Do you want me to tell her anything? She’s coming tomorrow.”

  Joey was surprised to feel a little disappointed. It would have been fun to show her his bike and wagon with Naja in it. “No, that’s OK. I just wanted to show her the goose and stuff.”

  His mom gave Mrs. De Leon some sort of look. Like kids don’t notice this sort of thing.

  “I hear you’re the Dr. Dolittle of Mount Rainier,” Mrs. De Leon said.

  “Yes, Joey has a lot of talent with animals,” his mom said, drying her hands on a towel. “Let’s go see how Naja’s doing. Have to admit, it’s been really neat helping her get better.”

  The three went out the door.

  Melvin was waiting in the basket at the front. Mr. Edwards and Mrs. De Leon said hello, having met each other before.

  “OK—let’s get this party started,” Melvin said.

  Miss Ann and Mr. Edwards laughed.

  “You guys know what he said?” Mrs. De Leon said.

  Ann waved away the question. “Only sometimes, and believe me it’s not always a blessing.” Melvin shot her a look.

  Joey walked the bike with the wagon and goose, basket and cat across the yard to the front gate with his mom, Mrs. De Leon, and Mr. Edwards behind. Joey pedaled off, increasing his speed. Naja flapped, rose up a few seconds, then settled do
wn again. She did it again. Joey glanced over his shoulder and grinned—he was happy for her. It felt amazing to be part of this, helping Naja and seeing his mother become more of an animal person. Maybe his life was getting better. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the three grown-ups, a proud triangle—his mother clasping her hands over her mouth, she looked like she might cry.

  Joey pedaled on. He could feel Naja lifting off and landing, over and over. “You’re doing it, Naja—you’re flying!” Joey whooped and laughed. He turned up Thirty-Second Street and pressed up the hill.

  “You go, goose-girl!” Melvin closed his eyes into the wind and held onto the basket.

  “Hey, Joey. Wow—what have you got there?” A tall boy from the sixth grade called from the sidewalk. Joey stopped the bike, panting from the effort. Melvin spoke to the boy, but he didn’t understand Animal.

  “What did he say?” Ghalib, the sixth grader, said.

  “He introduced himself and asked you your name. He’s Melvin.”

  “Hi, I’m Ghalib,” the boy said.

  “This is Naja,” Joey said. “That goose I was telling you about.”

  “That’s really cool,” Ghalib said. “Teaching a bird how to fly—”

  Naja honked.

  “What?”

  “Fly again. She wants to make sure you realize she already knew how before the accident,” Joey said.

  Ghalib shook his head. “Wow, that’s kind of weird and deep at the same time—you understanding animals like that.”

  Joey shrugged. “It’s nothing. Hey, we’re having a barbeque tomorrow. My mom’s birthday. But it’s no big deal. You want to come?” Joey said.

  “I don’t know. I can eat my share of barbeque. You sure you’ll have enough?” Ghalib grinned.

  “Oh, yeah. My moms always makes too much food. See you around one o’clock tomorrow, then,” Joey said. He hoped he didn’t look too desperate.

  Ghalib shrugged. “OK, cool. Thanks. See you then.”

  Joey hightailed it back to his house. He almost forgot Naja was in the wagon. She spread her wings and lifted off for moments at a time.

  His mom was on the phone when Joey burst in, letting the screen door slam.

  “Joey—no door slamming!” she yelled out, then she said back into the phone, “Sorry about that. You have kids?” There was a pause and she laughed. “Yes, that’s about right. OK, yes. We’ll look forward to it. You and the photographer are welcome to stay for the barbeque—at least make yourself a plate.” There was another pause. “Yes. It’s all good. Great. See you then.”

  She hung up the phone and turned to her son. “Joey, the newspaper’s coming tomorrow, probably during the barbeque. They want to do a follow-up story on Naja. One of those feel-good success stories about animals recovering. I’ll need you to help me straighten up the house, OK?” She started picking things up and fluffing pillows.

  “What? Oh, right—sure,” Joey said, only half-listening, before spilling out what was on his mind. “Naja’s getting a lot stronger. She lifted off a bunch of times. Then we saw Ghalib. He’s in the sixth grade. He’s real nice and everything. I invited him to the barbeque tomorrow. I know I’m supposed to ask you first, before I invite anybody to the house, and I’m really sorry, but would it be OK this one time if he came? If I promise to never do it again, and do all the dishes, and—”

  “Whoa. Slow down. You invited a friend to the barbeque? That’s great, Joey.”

  28

  GOOD NEIGHBORS

  On Sunday morning, the sky was covered with thick, puffy clouds like gray marshmallows. Joey arranged paper plates, napkins, and plastic knives, forks, and spoons on the dining room table. His mother chopped vegetables and made a fruit salad.

  “Joey—come give me a hand, please.” His mom was standing by the fridge, the door trying to close on her. “Hold this open, will you?”

  “Sure, Mom.” He held the door while she struggled with the large pot of vegetarian chili.

  “I do not know who Lucia thinks is coming—a vegetarian army?” She lugged the pot to the stove.

  “But it’s really good,” Joey said.

  “Go ahead and put the drinks in the fridge, now that I’ve made room. I’m going to go upstairs for a catnap before everyone comes. Can you feed Naja and let her out into the yard?”

  “Sure.”

  “You say anything besides ‘sure’?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s my boy.” She ruffled his hair. Joey ducked, grinned, grabbed the stacks of cups on the counter, and dashed out of the kitchen.

