Appleblossom the Possum
Izzy looks at the sink. The toothpaste tube, which had been full, is empty. The tile floor reveals something else: tracks. She bends down to more carefully examine what looks like a crime scene, and sees the prints of a shoe and what looks like a tiny, long-fingered hand. She is now an expert, and this is the track of a possum!
Izzy considers her options. She could get her mom and dad and show them the mess. They would help clean up. But would they be excited to know that her furry pal is somewhere in the house? She imagines Columbo in one of his barking fits and her parents in a full-blown panic. And so she makes a decision. She will handle this herself.
Izzy cleans up the toilet paper and the shampoo mess. She does her best to hide the punctured shower curtain by putting it on the inside of the bathtub. She throws away the toothpaste tube and wipes down the entire floor, which is covered with paw prints and boot tracks. Then she gets a book and sits on her bed.
She whispers to the room, “I know that you’re in here, little Pal.” She has learned (from her reading in the library) that possums are nocturnal, so she is content to wait until darkness falls to try and lure out the creature.
But weekends are the time when Izzy’s parents do the laundry. Her mom and dad rotate the chores and this Saturday it’s her mother’s turn to do the wash. Izzy is sitting on her bed reading a book about marsupials when her mother comes in. She goes to the laundry basket in Izzy’s closet and scoops up an armful of dirty clothes. She turns to her daughter. “Enjoying the new book?”
Izzy barely looks over when out of the corner of her eye she sees something. At the bottom of the heap of clothing, holding on for dear life to a pair of pants, is her possum, still wearing the pink bonnet, blue coat, and one boot. Izzy leaps up from the bed, shouting, “MOM!!!!”
Izzy’s mother abruptly freezes.
The sound of her daughter’s voice and the expression on her face cause Izzy’s mother to gasp, “What is it?”
Izzy scrambles to her mom and tries to grab the clothing from her arms. “Give me the laundry!”
But it’s not possible for her to get the whole armful of clothing, and half of it falls to the floor, including the possum. Izzy’s mother sees the marsupial, which Izzy fleetingly hopes looks like a stuffed animal, and she screams “Oh my goodness!” with the kind of alarm that would never be used about a plush toy.
She releases everything in her arms, and as she steps back, knocks into the floor lamp. The lamp crashes down and the clothing pile seems to come alive.
The clothes aren’t really alive, of course, but the possum is—and it’s on the run. Izzy drops to her knees and goes after the moving marsupial. But her mother shrieks, “NO! Stay back! Wild animals carry disease!”
From another part of the house, Izzy’s father shouts, “What’s going on in there?” And then the most dreaded sound joins the symphony of panic: Columbo. The barking dog can be heard galloping down the hallway. It is impossible to know who is more out of control. Her mother. Her father. The possum. The completely hysterical Columbo. Or Izzy herself.
Columbo charges into the room, and Izzy stops trying to catch the possum in order to lunge for the dog, grabbing his collar. Izzy’s father appears in the doorway just as the possum shoots toward the bed. But Izzy’s mother drops the laundry basket right over the possum, trapping the frantic animal.
Izzy’s father puts his hands on the clothing basket and shouts “I got him!” which is strange because the possum is already caught.
There is nothing Izzy can do.
The cat is out of the bag. Or in this case, the possum is in the clothes hamper.
Chapter 24
So this is how it ends, thinks Appleblossom. In shadows. In darkness. Entrapped.
This is her final performance.
Her breath slows down. Her heart stops racing. And then the gland opens beneath her tail. She’s in the moment and unable to control anything. She falls backward. Her eyes roll skyward. Her mouth opens. Spit comes out.
This is how a death scene is played.
Chapter 25
Izzy’s father now stands right next to the overturned hamper holding a net.
He ran and got it from the garage. (It was used at some point by Uncle Randy on a fishing trip, and then abandoned on a shelf to gather dust and spider webs.)
