Page 58 of Possibly Texas

A father figure.

Maybe that made my attempts at ASL less altruistic, but it was what it was. I wanted to be able to communicate with Jack in a way that was easiest for him, and for him to treat me like his stepson.

I felt equally disgusted with my desperation and Jack’s dismissal of my attempt. It was Auggie all over again. Kind of. I desperately wanted to be accepted while putting my foot in my mouth in my attempts to become friendly. Well, in Jack’s case, it was my hands, not my foot.

“So,” I said finally, “you seem like you’re going to busy with this for a while.”

Jack nodded without looking up.

“I’m going to go have breakfast, I guess,” I said. “Um, then maybe I’ll shower and, I don’t know, find something to do?”

Jack didn’t even nod, let alone look up.

“All right,” I said.

Without another word—and especially without another attempt at signing—I slogged back through the dewy grass and up the back steps into the house. Since I had nothing else to do, I found a box of cereal—Lucky Charms, my favorite—in the pantry, and made a bowl of cereal. I contemplated turning AMOR on while I ate at the kitchen table, but I found that I couldn’t stand listening to the same song on repeat, even if it only took a few minutes to eat a bowl of cereal. So, I ate in silence and washed my bowl up and put it in the draining rack when I was done.

After my pitiful, yet delicious, breakfast, I trudged back upstairs. Once in my room again it occurred to me that, while lonely, though not as lonely as living in motels, Jack’s house afforded me a luxury I had never experienced. I had privacy. I’d always shared motel rooms with Mom. Most of them were only one room—unless the bathroom counted.

Before my shower, I climbed back under the covers on my bed—just in case Jack got a hair up his ass and came to check on me—and did what teenage boys do best. And as often as possible. On the road with Mom, once I realized jerking off was a thing, shower time was the only sure opportunity I had to explore my body as a teenager. There, in my own room, on the third floor of Jack’s house, as dust motes hung in the sunlight that streamed through the window over the bed into my darkened room, I felt explosions I’d never felt before.

Sure, I had to cover myself, just as an extra precaution, but I had privacy. And time. I could do something that is so natural for…almost everyone. Not having to hurry or stress during the experience was glorious. So great in fact, that I contemplated taking a nap right after the stars and motes stopped dancing in my eyes.

I forced myself back out of bed and into the shower instead. Once out of the hot shower, I was even sleepier than I’d been after my fun under the covers.

After putting on some fresh boxers and a t-shirt, I crawled back up on my bed, my room still unlit, though the sunbeam from the window provided enough light. I folded my legs under me and sat next to the window and stared out at Possibly.

Did Auggie masturbate?

What about those guys I’d seen on the street who gave him high-fives and fist bumps?

Was it weird to be curious about that?

Did…Jack masturbate?

Looking out over Possibly proper from my window, I found that I had been calling everyone in town weird since my arrival. Now I was wondering if I was weird just for being curious if I was normal.

I’d never had another guy—neither a father figure nor a guy my age—to talk about those things with when I thought of them. I didn’t even know if that’s something guys talked about with each other. My only experience was TV shows I’d watched in motel rooms, and if there was one thing I’d learned on the road—show business was one big lie.

Was I weird for wanting some other guy I could ask about those things?

Did I desire answers, or was I…curious?

Shaking my head clear of thoughts, mostly so I wouldn’t think of masturbation and get myself excited again, I pulled my knees up to my chin and rested it upon them. Days drifted by slowly in Possibly, it seemed. Time seemed to mean nothing. The sun didn’t rise and set. It strolled. Leisurely cutting a path across the sky, it tiptoed east to west, lending its warmth and illumination to the town unobtrusively.

Through my window, I could see AMOR and Liberty Lane. Bend of the Road Graveyard, the top of The Pueblo and Starbuck’s. I could catch glimpses of the teal siding of the post office. If I squinted hard enough, I could see the orange fabric of Mystic Molly’s tent. Of course, Auggie’s barn was down by the creek, a fiery beacon in the hot summer sun.

I almost grabbed a book to read in the sun by the window, but found I preferred watching life—what little I could see from my window—go by in Possibly.

It was peaceful. Possibly, that is. I could see people come and go here and there on the streets, though they were often blotted out by trees and the shops at times. Even getting into July, the grass was lush like shag carpet and the trees’ emerald gems tinkled in the soft breeze that seemed omnipresent. People came and went, did their jobs, performed their art, and acted as weirdly as they wished without judgment.

It was the strangest town I’d ever found.

And I found that I was becoming enamored with it.

I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. I couldn’t even imagine my life on the road with Mom before she left me in Possibly.

Jack’s curt nods and silence aside, Possibly was easy. Weird, certainly, but it seemed that as long as you didn’t bother others, freedom, choice, and acceptance were the mottos around Possibly. It made me think of Auggie’s comments about art.