Page 27 of Possibly Texas

In front of him, dangling pendulously from a tree, was a rather large windchime, made of old forks and spoons. The boy was mumbling something that I couldn’t hear, smiling to himself as he looked up at the chime. I watched as he lifted the side of the tutu to reach into the pocket of his shorts. He pulled out a silver object, which I quickly realized was a fork, and he went about tying the extra fork to the already overburdened chime.

Once the task was complete, he took a step back and admired his work. He seemed to be muttering something else to the windchime, but I could only catch the cadence of his voice, not make out the actual words. Then he closed his eyes languidly and held his arms out and spun slowly in the clearing in front of the chime, a joyous smile on his face.

He is soooooo odd.

Just when I thought the boy might twirl himself until he was dizzy enough to fall, voices echoed down the dirt path towards downtown. At least a few people were walking down the trail towards the clearing in the woods. I glanced over at the boy in his tutu and he had stopped spinning; he was looking towards the opening of the path. For a split second, he seemed frozen in place, as though unsure of what to do. Then he was dodging chimes as he dashed into the woods, carving his own path through the trees towards town.

I stayed behind my tree just off of the trail, waiting to see who was coming towards the clearing full of windchimes. A few moments passed as the voices grew louder, and three teenage boys, probably the same age as me and the boy in the tutu, strolled into view. Obviously, the boy in the tutu had made a wise choice running through the trees towards town. The three boys seemed friendly, and they were laughing and being silly, but I imagined they wouldn’t have been very kind if they found a boy in a tutu all by himself. They probably would have taunted him. Or pushed him. Called him names.

As the boys all entered the clearing, I slipped out from behind the tree and dashed back down the path towards Possibly. I didn’t want to know why the trio of boys had come to the clearing. Usually, and I say this as a teenage boy myself, a pack of teenage boys is up to no good. Seeing how quickly the boy in the tutu had run from the clearing when he heard their voices was another indication that introducing myself to them was probably a bad idea. At least alone out in the woods. Maybe, I thought as I jogged down the path and back into town, if I saw them at Starbuck’s or something, I’d introduce myself. But not when I was alone.

Back at Jack’s place, I went to the backyard first, wondering if he had made any progress on his table project. Jack wasn’t in the backyard with the table anymore, though. The table had been set upon a tarp and another was laid over it, both of them bound together with bungee cords to keep the table wrapped up. Curious about what was going on, I found my way into the house through the backdoor. Jack wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room, and hollering out at him didn’t produce any results. Not that he could have hollered back to me to let me know where he was in the house.

Climbing the first flight of stairs, I made my way down the second-floor hallway and knocked gently on Jack’s door, wondering if maybe he had laid down for a nap. Or maybe he hadn’t felt well. The house was deathly quiet, and the second-floor hallway was like a tomb. After a few moments, I finally heard Jack moving in his bedroom. I expected him to open the door to see what I wanted from him. Instead, after waiting for what seemed like an eternity, listening to him move around, he slid a piece of notebook paper under the door. I read the strange, block letters.

I’ll see you tomorrow. Make sure you keep your windows closed tonight. It’s going to rain.

That was all he had to say.

I spent the rest of the day hanging around in my room, all alone, with no signal on my phone, feeling like a desert tortoise. Dinner was a couple of sandwiches I made for myself with what Jack had in the fridge and cupboard.

Jack was right.

That night, it began to rain right after the sun went down. It was still raining well into the night as I sat on my bed and stared out of the dormers towards the barn down by the creek. Rivulets of rain water carved their way down the glass, the darkened town only visible when there was lightning in the sky. No lights appeared at the barn that night. But I slept like a baby as rain did its tap dance on the roof and window.

Jack refused to come out of his room the next morning as well. Still in my pajamas, my hair sticking up in a million different directions, I stood at his bedroom door and read another note he had slid under the door. Sunlight was dripping through the window at the end of the hall, golden honey that trapped the dust speckles that hung in the air like confetti.

Entertain yourself today. I’m going to stay in bed.

‘Entertain myself?’ That’s what I’d been doing ever since I arrived in Possibly. Well, the first night, Jack and I had watched T.V. together. But it wasn’t like he had come up with any other mildly entertaining activities since to keep our minds occupied. Mostly he had stuck to himself and worked on the table in the backyard, sanding, carving, sanding some more. Then covering it all with a tarp so that it wouldn’t get wet when the rain came.

