Remember how I said I got a job? Yeah. I did. And I guess it’s time to talk about that because it’s the new and interesting thing in my life. Yes, it’s at the campus coffee cafe with the possum problem.

Yes I know it’s ‘opossum’. I even used ‘opossum’ last time because I wanted to be correct. But you know what? I say possum so I’m typing possum from here out.

Also because I’m sure I’ll hear about it in the comments: I have not yet talked to Grayson. No I’m not finding excuses not to because I’m scared of what he’ll tell me. Nope. Not me. I’d never do something like that.

(if you’re new, start here, and if you’re totally lost, this might help)

Anyway! My job. I’m no stranger to working, obviously, as I spent all of my summers through highschool working on the campground. That was much harder work than making coffee and bagel sandwiches, too. At the campground store I was lugging around boxes of watermelons. Here, the heaviest thing I have to lift are the muffins that get dropped off in the morning from a local bakery. For the first week I was there, I thought this was going to be an easy job.

I was wrong.

Carrying heavy boxes isn’t that hard. You pick them up, you move them where they need to be, you unload the contents. Making a mocha caramel latte cappuccino with three pumps of floogerflaggen syrup, two shots of distilled espresso, topped with frothed milk and a thingamajigaroo drizzle is a lot harder because there’s just so many ways to mess it up.

Yes I know I made most of that up, but I want you to understand that’s what most of the orders sound like to my ears.

Unfortunately this is small enough of a place that the manager only has one employee working at a time, so everyone has to deal with me messing up their orders. My saving grace is that other college students are deeply understanding and keep telling me it's fine when I need to remake a drink. Despite their support, I was still deeply anxious about my new boss because, well, I’m used to working for Kate. While she wasn’t my direct manager, her attitude trickled down. She was deeply critical and while I suppose that’s justifiable considering mistakes on the campground tended to get people killed, it was less appropriate for things like… stocking shelves in the camp store.

(though there was the brussels sprouts incident so maybe her paranoia about everything on the campground wasn’t unwarranted)

Anyway, after a particularly rough day where I finished up my shift by making someone’s drink with whole milk instead of oat milk, I went into the back ready to cry and figuring I was going to get chewed out. Making coffee according to someone’s milk intolerances is not quite as bad as not following The Rules but I still feel it’s important enough that my manager would notice. Not to mention that all those times I had to remake drinks would surely add up.

“The hell are you still doing here?” she finally asked when she bothered to notice me slinking around guiltily.

I kind of stammered and mumbled something about forgetting to clock out which is really code for “I’m deeply anxious about my job and probably have abandonment issues that should be addressed in therapy but instead I’m coping with them through the very healthy alternative of repression and telling strangers on the internet all my problems” and I guess she’s worked with enough college students in various stages of mental breakdowns because she caught on quickly.

“If this is about the wrong orders,” she sighed huffily, “I don’t give a shit. The university ignores us so long as we turn a profit and believe me, it’ll take a lot more than a couple wasted drinks to put us in the red. I’ve had employees that would ‘accidentally’ make the wrong drink just so they could get free drinks and I turned a blind eye to that because it’s cheap ass coffee and I don’t care so long as they show up on time. Besides, you’re the only person I can send to deal with the possums without worrying that you’re going to run off crying and withdraw from school and never be seen again.”

Is that a low bar to hit? I feel that’s a low bar to hit. And I admit that her words and clear dgaf attitude bolstered my confidence temporarily, but it only lasted for a few minutes. By the time I had finished putting away my work-issued apron I was a nervous wreck again, expecting to be fired at any moment, because how silly was I believing all that nonsense about the manager tolerating worse. Wasn’t I a special case? It might be okay for everyone else to make mistakes, but for me, I had to be perfect.

I’m not sure why I’m like this but it’s not a lot of fun.

Anyway, my paranoia about my job was the reason I decided to take the trash out before I left, even though technically my shift was over and I could leave it to the person that was actually going to be closing for the night. I’d do that, I reasoned, and that would be my one useful thing I accomplished today before I clocked out. Just one thing to justify my presence here. But as the heavy metal door swung open, I heard an angry hiss from just beyond it, in the darkness cast by the dumpster’s shadow.

I immediately shut the door.

The manager was back in her office. She doesn’t seem to be working most of the time when I drop in. I know she handles everything from payroll to purchasing orders, but that doesn’t seem to take up much of her time at all. I wonder if she’s mostly here to make sure no one catches the espresso machine on fire and to be a backup if someone asks to speak to the manager. (not that I’ve seen anyone do that yet)

And the possums. She deals with the possums.

“Hey, uh,” I said nervously, sliding around the corner and into her office, pretending I didn’t see her playing games on her phone. “They’re back. The possums.”

