Playing Possum

My parents have been doing some updates to their house recently and my father had been interminable in his pursuit to recruit me for labor. This is nothing new though. People are always asking for me when something needs to get done. I guess that is the price I pay for always having an opinion on matters.

Finally, after a month of deftly avoiding my parents, I succumbed to the constant nagging and made a date to go do the work. They needed me to help hang a door for them on one of the rooms in the house. They treat me like I am some kind of expert, when in reality; I have never hung a single door in my life. My dad just assumes I can do everything. Maybe that is because whenever anybody asks me about something, I say, “Oh, I can do that. That’s easy.”

The sky was crystal clear with nary a cloud in sight. The air was delightfully crisp and the temperature unseasonably warm. A Hallmark sort of day. One of those nearly perfect picturesque days that make you happy to be alive. I hate working inside when the world creates such exquisite displays such as this. It was quite a beautiful day.

It was a beautiful day for death.

It was about noon so I grabbed my keys, wallet, and phone and headed out the door for my rendezvous with work. My mom was home, which I had not been anticipating, but was pleased nonetheless. I was ready to get working on the door but she said she wanted to go out to lunch. I was in a somewhat solemn mood so I didn't protest in the slightest. Besides, I hadn't eaten yet, anyway.

Just as we were about to go, I noticed a little furry thing lying motionless near the 6ft chain link fence that separates their yard from the neighbors. All I said to my mother was, "so what died in your yard?" The ambiguous subject and monotone voice were intentional. That momentary look of shock on my mother's face always makes me smile but the same holds true for anyone. I feed off those looks almost as if it is something my body requires. Those instantaneous expressions are just so absolutely real. You know, at that very second, that you are getting a little piece of unadulterated humanity.

As she walked back towards the house, to where I was on the deck, that little ball of fur started to move. It was obviously sick or hurt, and it was odd seeing such a normally reclusive yet energetic creature sit immobilized by some unknown ailment. I continued to watch it until my parents finally told me to get in the damn car.

Lunch was strange that day. I had a million things on my mind and I wasn't my normal talkative self. I guess I was still nervous about talking to my parents about the recent events in my life. My mom mentioned something and brought up the point that I wasn't moving to Virginia anymore. I tried to act unfazed, which was a lot easier considering that I was only half listening to the noise around me.

I was eager to get home so I could just focus on manual labor and not have to deal with the torture of self-actualization. Before I could do that though, I wanted to check on that dying mass of gray fur that was obscenely protruding from the thick grass of my parents' yard.

It was a possum, I could tell that much. The tail was long, thick, and looked quite inflexible. The face was like a rat/raccoon hybrid. It kept digging at itself and in doing so, showed its repulsive teeth. It looked as if one bite from it would give you every known disease...and probably some unknown ones as well. All in all-- it appeared to be a vile and disgusting specimen of Mother Nature. Go figure.

Despite its hideous representation, I couldn't help but be in awe. The one thing that stood out to me more than anything else was the amount of flies that surrounded it. There were dozens of them swarming this ugly wounded possum. It seemed so...unjust. All I could think of was scavengers rifling through a dying man's pockets-- the complete lack of indecency and respect. They couldn't even wait for death.

I wanted to make those flies go away. Those soothsayers of death, oblivious to anything but their own needs, solidifying the fact that life was about to expire. It all seemed so unnecessarily cruel, to me.

But then I took my eyes away from death and looked up at the sky-- the crystal blue sky that looks painted on. Then I closed my eyes and breathed that crisp air into my lungs. The birds continued to sing their indecipherable tunes and the symphony of trees were still being conducted by steady breeze.

It was so strangely surreal—the weather, the possum, the flies…the looming death. How could anything die on a day such as this? Not only was it dying but it was suffering too; and nobody cared. In a way, I wanted to put it out of its misery but in another, I liked watching it. It is a fact of life—things die and things suffer. The sun would still set, the birds would still chirp, and the wind would still make music with the trees. A dying possum could never change that. Nothing could ever change that.

The universe is unsympathetic to life and death. It will rain at weddings and it will be sun-drenched at funerals, and that is the beautiful thing about it. People can be bitter and vindictive, but life, in general— it has no ulterior motive.

But maybe I am looking at things from the wrong perspective. Maybe that was the perfect way to die. Lying in the fall grass with the warm sun coming down—a more perfect stage could not be asked for in this tragedy. So before I go inside to work on that household project that I was contracted to do, I will pay my respects. But not to this dying animal. I will pay my respects to the hypocrisy of human assumptions.

It was a beautiful day for death.