Izzy’s mother left the room and is now back holding a broom and a hammer, which causes Izzy to shout, “What are you doing with a hammer?!”
Her mother’s voice is too loud. “This is just in case.”
“In case WHAT?” Izzy responds. “In case you decide that a defenseless little possum is a nail?”
Her father waves his arms in an attempt to create calm. “Okay, that’s enough!”
Izzy’s mother looks from her husband to her daughter. “The animal’s wearing doll clothes! You’ve been playing with a gigantic rat!”
Izzy shakes her head. “It’s not a rat. It’s a possum! A marsupial. And I didn’t put those clothes on her. She put them on herself!”
Izzy’s parents both have uncomfortable looks on their faces, and not because of what Izzy has just said. Her father loosens his grip on the fishing net. “This net smells awful.”
Izzy’s mother nods. “It’s like dead fish or something.”
Izzy doesn’t care about the bad-smelling fishing net, although she does realize that the room is quickly taking on a terrible odor. She tries to explain: “The possum is my friend. My pal. I’ve seen her before through the window. I woke up this morning and she was sleeping with my stuffed animals.”
Izzy’s father inhales big (like he’s going to hold his breath before going into a tunnel) and then exhales long. He then says, “The animal does not belong in our house. Wild animals have fleas and ticks and carry rabies. It doesn’t matter that the creature somehow got into clothing. It wouldn’t matter if the animal could play the piano—”
Izzy’s mother interrupts: “Well, it would be amazing if it played the piano. I mean, we could make all kinds of videos and put them online and—”
Izzy’s father stares at his wife. “The animal does not play the piano.”
Izzy feels fairly certain that her possum is not musical. She doesn’t want to reveal the fact that the only talent she’s noticed so far is the possum’s ability to make a big mess. If the bathroom is any kind of example, her new pal is an awful houseguest, so she remains silent.
Columbo has been banished to the hallway, and he is whining with a kind of urgency that is beyond any of his usual meltdowns. The dog’s clear desire to sink his teeth into something other than his red ball seems to bring Izzy’s parents back to the problem in the room.
Her father positions the fishing net over the laundry hamper as he instructs his wife and daughter: “You two should step back. I’m going to slowly lift the basket. The animal’s going to run—”
Now it’s Izzy’s turn to interrupt. “We don’t know she’s going to run. Please be careful. She must be very afraid.”
Then Izzy’s father slowly tilts the laundry hamper.
They all wait.
And wait.
Nothing happens.
Finally Izzy says, “She’s not running.” Her father then lifts the hamper up high into the air, which causes the net to rise up as well. They can all now clearly see the possum.
The animal is flat on her back, arms stiff, and eyes closed.
Izzy screams, “She’s dead!”
And she bursts into tears as her heart breaks.
Her father does his best to explain as he stammers, “S-small animals can die from f-fear. They have heart attacks.”
Tears run down Izzy’s face. She cannot believe that the little creature is dead. But Izzy’s whole bedroom has the smell of death. It’s like the rotten stench of water in an old flower vase. Only worse.
Izzy’s father puts his
arm around her, but her mother stays at a distance. Columbo whines louder on the other side of the door. Izzy is able to say through her tears, “I want to give her a proper burial.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” her mother says. “We can find a nice box and we can make a place for the animal in the garden.”
But Izzy continues to cry. “We can’t put her out back because Columbo will dig her up. No matter how deep we make the hole.” In the hallway Columbo’s frantic sounds do suggest that he’d dig through the earth’s core to get at this thing.
Izzy’s mother nods. “You’re right. We’ll find a spot in the front of the house. Maybe in the rose garden. And when we see the flowers blooming in the future, we’ll know that she’s part of that.”
It is hardly consoling news. Izzy leans close to the possum, and through her tears manages to say, “We are so sorry for what happened. We didn’t mean to scare you.”