She raised her gaze to stare at me for a half second. Even without her personality, she’s an intimidating woman. Broad-shouldered and with a presence that fills whatever room she’s in, with wiry chestnut hair that’s starting to go white at the roots. Her office feels much too small for her.

“I thought you went home,” she said.

“I was taking the trash out first. There’s a possum out there.”

“Well, take a broom and go chase it off,” she said.

“I, I, um,” I squeaked.

She dropped her phone on her desk. Just opened her hands and dropped it. I winced.

“My feet hurt,” she said with a sigh. “There’s something wrong with my heels and the fancy shoe supports the doctor recommended haven’t arrived yet. Tonight is the perfect time for you to take over some of the possum duties.”

My gut twisted. I knew this was coming. She’d made it clear when she hired me. At some point, she’d want me to help chase off the possums. It would be nice to have someone else that could take out the trash without her having to worry if they’d come back at all.

“I’m kind of nervous about it,” I said. “I, uh, didn’t have a good encounter with them last time.”

Or the time before.

“Well, now’s your chance to even the score.”

When that didn’t instill any confidence in me, she sighed deeply and changed tactics.

“Do you know why I call them possums?” she demanded.

“Because you need a way to talk about them without attracting attention?”

“Not entirely. The university just doesn’t want us making a scene. Attracting attention to them. We could call them something closer to the truth and it wouldn’t stand out - you kids talk about all kinds of weird stuff all the time with your anime and stuff.”

I feel very called out.

“I’ll tell you why,” she continued. “Possums aren’t scary. They’re just sentient scraps of steel wool that sometimes go through the trash cans. Ain’t no one scared of possums. The first time one of those things came rolling in here I thought this is it, I’m gonna meet my end. And I kicked up a fuss with the university afterwards but they told me to just take care of it, like it was nothing more than a minor pest problem. So that’s what I did. Took care of it. And I thought it would get easier, but it really doesn’t, and so I kept thinking of them like a pest problem. A big one. But they’re just a bunch of possums. And possums aren’t scary. That’s what I keep telling myself, so I won’t be so scared.”

My friends, I did not believe her. Not in the least. This terrifying lady, scared of monsters? Surely not.

Wishful thinking, I suppose. I just want someone that wasn’t afraid in my life. Just one person.

“You’ll be fine,” she continued. “Remember. They’re just possums.”

That was my mantra walking down the short corridor to the supply closet. You’d think I wouldn’t be afraid, right, after everything else? I don’t know. I guess the human brain is funny like that. You keep going along and you get used to being afraid and think okay, now I’ve got it beat. Everything is going to be fine from here out.

But it’s not! It just… shows up again. And I can’t explain what triggered it or why it perhaps never went away to begin with. It’s there. It just is. I was scared. Not so scared that I froze up, though. Just scared enough that I stood in the doorway of the closet, momentarily forgetting where the broom was. Scared enough that I stood for a long moment before the back door, my palms sweaty, thinking that maybe I should go ask my manager if she’d at least wait inside and be my backup in case this didn’t work.

They’re just possums. Bottom feeders of the inhuman world. I’d dealt with worse.

I pushed the door open. This time, I let it swing all the way out, ignoring the angry hissing that arose from the dumpster’s shadow. I stepped down onto the asphalt and walked slowly towards the dumpster.

Four pairs of bright beady eyes flashed up at me as I approached. Four dark shapes hunched around the dumpster.

I should have gone right back inside. There’s no rules on how to handle the possums. My training consisted of “show no fear and hit them with a broom.” My manager isn’t one for rules in general, really. So long as we show up on time and put our phones down when someone walks up to the counter, she doesn’t care all that much. It’s a weird change of pace from the campgrounds and Kate’s 50-something page employee handbook.

Maybe that’s contributing to my anxiety.

I’m sure if I turned right around and went to her office and was like “nope too many” she’d be like a’right so we take the trash out later and that would be it. But that’s not what I’m used to. At my last job, if you were told to do something it could be because it needed done or it might be because something terrible would happen if it wasn’t done and you never quite knew which it would be. So any request was treated with high urgency. And then at home… well…

I mean, for a handful of years there I was the oldest. And before that, being the second oldest had special responsibility as well. If I didn’t take care of things, then they didn’t happen. If lunches weren’t made, then my younger siblings didn’t have food. If laundry wasn’t done, then we didn’t have anything to wear. It didn’t matter if I was tired or busy or in a bad mood - it had to get done. And I was the one to do it.

I guess I just thought… if I didn’t take care of the possums, then it wouldn’t get done. And that it had to be done. Maybe if I’d taken a few more seconds to analyze the situation a bit more rationally, I wouldn’t have gotten myself into the situation I did.

