Possum Pussy

"I don't do well," I think to myself.
Nothing more. Just a quick flash in my mind as I walk a stretch of asphalt I may, or may not, have walked a million other times. One foot in front of the other to bring me home and to bring this night to it's logical conclusion.
A car full of drunken bully boys drives by and yells, "Hey," out the window. I throw my hands up in the air like a crossing guard. Elbows slightly bent. Fingers spread apart.
No response. The boys race to the horizon to continue their masquerade, completely oblivious to what everyone else knows in their hearts to be true.
It's hot tonight. I wish I wasn't walking. I wipe the sweat from my forehead as two possums run across Burgin Parkway, dragging their hideous tails behind them, mocking my horror at the whole situation. I start to feel queasy.
"Never get off the boat."
It feels like the night is swallowing me. All around me the little critters scurry and the shadows look like pools of death. I hate myself. I don't know why I left the house in the first place.
"Party at the Marriott! Come on down!"
Bullshit! Why even bother? I've lived this same night a million times. Parties leave me completely terrified. Scared of my friends. Scared of my girlfriend. Scared of every substance in the room...I've really had it. Let the bully boys stomp me out and leave me for the possums.
I had to get out of there. Everybody looked like a corpse to me. 30 people drinking their medicine and remembering that time....baby cakes in the corner performing her mock overdose.
I wanna cut myself. I'm gonna stick my fingers down my throat till I'm empty and then I'll do it some more. I wanna stick a needle in my arm for the last time, let IT do me in. Lick the back of a dollar bill and stick it to my forehead before I turn blue. At least the needle responds when you touch it. There's no messy pre game.
Quincy Center's empty except for two drunk micks singing "Evenflow" arm in arm like two pre school lovers. They'd probaly stab me if I blew them a kiss.
I walk past the graveyard and sing softly to myself.
"I really don't know why I came here/I really don't know why I'm staying here/Oh oh oh oh oh/I am walking the cow."
I take a left on Quincy Shore Drive. I reach the top of the hill. My grandmother's house is right across the street. I take out my keys and walk around back, completely craving my bed. I walk up the steps to my porch and turn the corner around the deck. Two possums in front of the back door scurry back on their hind legs and start shreiking at me. I fall backwards down the three steps and scrape my elbows. I get up on my feet and run to the front of the house. I don't have a key to the front door. I ring the bell. My grandmother sticks her head out the window.
"Hello?"
"Nan, it's me. Can you let me in? Two possums out back just tried to attack me."
"One second."
She opens the door. I fall inside and start to cry on the floor. She leans down and puts her arms around me.
"Honey? What is wrong with you?"
She rubs my back with both hands as I pour tears all over her purple bathrobe. I'm hysterical.
Between sobs I muster up the ability to say, "I just really hate possums!"
She doesn't say a word. She just rubs my back and shushes in my ear. Soothing sounds coming from her mouth calm me down.
She takes my face in her hands and says,"You ok?"
I nod and let out a deep breath. She half giggles and says,"Ok. I'm gonna go back to bed now. Ok?"
I nod and she walks back upstairs, each step creaking to remind me of what I've just done to this old woman's bones.
I stay kneeling on the carpet, letting the tears stream down my face like little rivers running towards my chin. I feel embarrassed for myself. I want to burst into flames right there on the floor. I want to apologize to my grandmother for creating a scene like that. Whatever, though. I'm sure she just thinks I'm THAT terrified of possums and nothing else is wrong.
Which there isn't.