Dead Possum on Regal Street

The day is particularly cold and cruel. Chuck and Mo are walking home from work. Taking their usual route. Walking in their usual way—kind of slothful, melancholy, and frothy. They have spent the day slaving in the town's local planar mill. As usual, they are tired and beat, after a long week's work, but they are starting to feel rather refreshed since they are on their way home. 

Chuck is a tall and vigorous man. He has dark brown hair and a scruffy beard. He looks dirty today, but then again, he always does. Chuck has always envisioned himself to be a smart man, unlike Mo. Chuck could have gone to college, he's always said. He just doesn't want to. He thinks the world and the streets will teach him what he wants to know. They probably do. Truth be told, there isn't exactly a lot that Chuck cares about knowing. He just cares where the liquor store and the TV are. Mo is about the same as Chuck. Just shorter, not as smart, and not as clean. 

"Mo?" 

"Yeah, Chuck?" 

"You hear what Jimmy was saying about you today?" 

"Jimmy! What did that bastard say?" 

"He was calling you a faggot at lunch again." 

"That sumbitch. I'm gonna have to kick his ass again." 

"Hehehehe.... You can't kick shit, Mo. You never kicked an ass in your life. Nor fucked one, neither. That's why they all keep calling you queer." 

"I ain't no queer, Chuck. You know that." 

"Well, I do suspect that you might have some latent heterosexual tendencies." 

"Thanks, Chuck. You're always my best friend." 

"Well, just out of curiosity. How come you never been with a woman before? Didn't you go out with Lee for like, 2 years? How come you didn't screw her?" 

"Just didn't feel like it is all." 

"Didn't feel like it? You dumb fuck. How can you not feel like something like that." 

"Just didn't, I guess. It just never really felt that important." 

"Imagine that. Mine always feels important. As a matter of fact, it's startin' to feel that way right now." 

"Shut up, Chuck. I don't wanna have to hear about it. It's bad enough you pullin' it out all the damn time, you ain't gotta talk about it too." 

"Sure, sure... Take away all my fun, then." 

It starts to get dark as they turn onto Regal Street and start going up the hill. 

"I hate this damn hill," says Mo. 

"Yeah, it's a bitch. Maybe we oughta move or somethin'. Hey, check that out. Looks like a possum." 

"Sure looks like it. Fuckin' dirty ass bastards." 

"Yeah, I hate those fuckers. I would kill the damn thing if it weren't already dead." 

Mo bends over and examines the possum. Gives it a real good eye. 

"Hey, this is kinda weird. I don't see any blood or anything. It don't look like it's been run over." 

"Maybe it died of natural causes," says Chuck. "Been up one too many cow asses, I guess." 

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" 

"You never heard that? Possums find dead cows and crawl up their asses to live. Even eat 'em too, so I hear." 

"God, that's disgusting. Maybe we should kill it anyway. Again, just to be sure." 

All of a sudden, the possum twitches. Mo jumps back in horror, then slowly advances once again to get a careful look. Chuck keeps his distance. 

"Is it alive?" asks Chuck. 

"I think it might be. You wanna kill it? I got my knife on me still." 

"You still carryin' that thing?" 

"Yeah, just in case ol' Jimmy tries to get freaky again." 

"Maybe he wants to fuck you." 

Mo stares at Chuck in disgust. Then a strange look falls over Mo's face. 

"You know, Chuck? I kinda feel sorry for this little guy." 

"You! I kinda find that hard to believe, considerin' you've killed more shit than God in your day." 

"Yeah, but this guy's different. He's special." 

Mo picks up the possum and cradles it in his arms. 

"I'm takin' him home." 

"Stupid bastard. Go ahead then. Maybe he'll crawl up your ass." 

Mo whispers, "Yeah, I'm takin' him home." 

Mo starts walking away, leaving Chuck just standing there in a half-stunned, half-disgusted pose. Mo walks up Regal Street, turns onto Clark and goes inside his apartment. 

There isn't really anything special about Mo's place. Just your average little shack, in this town. He has it about as good as anybody else at the mill. Two rooms. Well, three, counting the bathroom, but Mo doesn't think you are supposed to count those. Mo walks around his house looking for somewhere to put his new friend. He is still cradling him like a baby as he finally finds a shoebox. He lines the shoebox with some towels and lays the possum inside it. He covers him up in another towel and sits beside him, staring. 

"You OK, little fella? You still ain't breathin' too well. Maybe I should find you some food or somethin'." 

Mo gets up and goes to his refrigerator. It's not a very long walk. He looks around his kitchen, trying to find something to eat. All he can find is some crackers and some bread. He grabs the bread and takes it to his pal. 

"Here you go pal. You want some bready-weady?" 

No reply from the possum. 

"Come on, there. At least try to eat." 

No reply from the possum. 

"Well, I never really had company before. I ain't really sure what I'm supposed to do." 

He stares into its eyes, looking for some sign or hint of what it wants. He carries its head. Pets it—hesitantly. He's never really touched anything affectionately before. But after a while, he gets used to it. In fact, he kind of likes it. He wishes that the possum was a bit more interested in what he is doing. But he feels sure that the possum likes it too. He spends the better part of Friday night just looking at and caressing his new lover. He doesn't even sleep. He's totally enthralled by what's going on. He's never seen anything like it before. And he doesn't know if he ever will again. So he takes what he has, and attempts to cherish it. 

Saturday afternoon, Mo decides the little fella might like a bath. So he gets a washcloth and attempts to bathe his little friend. He gets him pretty clean. The possum is not in much of a position to argue. He just lays there and allows whatever needs to happen to happen. 

By Saturday night, you would think that the possum has always been there. Mo just sits and looks at it. Talking to it. Telling it stories about his life. His friend is slowly becoming more than a friend. 

Mo spends the entire day and night of Sunday lying next to the possum. Holding it. Trying to keep it warm. By Sunday night, he just can't stand the lack of sleep anymore, so he drifts off next to his lover. Lovingly strokes its 
head. And sighs a deep sigh of relief. He has found something new these past few days. Something altogether different. Something wonderful. 

But Monday comes again, as it must, and Mo has to go back to work. He finds it especially hard to leave. Somewhere inside he knows what must happen. Somewhere, we all know things we don't want to face. But this is harder for Mo than most of us. Or, at least, that's what he thinks. He leans over to pet the possum. Gives it a kiss and looks deep into its eyes. 

No reply from the possum. 

Mo goes to work, but finds it difficult. More so, this time. He doesn't even hear all the things that are being said about him. He just waits until five. Counts the minutes. Then the seconds. Five o'clock finally comes, and he runs home. It feels like he is already there when he hits the door. He runs to the possum. Holds it tightly. Kisses it again. 

No reply from the possum. 

But this time there is another reason. The possum is cold. From the inside out, this time. Mo doesn't know what to do. He has never imagined the possibility of the few days before. He surely doesn't know how to react now. So he doesn't think. He just acts. He picks up the shoebox. Hits the door and starts walking. It seems like forever. 

Finally he turns the corner on Regal Street. Crawls into the ditch, and starts digging. Except this time he is at the top of Regal Street. The opposite of where he found it. He digs a hole. Lovingly places it there. Covers it over. And cries. He guesses he has more tears than he thought he did. 

Finally it comes time for Mo to leave. He knows he has found something. He just isn't quite certain if he had lost it or not. For him, he feels as though he somehow has gained more than he realized. For him, there are new things inside. For him, this could be a new way to live. 

But for most people, there is just another dead possum on Regal Street.