Izzy’s mother and father suddenly seem to feel very guilty. Her mother puts down the hammer and places the broom against the wall. “I’ve got a shoe box in my closet. And we have tissue in the drawer in the rec room. Nice pink paper.” Izzy’s father does his best to roll up Uncle Randy’s old fishing net. “I’ll take this out to the garage.”
Izzy follows her mother to her closet, where she tries to steer Izzy toward a box that was for running shoes, but Izzy insists on a glossy black box that holds her mother’s favorite high heels. Izzy returns to her room and lifts up the possum and carefully places her on top of a bed of crisp, pink tissue paper. She is surprised that the furry little animal is still warm to the touch.
Izzy’s parents are standing at the door waiting. They seem very anxious to get the possum out of the house and into the hole in the ground that her father has already dug (so hurriedly that his back now hurts in places he calls the L-4/L-5 area). Her parents seem to need to have this “episode” (as she hears them whisper) over as soon as possible.
Her mother asks, “Do you want your father to take off the blue jacket—since it belongs to your bear? And the bonnet and boot?” Izzy makes a face that indicates no. Her mother manages a wobbly smile. “No. Bad idea. Also, sweetheart, it’s probably better to not keep touching the animal.”
Izzy stops crying long enough to say, “Can I have just a few minutes to myself? To say good-bye?”
Her parents exchange looks but don’t speak. After a few moments they nod and edge out of the room. Izzy stares down at the possum. She reaches her hand into the box and places it on the little animal as she says, “I’m so sorry.”
What happens next is the shock of shocks!
The possum’s little hand suddenly wraps around Izzy’s finger in what can only be described as a firm grip. Izzy starts to scream, but she stops herself.
The possum isn’t dead!
This possum is alive!
Izzy’s eyes focus on the Paddington bear blue jacket. It moves up and down in very small increments. Why hadn’t she seen this before? The animal is breathing. And then as Izzy stares into the fancy shoe box, the little possum’s eyes slowly open. She looks right up at Izzy, and with an expression that can only be described as relief, her little possum mouth opens and she smiles.
It’s the smile that does it.
Izzy takes action.
She scoops the possum out of the shoe box and runs to her bureau. She opens the top drawer, which is filled with soft cotton T-shirts. She then sets the possum down (she hopes in a comfortable position) and shuts the drawer. Izzy next goes to her bathroom. She grabs the shampoo bottle out of the trash can and quickly fills it halfway up with water. She tests the weight and adds another inch of water. Better.
Izzy runs back to her bed, puts the shampoo bottle in the shoe box, and pads the tissue around the container to keep it snug. She places the top on the shoe box and then grabs a ribbon from her night table. She wraps the ribbon around the box and ties it tight.
She is just finishing the bow when her bedroom door opens. Her mother looks in. “How’s it going, Izzy? Are you ready?”
Izzy, no longer crying (and newly energized), tries to look sad, which is hard because she is anything but sad. And not an actor. She secures the ribbon and attempts to sound full of sorrow. “Yes. I said my good-bye. Let’s go put her in the front yard. Right away.”
Izzy lifts the shoebox and starts for the door. She hasn’t gotten far before Columbo charges in. The dog jumps up to get at the shoe box. Izzy’s father appears from the hallway and reaches for the dog’s collar, but Columbo angles in the other direction and gallops (which is an accurate description of how the frenzied canine moves when he’s focused on something) into the bathroom. Izzy’s mother takes off after him. “Columbo, get out of there!”
The dog’s nose goes to the ground as he frantically sniffs the floor tiles as if they are coated with beef jerky. Then, before Izzy’s mother can gain control, Columbo bolts back into the bedroom. He lifts his nose into the air and Izzy can tell he has picked up the scent, because he lunges straight for the bureau. She shrieks, “Get him out of here!”
The alarm in her voice seems to penetrate the dog’s brain, because he is even more anxious as he throws himself against the bureau. His claws scratch at the top drawer and his teeth clamp down on the knob! He is going to open the drawer!