  Joey let himself into the Edwardses’ house, closing the screen door softly behind him. It smelled like breakfast. Jazz played on the music system.

  “Hey, Mrs. Edwards, Mr. Edwards,” Joey called out.

  Zola sat up from her spot on a blanket on the turquoise couch. She almost toppled the weird-looking lamp on the side table by wagging her tail. She had a big pink bow around her neck.

  “There you are,” Mrs. Edwards said as she entered the living room, wiping her hands on a towel. “Would you like pancakes and bacon, before we get started?”

  “Thank you, but I already had breakfast,” Joey said.

  “Well, that doesn’t have to stop you—you’re a growing boy.”

  “OK, then—yes, please.”

  “Can I have some, too?” Zola said to Mrs. Edwards.

  Mrs. Edwards had already started back to the kitchen. “Of course, you both get some.” Boy and dog followed her.

  “What’s with that dumb bow, Zola?” Joey said.

  Zola looked hurt. “You don’t like it?”

  Mrs. Edwards gave Joey a look. “Zola’s dressed up for the party. Doesn’t she look nice?”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry, Zola. I don’t know anything about girls’ clothes.” Sometimes he almost forgot Zola was a girl, what with her size and scruffy wiry fur. She had a number of scars and limped sometimes. Joey could tell she didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that happened, so he never pressed it.

  Joey wolfed down his pancakes with real maple syrup and crispy bacon—just how he liked it. Meanwhile, Mrs. Edwards measured ingredients into bowls, melted butter in the microwave, and got the mixer out.

  Mr. Edwards appeared from the study next to the kitchen. “OK, Zola, all ready for your practice. Oh, hi, Joey. Here for your lesson in explosives and expletives?” Mr. Edwards said.

  “Say what you like. Guess you won’t want any of this lemon-raspberry cake with coconut icing?” Mrs. Edwards said as she retrieved two round cake pans.

  “Oh, I’ll get me a nice big slab, don’t you worry. Does Joey have time to see Zola play before you two start?” Mr. Edwards said.

  “Sure,” Mrs. Edwards said.

  Zola led the way into the study. There was a set of pedals from an electric organ on the floor, wired up to the keyboard. Mr. Edwards made a sweeping gesture toward the pedals. “And now I bring you the lovely Miss Zola on foot, or as we call them, paw pedals!” Mr. Edwards made the sound of a crowd cheering by blowing into his hands.

  Zola nodded her head in a little bow. With her right front paw, she plunked out “Happy Birthday” without a single mistake. She turned and sat down facing Mr. Edwards and Joey.

  “Wow!” Joey said.

  “Do you think your mom will like it?” Zola said.

  “Like it? She’ll LOVE it!” Joey said and gave the dog a big hug. She thumped her tail hard against the wooden floor.

  “Joey?” Mrs. Edwards called from the kitchen. “I need your help.”

  29

  COMFORTS OF HOME

  Slashes of blue cut through the clouds as Oswald waddled up to Joey’s front gate, Mo beside him. Melvin was asleep on a chair on the porch.

  “Say something.” Mo elbowed Oswald.

  “I will. I will,” Oswald said.

  Melvin opened one eye, then the other. He huffed when he saw Oswald, curled in the other direction, and draped his front paw over his eyes.

 
“Wait here,” Oswald said to Mo, then squeezed under the gate and tiptoed up the steps.

  “Melvin, may I speak with you for a moment?”

  Melvin sighed, still facing away from him. “I guess.”

  “I’ve come to make amends. You have every right to be upset with me.” Oswald’s breath caught. “It is good to see you, Melvin.” Oswald took a step back and sat down. Melvin turned his head and opened his eyes.

  “Do you realize the damage you’ve done?” Melvin said. Oswald glanced over his shoulder at Mo waiting on the other side of the fence. Mo nodded in a way that said, “Take your time.”

  Oswald hung his head. “I know. And not just here either. But, I’ve come back to make it up to everyone. To Joey and Miss Ann in particular.”

  Melvin sat up and faced Oswald. “How do you plan to do that?”

  “I’ve come with a few friends to make Miss Ann’s birthday barbeque extra special. After all, what else is there besides spending time with friends, eh?” Oswald said.

  Melvin looked over Oswald’s head, saw Mo sitting on the grass next to the sidewalk, inspecting his claws and whistling. “Who’s that?”

  “That’s Mo.”

  “Hi,” Mo said and waved. “Nice to meet you—I’ve heard so many nice things about you. There’s a few more of us waiting.” He gestured down Perry Street toward Eastern Avenue. There was the sound of grass crunching and branches rustling as the animals took a few steps closer.

  “Hmm. It would be nice to make this party special. There aren’t a lot of folks to do things for Miss Ann. But we’ve got to think of Naja,” Melvin said then paused. “You know. The goose who crashed into your newspaper after you made Joey read it to you that night? The goose who broke her wing?” Melvin said.

  “I know . . . I know,” Oswald said in a small voice.

  “May I?” Mo pointed to the gate with his nose.

  “It’s a free country,” Melvin said and jumped off the chair.

  Mo ambled up the steps and sat about five feet away from Melvin. “We’ve gotten to know Oz here pretty well,” Mo said.

  “I’m all ears,” Melvin said.

  “And I know he used to come across a bit, um, single-minded,” Mo said.