After a breakfast comprised of cereal—again—I found myself standing in the backyard, staring at the tarp-covered project Jack had been working on. The temptation to rip the tarp off and really inspect the grooves he had carved into the top was almost overwhelming. However, I could tell that Jack had put a lot of thought and dedication into the project. I didn’t want it to get ruined somehow; especially by my hand. Having nothing better to do with my time made the compulsion stronger, though.

I had been staying with Jack for a little over half a week and I’d pretty much seen and done everything downtown Possibly had to offer. There were a few shops that I hadn’t really paid much attention to that I could have checked out, but nothing I hadn’t already seen looked all that interesting. Also, I had the lingering feeling that I didn’t need to get too used to life in Possibly. It was obvious that Jack hadn’t expected me to be hanging around at all, let alone long term. For all I knew, he had already texted my mom to let her know that she needed to come and get me as soon as possible.

Even though my stupid phone didn’t get good reception in Possibly, Jack’s most likely did. His was newer and fancier and was through the local cell service, whichever company that was. Because my phone was such a piece of crap, I couldn’t even call my mom to defend myself against whatever Jack had to say about me. I mean, yeah, maybe I was a nuisance, but I hadn’t really done anything wrong other than what my mom had made me do. After being dropped off on the highway, I’d walked to Jack’s house and asked to stay with him. It hadn’t been my choice, after all. So, thinking about Mom and Jack having a private discussion about what a burden I was really annoyed me.

And maybe it was just a little embarrassing to think about.

My cheeks felt hot as I stood and looked at the tarped-up table in the backyard. Mom didn’t want me cramping her style on the road anymore, and it was obvious that Jack—though polite about it—didn’t really want me around disturbing his peace.

And I wasn’t so sure what I wanted.

Maybe I should just watch T.V.?

My toes kicked at the soggy earth, though I really wanted to kick the table. I just couldn’t make myself be mad at Jack, though. He hadn’t asked for me to come stay with him. He’d made sure I had food and a place to sleep, though. He’d even given me money to buy stuff, though money seemed to be useless in Possibly. Especially if you were the “new guy.”

I found myself walking into downtown. Maybe if I walked around the smattering of buildings, I could find something to do that I hadn’t seen or thought of before. At least I wouldn’t be sitting around Jack’s all feeling sorry for myself or mindlessly staring at the T.V. If I’d been a little braver, I would have introduced myself to the guys I’d seen in the windchime clearing. They were probably okay guys—and they would have at least known what was worth doing in such a small town. Maybe they knew of something further away from downtown that was worth doing?

I guess, maybe, Levi Lee will be my friend if I ask.

The thought of walking up to Levi Lee—in whatever costume he was wearing—and asking him to be my friend made me laugh out loud. Having already encountered him a few times, I knew his response would have been enthusiastic and to the affirmative. Levi Lee was definitely the human equivalent of a puppy dog. Eager to please, cheerful, enthusiastic, and good-natured. He’d agree to be my friend even if it wasn’t something he expected. But I didn’t really want to hang outside of Starbuck’s all day and watch him perform, either.

When I passed by the graveyard, my eyes nervously flitted over to the shadows beneath the trees. It was sunny enough that I could quickly discern that no weirdos in black cloaks were hiding in the shadows, waiting to mourn at the headstones. Remembering the person sliding out of the darkness to mourn still sent shivers up my spine. Even if it was one of the regular types of weirdos who lived in Possibly, it had just been odd to see someone dressed like the Grim Reaper, hanging around a misty cemetery early in the morning.

I shook my head to clear that thought away and made my way down Liberty Lane. The guy with the pickaxe and rainbow bricks, the permissive cop, and the lazy tram conductor were up to their usual tricks. When I stopped to actually pay attention to the song du jour at AMOR, I realized Tiny Tim was on rotation yet again. However, this time, they were playing Ever Since You Told Me You Loved Me (I’m A Nut). I didn’t know what the DJ at the radio station found so interesting about Tiny Tim’s music—but I also hadn’t realized I knew so many Tiny Tim songs, either. So, who was I to judge?

Down the length of Liberty Lane I walked, checking out the buildings that weren’t AMOR, and I quickly realized that the street also held a small grocery store, an art supply store, a lawyer’s office—it could have been an accountant’s office—and a “dry goods” store. Whatever the heck that meant. Something told me that it was also owned by the grocery store since they were side by side and a quick glance let me know they sold non-perishable groceries and toiletries and whatnot.