But to Izzy’s parents, he just appears to be an insane dog intent on destroying good wooden furniture. Izzy’s father shouts, “COLUMBO! NO!”
There is something about Izzy’s father’s voice that commands attention, especially when he’s angry. And the only thing that really gets him angry is Columbo. Izzy’s father grabs the dog by the collar and pulls him away from the bureau.
Seconds later, Columbo is out of the room and sequestered in his dog crate in the kitchen.
And not long after that, Izzy and her parents lower a fancy shoe box (containing a shampoo bottle filled with water) into a hole in the front yard and say a prayer.
Chapter 26
Izzy asks to spend the rest of the day in her room. With the door closed for privacy.
Her mom and dad say yes because an animal has died and it feels as if they handled the situation poorly. At least that’s what Izzy hears her parents whisper when they think she’s out of earshot.
Izzy arranges apple slices, cheddar cheese cubes, poppy seed crackers, and roasted almonds on a teacup saucer, and retreats behind the closed door. She shuts the curtains that frame her large bedroom window and then makes her way to her bureau and very, very, very slowly opens the top drawer.
The possum is sitting, legs crossed, waiting for her. She stares up at Izzy and she smiles. It seems to be a shy smile, mixed with apprehension. Izzy gently reaches into the drawer, and the possum hobbles (with her one black boot) into Izzy’s hands.
Izzy brings the animal to her bed and places her on the comforter. She sets the saucer of food in front of her. The possum seems eager to try a piece of apple. The look on her face shows that it’s delicious. She follows the fruit with a square of cheese, a poppy seed cracker, and then all of the almonds.
And all the while Izzy watches, as happy as she’s ever been.
When she can no longer contain herself, Izzy whispers, “If my parents knew you were here, I don’t think they’d be pleased.” The possum leans her head on Izzy’s leg.
It feels to Izzy as if her heart will burst.
She has a real pal. It’s as pure and simple as that.
Izzy notices that her friend has soot on the back of her legs and in her ears. Is it from the chimney? Her neck has a ring of pink fur that smells like strawberries. Dried shampoo, Izzy decides. She leans close to the marsupial and whispers, “You need a bath.”
Izzy waits until the possum finishes everything on the saucer before carrying her into the bathroom. She fills the sink with warm water and gently removes the Paddington bear jacket and the bonnet and the single boot.
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Izzy tries to make her voice reassuring as she carefully lowers the possum into the sink. “This is going to feel very warm and very cozy. At least I hope so. Stay calm. A bath can be relaxing and even healing. You’ve been through a lot, but this should make you feel better.”
At first Appleblossom is afraid. But the warm water feels so good. It’s as if she’s floating on a moonlit cloud. She never knew that water could be this sweet. The people holds up her thumb. Appleblossom decides to show the little monster that she has a thumb too. She lifts her arm out of the water and shows her hand.
Thumb up.
She realizes that this must mean something to people, because the monster looks very happy that they both have thumbs. Appleblossom raises her other arm out of the soapy water and holds that thumb high.
She watches as the little monster squeals in a way that seems happy. She can see it is going well, so she lifts her feet out of the water.
But it’s a mistake. Appleblossom starts to sink. Soapy water rushes into her ears and, when she closes her eyes, it pours into her nose. Her tail starts moving as she panics, but then two hands plunge into the water and the little people shouts, “I’ve got you!”
In only seconds, Appleblossom is wrapped in a small towel and held to the little monster’s chest. “You’re okay! I’m right here!”
What follows is a whole world of new experiences.
The little monster grabs a red machine that is attached to the wall. She aims it at Appleblossom, and it’s like being in a windstorm—only a really warm one. Appleblossom feels her fur go from wet to fluffy in a matter of seconds. And her body now smells like a field of flowers.
She has never been this clean, and her tummy is very full. Appleblossom knows she must find a way out of this place, but until the opportunity presents itself, she will act happy to be here. It is a performance that at the moment is easy to play.