Chapter 7

They are called owls.

And these night criminals are just one more thing for the A-babies to add to a terrifying list that keeps getting longer and longer. But the good news is that as they get older and bigger, these enemies will no longer be a problem.

Amlet survives the attack, with a bruised nose and sore knees and a permanent crimp in his tail, but the cement path show is closed after the incident and no further performances are scheduled.

Amlet is changed after that night. Appleblossom notices that he becomes a different kind of actor. He never again puffs out his chest and shouts, “To be or not to be!” He’s more of an ensemble player after the owl incident and he stays close to Appleblossom. He is, as he explains, “filled with self-doubt.”

Mama Possum doesn’t complain even once about the wounds on her back. She says that it’s the moon’s fault. Everyone is vulnerable in a spotlight. “So there’s another lesson to be learned: Pay attention to the moon and the stars. The importance of lighting can make or break a performance.”

A week passes and they all do their best to forget about the villains known as owls, and the moon that can be too much of a spotlight. Now Mama Possum doesn’t give much instruction when they follow her up a tree or ride on her back. She’s quiet and her eyes focus into the distance on something they can’t see. She’s there and not there.

Not many nights later, it’s windy with a half-moon when Mama Possum makes an announcement: “Tonight we separate and put on our own shows.”

All the A-possums are alarmed. They are never solo acts; that’s one of the rules of an ensemble company. They stay together no matter what happens. Mama continues: “Tonight I want you to strike out and find your own food. This is no dress rehearsal. I need you to show me how skilled you are!”

Allan pulls his tail around his tummy and his waist gets small. He keeps it this way like a belt (even though it looks very uncomfortable) as he asks, “Why can’t we do that as a troupe? We are community players and we—”

Mama stops him. “You are big enough. You are strong enough. You are ready for center stage.”

Mama’s voice changes; it gets soft and sounds suddenly sad. “Now, I’ve told you many stories about the good times growing up with my sisters Carlotta and Crissy.” The babies nod. “And we were in the woods when we all came upon my sister Cherry.” The babies nod again. “But I don’t live with Carlotta and Crissy and Cherry. And I haven’t seen Campy or Clementine or Cotty since we were small. Cotty said he wanted to perform on a big screen, so I imagine he went through with it.”

The babies wait as she finally continues: “I left a rotten pear this year during the holidays in the drainpipe where we were born. It took most of the night to get over there. If it hadn’t been raining, it would have been easier. I made a bow out of a strand of spaghetti and I placed it on top. But I never heard back from anyone. We are family; there’s no changing that. Even if I don’t get to see much of them.”

The babies don’t move a muscle.

Then Antonio whispers to Appleblossom: “She’s reminiscing.”

Appleblossom leans close. “Is it acting?”

Antonio keeps his voice low. “It’s thinking back on the good times. You don’t usually need to act to do that.”

But Mama Possum doesn’t speak any more about her brothers or sisters or where they are or the pear wrapped in a spaghetti bow that no one thanked her for. And she doesn’t bring up her own mama. Or her own papa.

Instead, she swings her large body around so that the babies can only see her tail as she says, “You know what to do. You were born to be actors. Tonight, act brave. Stay out of street light. Stay away from all light, for that matter. Be alert. Don’t talk to strangers, especially skunks. And look both ways if you decide to take the cement path.” She starts to walk away.

Angie steps forward. She half wails what they all are thinking: “But Mama, what about the monsters?”

Mama Possum keeps moving. Her voice is thick like maybe she swallowed something too big and it got stuck. “Make sure to be asleep when the sky turns purple. There’s nothing more important.”

Mama Possum lifts her head high into the air and they see the top of her nose twitch. “Should danger strike, remember to play possum. All the world’s a stage.”

And without looking over her shoulder, Mama slips into the ivy and is gone.

The young possums are wide-eyed.

Before Amlet was almost eaten by the owl, he would have shouted that he wasn’t afraid to go off by himself. But now he just stands silently in the shadows and stares at the place where his mother had been standing.

Antonio takes a deep breath and speaks to his brothers and sisters. He hopes that he sounds reassuring. “Mama’s right. We’ve rehearsed. We know what to do. We’re ready for this.”

Alisa’s upper lip curls and she shows all her teeth. But it isn’t a smile. It’s too shaky for that. She ordinarily isn’t much of a talker, but she sounds tough as she says, “All right then. I’m gonna roll.” And before anyone can answer, she wiggles away into the darkness and disappears.

Atticus can’t stop himself: “I’m going to tell Mama.”

Allan’s dark, intense eyes fall on his brother. “What are you going to tell her?”

Atticus looks sad. “She didn’t say a proper good-bye.”

The words hang in the air.

Is he talking about Alisa or about Mama Possum?

No one dares to ask.