BLOOD ON THE ASPHALT
by Galen Hardesty
Chapter Three
Daria descended the library steps and turned north toward home for the second time that day. She was wearing that solemn expression that adults seemed to find so adorable on children, often to the considerable irritation of said children. If she'd known she was doing it, she might have tried to conceal it, but Daria felt she had every right to look serious right now. A big load of responsibility had just descended upon her small shoulders.
Not for the first time, Daria wished she had a bicycle. She was running up a lot of mileage today, and there might be more to come. Little Opie was going to require more care than she'd thought, and that might include making a trip to the store. She'd asked for a bike several times, but her dad seemed to have a terrible fear that she would fall off it and hurt herself, and she hadn't yet been able to get her mom to overrule him. More adult stupidity. Daria had learned to ride a bike by now, and everyone knew that all kids fell off their bikes and skinned themselves up occasionally. Having a bike and a boo-boo sure beat not having them, unless you were some kind of hopeless whiny loser, she thought.
A faint muffled sneezing noise told Daria that Opie was feeling the need of some attention. She eased off her backpack and set it down in the shade of a bush. It wasn't clear whether he was glad to see her, but he stopped making the sneezing noises, which the information she'd found confirmed were the way baby possums called to their mothers, and he didn't seem to be trying to escape from her hands. She lifted him slowly until they were nose to nose. "You're a lot of trouble, you know that?" she told him softly. "Yeah. You're more trouble than you're worth. Yes, you are! Yes, you are!" The little possum grinned toothily and licked her nose. Daria found she couldn't help grinning back.
Remembering she was on a public thoroughfare, Daria looked around her guiltily. She didn't want to be seen crouching by a bush, playing nosies with a varmint. That would be undignified. She opened her backpack. The books were still lying flat in the bottom, holding the pack open and forming a floor. "I gotta get home, Opie, so you gotta get back in your pouch."
Daria gently placed the little opossum inside her backpack, then unhooked the bottoms of the shoulder straps of her backpack and hooked them together to form one long strap, so that she could carry it like a shoulder bag and put one hand inside it occasionally to comfort Opie. He should be fairly comfortable in there. He was in a pouch, out of the sun. It was the best she could do for him till she got him home, at which point, if Helen was there, they might both become suddenly less comfortable.
Daria set out once more for home, far away across the dreaded Iroquois and Algonquin streets.
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As she neared home, she recalled that they didn't have anything in the house suitable for a possum of Opie's tender weeks. The information she'd gotten at the library had said not to give him cow's milk, which she otherwise would have. It had suggested canned kitten food mixed with water. Two houses down from the Morgendorffer house, she knocked at the Nelsons' door.
Mrs. Nelson was slightly surprised to see little Darla there, but gave her a friendly smile. When Darla explained what she wanted, she was more surprised, and when she showed her who (or what) it was for, she was very surprised, but she hurried to get it. Returning with a bigger smile, she handed Darla the can of kitten food.
"No, Darla dear, don't you worry about replacing it. I have plenty. No, no, keep your money. Good luck with the little fellow. Let me know how he's doing. You're welcome, dear." Mrs. Nelson smiled and waved as Daria headed for home. A quiet, well-mannered child, if a bit strange. She'd give a lot to be a fly on the wall when Helen Morgendorffer met her daughter's little pet. Mrs. Nelson chuckled. Maybe if she cracked a window, she'd be able to hear part of it all the way from here. Other people's children were so much fun sometimes.
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Helen, briefcase in hand, met Daria at the door. "You're late, Daria. Quinn hasn't come home either. I had to eat alone, and now I have to go," her mother said in a half-accusing, half-disappointed tone.
"I'm sorry, Mom, but something came up and I had to go back to the library and get something. Do you have a few minutes? I want to tell..."
"I'm sorry too, Daria, but my time is gone and I have to get back to the firm. I have a lot of work to do." Helen got into her metallic tan station wagon, started it up, and backed out of the driveway, apparently not seeing her daughter waving to her from the front step.
As her mother disappeared around the corner, Daria sighed, turned, and went inside. She considered rereading the care instructions that the librarian had helped her download, but she was quite sure she remembered what she had to do now. She decided she'd feed Opie first, because she really didn't want to do that other thing. Well, now she knew the awful truth about why possums hadn't caught on big as pets.
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After Opie had eaten his fill of kitten food, and Daria had rinsed the saucer thoroughly and put it in the dishwasher, she got out the printouts from the library and found the part in question. "Baby opossums must be stimulated to eliminate before or after feeding by gently stroking the genital area with a warm moist cotton ball. Stroke in an upward direction toward the opossum's tail. You are imitating the action of the mother opossum's tongue." Even after Daria had looked up the words she wasn't sure of, she'd had trouble believing this, until it occurred to her that this might be what kept the babies from pooping in the mother's pouch. It sort of made sense, but it was still gross. Really gross.
Daria got several cotton balls, paper towels, some toilet tissue, a cup half full of warm water, and a plastic grocery bag. After looking around, she laid them all out in front of the refrigerator. There was always a little warm air coming out from underneath the refrigerator. She liked to stand here in the winter when her toes were cold.
Sitting cross-legged, she held Opie kind of like he was a squeeze bottle of mustard, with his little butt hanging over the edge of her hand, over three layers of paper towels on the floor. He obligingly wrapped his tail around her thumb. After wasting a little time petting and talking to him, she gathered her resolve, picked up a cotton ball and set to work.
After it was over, Daria patted Opie's little bottom dry with toilet paper, put all the used materials in the plastic bag, and tied it shut. "Well, I guess everything came out okay, huh, Opie?" She held him up and rubbed noses with him. When he licked her nose, she smelled kitten food. "You were a good possum. Yes, you were! You poo-poo'd big for Mommy! Holding Opie in one hand and the bag in the other, she took it outside and dropped it into the trashcan. "But what in the world have you been eating, huh? That was rank!"
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