The Possumist

A Chapter by Molly Ruth

When Piper Quimby had just turned four, her brother, Milo Quimby, who was one year older and much, much wiser, placed a glass of water in front of her. She was in the backyard, on a warm but breezy July afternoon, lying lazily on her stomach, the grass gently tickling her bare legs. The glass was one of the forbidden glasses the kids weren’t meant to use, and especially bring outside, considering it was made of actual glass. Milo had unknowingly placed the glass directly on top of the anthill that Piper had been observing, trapping the ants and flattening their home.

“You killed my ants,” Piper said flatly, not upset or riled by this miniature mass murder, but matter-of-factly informing her brother of his crime.

“Oops,” Milo apologized insincerely.

“Why are you using the glass glass? Mama’s gonna get mad.”

“For an experiment,” Milo explained excitedly. “The cup needs to be see-through.”

“What experiment?” Piper asked, eying her brother, who crouched beside his glass glass, suspiciously.

“How much is this glass filled?” Milo asked, gesturing towards the glass, the lower half containing foggy tap water, the top containing the hot summer air.

“Um…” Piper stalled, trying to figure out what the correct answer was. “What do you mean?”

Milo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Is it half full or half empty?”

“Both?” Piper hesitantly answered.

“You can’t say both!”

“Why not?”

“Cause that’s not how it works,” Milo whined, exasperated by his sisters lack of cooperation.

“Why does it matter anyway?” Piper inquired with a pout; she was staring to get a bit exasperated herself.

“Just answer the question, will ya?”

“Okay, okay,” Piper agreed. She rested her chin in her dirt-stained, cupped hand, cocked her head and squinted one eye. She thought this might help her make the decision. “I think it’s half empty.”

“Ha!” Milo yelled, and sprung to his feet in triumph. Piper looked at him in surprise, forest green eyes wide.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, the corners of her mouth drooping into a frown.

“You’re a possumist!” Milo declared. His perfectly white teeth, that only a child could possess, spread into a wide and mischievous grin.

“A what?” Piper asked skeptically.

“A possumist. If you say the glass if half empty that’s what you are,” Milo clarified. When Piper still looked unconvinced, Milo continued his explanation, but not before rolling his eyes for a second time. “It means you’re a bummer and a half and you hate everything.”

“Huh,” Piper mumbled, furrowing her brow. “What are you if you say it’s half full?”

“An opossumist,” he informed her, putting emphasis on the o. “That’s what I am,” he added with pride. “It means you think happy thoughts and everyone likes you.”

“Huh,” Piper mumbled again. “I don’t really see the difference.”

“Between someone who’s happy and someone who’s grumpy? Ha! You’re dumber than you look!” Milo teased.

“No,” Piper said with another frown. “I mean the difference between a half full glass and a half empty glass. Aren’t they the same thing? It’s the same amount of water and all.”

“Yeah, but…” Milo tried to rebut. However, he didn’t really know the difference either. One of the counselors at his day camp had shown him the trick, and Milo didn’t want the teenager to think he was dumb, so he’d only pretended he’d understood why one answer meant you were one thing, and the other thing meant you were another. Luckily, Milo did not have to admit to his baby sister that he was unlearned on the subject himself, for their mother appeared on the back porch.

“Milo, Piper, dinners ready come in,” she called. She was about to turn when she noticed one of her nice glasses sitting in the middle of the lawn. “What have I said about using glass glasses?” she asked accusingly. “Just use a plastic one.”

“It needed to be see-through,” Milo replied.

“Why?” their mother asked, one eyebrow raised.

“For an experiment,” her young son said. Like Piper had, their mother asked what the experiment was about. As an explanation, Milo asked her the question.

“Half full,” their mother responded without thought.

“You’re an opossumist!” Milo celebrated. “Just like me!”

“You mean an optimist, hon?”

“No an opossumist,” Milo corrected with a scowl.

“Right. Well, come on my little opossumist, dinners ready. And bring that glass!”

Milo picked up the glass and ran after his mother. “Mama, guess what? Piper’s a possumist!”

Piper sighed and heaved herself off the soft grass.

And thus, at the ripe age of four and a quarter, Piper Quimby was permanently labeled as a bummer and a half, a person who hates everything. Piper Quimby would forever be a possumist.