I stepped down off the single cement step, clutching the broom tightly with both hands. The possums hissed as I warily approached. There were four of them, three male and one female. They looked like ordinary students, pale skin covered in freckles, hair ranging from carrot red to a deep auburn. Their clothing was neat and clean, surprising considering they’d been rummaging in the dumpster just prior to me stepping out of the back of the building. I edged closer to them and their hissing grew louder, their backs arching and their fingertips pressed into the ground. Had they always been like this, or was my manager’s insistence on calling them possums making them act this way?

“Shoo!” I yelled, swinging the broom at the nearest.

It retreated. Another one, the female, skittered sideways and I swung the broom at her as well.

Except she didn’t run. She reached up one hand and grabbed hold of the broom in mid-swing.

I yanked on the broom handle. There was a surge of panic in my chest, like a torrent of icy water down my throat. Her grip was unrelenting and her eyes sparkled in the street lamp. Then her freckles curved upwards in unison.

Smiling at me. They were smiling at me.

The hissing grew louder. A chorus of voices as the other three possums inched forward, their multitude of mouths opening in anticipation for the feast. With a sharp tug, the broom was yanked from my hands and she threw it backwards, towards the street.

I took a step backwards. I couldn’t run. They’d be all over me. I had to stay calm. I slowly backed away, towards the door. They followed, crawling on all fours, spreading out to cut off any avenue of escape.

“Just possums,” I whispered, taking small steps so I wouldn’t trip when my back heel found the step up. “They’re just possums.”

I only had to get inside. That was all.

My foot bumped into the step. I reached behind me and found the doorknob. I was so close. Just had to throw it open and dive inside, then slam it behind me. Then I’d be safe. They paused and the female lowered herself closer to the ground, her muscles rippling in anticipation of a lunge.

Now. I had to go now.

I turned and tugged at the door. Or at least, I tried to. It felt like time was moving too fast or perhaps I was the one that was moving too slowly - there’s a white patch in my memories, where everything got jumbled up and I suppose my body was moving, but I don’t remember it doing so.

I next remember being on my back. I remember the door being open, a white rectangle towering up to the sky, and then it was covered from my view by the looming face of the female possum, her lips peeled back in a savage grin.

Another white patch. There were hands on my clothing, fingers twisted into the fabric of my shirt. There’s a single clear moment - the possum turning, her hair flying around her as she whips her head around, her shoulders following the movement a moment later.

And then I heard Cassie yelling at her lungs.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

A meaty impact. Another. A shrill shriek, an animal’s cry of pain, and then the sound of large bodies scuttling across the pavement. Running. They were running away. And then Cassie appeared over top of me, staring down in concern.

“Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

I didn’t reply. Not right away. She stuck her hand down and helped me up. I stared at my hands, scraped at some point from hitting the asphalt most likely. They were shaking.

“I was walking back from the student union,” she said, “and remembered it was the end of your shift. Thought we could walk back together.”

She was holding the broom that had been wrenched out of my hands. But hadn’t I done the same thing? Why didn’t it work? Was it because she was angry while I was just scared? I wanted to ask her, but the words were a lump in my throat and then the light in the doorway was blotted out as the manager appeared, filling the frame as she stared out at us.

“Whole lot of noise for chasing off a possum,” she grunted, eying Cassie suspiciously.

Cassie just politely held the broom out to her.

“Wasn’t only one possum, ma’am,” Cassie said politely. “There were four.”

“You know each other?” my manager asked.

“We’re roommates,” I said quickly. “She’s fine. She knows about the… things.”

My manager only grunted in reluctant acknowledgement. I felt Cassie’s bristling anger beside me. She didn’t like being treated with suspicion when she’d just charged in and saved my ass and I couldn’t blame her. But the manager had her reasons for secrecy and to her, Cassie was a potential liability.

“Next time there’s more than one come get me,” she finally grumbled. “Go on home now. I’ll take care of clocking you out.”

Cassie and I walked back to the dorm in silence. Finally, as we were getting close to the entrance, I managed to overcome the awkwardness enough to speak.

“Thanks,” I said. “You really helped me out back there.”

I figured she’d just say ‘it was nothing’ or ‘your welcome’ or something like that. Instead she stopped cold, stared up at the sky, and sighed dramatically.

“I can’t do this, Ashley,” she said. “I know you grew up with this bullshit but I didn’t and I wanted to walk away from it all this summer but… I don’t have a scholarship anywhere else. I have nowhere to transfer to.”

That wasn’t true. She could figure out a way if she wanted to. I could have figured out a way to leave, if I didn’t have the devil’s bargain keeping me here.

I knew what was holding Cassie here.

“Your previous roommate,” I ventured. “What was her name?”

I didn’t think Cassie was going to answer at first. She kept staring up at the sky. When she spoke, I heard helplessness in her voice. She was gone and forgotten and there was nothing Cassie could do about that.

Sarah. Her name was Sarah. Then Cassie went inside and we haven’t talked about this since. [x]

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