The One With The Dead Possum

Written by Gillianne Ross

So my friends and I are walking down the street to visit our friend at their radio job. It’s Friday, the sun is still shining, and it is band jam session time for our gang of friends. We hit Beech St, Cliff St, Bayview St, and finally Howard St. Our little friend is still waiting for us a full week later.

Flash back to the prior Sunday.

The group is gathered at our friends house, you know off campus, where all the actual fun happens and we can feel like actual adults. And play the music loud. Really loud.

After a stellar meal prepared by our in house chef Lauren —  I believe it was pasta night that evening — and dancing on the couch singing to the bangers of the early 2000s, a group of us set out for home. In the middle of one of our rambling, nonsensical, though amusing conversations, I casually glanced at the ground.

Here is a fact about me; when I startle, I mark very strange noises. If you have bumped into me in the hallway ever, you would have heard one of these. The sound is a mix of a shriek, a grunt, a “blah,” or a “bleck.” If really freaked out, I’ll leap off the ground accompanied by one such sound.

Anyway, to the side of me, next to a stop sign is a big ‘ole dead possum, staring up at me. In my usual fashion, I screamed and jumped. “The fuck!” I yelled. So here is this dead possum, just chillin there by the stop sign at the corner of Howard and South Willard, and what do me and my friends do? We take pictures. Duh, what else do you do with a dead possum at nine at night?

Once our “little buddy” was photographed and sealed in time, we headed back home and did not think of it again. That is until Friday came. Now, I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell would notice a dead animal in front of my house and dispose of it. This is apparently not the case for the folks who live in that corner house, because as we walked toward the radio station, I noticed, yet again, the dead possum.

We approach, and in a way felt happy to see it still there. It was like a temporary landmark of our route to family dinners. So we took more pictures, but with better lighting because it was only five, and that possum deserved to look good after death. I would like to show you a picture of me and the possum, but *ehemm* I was cropped out of the frame. However, here is my arm and knee next to the possum.

Now, it has been a whole seven days since this possum appeared, and that Sunday, the possum was STILL there. However, our little friend was finally buried with a pile of leaves by some friendly passerby, a reminder of the woods it was probably trying to reach when the lights of a car suddenly appeared. So the next time you are at the corner of Howard St, and South Willard drop a flower for our little friend, and keep your eye out for any possum ghosts. Rest In Peace possum pal.