Oswald, the Almost Famous Opossum
Page 17
They laughed, ate too much cake, and told stories until no one could keep their eyes open.
“Welcome back, Naja,” Mrs. Edwards said. Everyone cheered, whistled, meowed, honked, or barked.
It was about two in the morning when Oswald’s plane landed at Baltimore-Washington International Airport. He’d negotiated with the movie studio, and they agreed he could break his contract. The action-double possum gladly stepped into the lead role for about half Oswald’s fee. Oswald preferred to fly back home economy rather than first class, saving them more money, too. He wanted to be treated like a regular being.
He was the last stop for the SuperShuttle driver. Oswald had to wait an extra hour until one who spoke Animal was available—there weren’t many. They motored south on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. The trees were thick and green on both sides of the empty road. It smelled wonderful, much nicer than dry Los Angeles, at least for him.
“Mount Rainier, right?” The driver made eye contact through the rearview mirror.
“Yes, please. It’s 3802 Thirty-Second Street.”
The driver looked at him again. “Hey, you’re not that famous possum I read about, are you? The one who made the video that got that lady out of jail?”
“No, that’s not me. There’s quite a few possums in Mount Rainier.”
“It’s a wild story. It made the cover of People magazine.” He reached into the side pocket of his door, retrieved the magazine, and held it out for Oswald, who was on the seat right behind him.
“Take a look. It’s pretty interesting. First possum to make a video, as far as they know.”
The driver put his turn signal on. They went right. Oswald looked at the magazine cover—a photo of a random possum, not him. Melvin had warned him about this happening.
The driver chatted on, but Oswald only half-listened. He was thinking about Joey, and Melvin and Miss Ann and everyone else. He was thinking about the movies he wanted to watch with Joey, the things he wanted to do with Melvin, and the things he wanted to ask Zola and—
“Do you want help with your bags?” the driver said. They turned onto Thirty-Second Street.
“No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
Oswald waited for the SuperShuttle to start off. He walked down Thirty-Second Street to Perry Street and turned right toward home. He thought it was better to give a fake address, in case his real one was in the papers.
He rolled his bag behind him holding the handle with his tail. The little wheels caught on the uneven sidewalk. No one was out. The front porches were empty. He passed one house cat he didn’t know. He walked past the house where the roofers had been working, past the Edwardses’ house, to Ann and Joey’s front gate. The lights were out, but it looked warm inside.