Page 120 of Possibly Texas

Jack turned up his mouth in concentration and looked upwards, thinking over my question. I was left to worry about what answer he would sign or write down on his notepad. For longer than I felt necessary, especially since I was anxiously awaiting what he’d decide, Jack contemplated the question. Finally, Jack returned his gaze to mine.

His fist came up and nodded like a tiny little head again.

“Really?” I asked.

Jack dug his notepad out of his pocket and flipped pages, but didn’t actually write anything down, before holding it out to me.

Is there someone you want to get coffee with?

“I already answered that, Jack,” I answered nervously.

He nodded, held up a finger, then went about jotting down another note to me. When he held the notepad out for me to read, my breath caught in my throat.

Start living the way you want. Because you’re starting to understand your art.

I thought this over, then raised my eyes to his.

“Life is art,” I said, nodding along as I stared at the message.

It was so obvious. I, along with everyone else in town, had said or acted out that belief a million times since I’d arrived in Possibly.

Jack shook his head with a small grin and jotted down another note. He gestured at his pad as he held it up for me to read.

No. YOU are art.

You know, Possibly isn’t so bad. It’s weird, but it’s actually pretty cool. I’m happy here. I’m happy. I’m good here. I’m okay. Sorry for ignoring your texts. But I’ll be okay. I’ll see you whenever it’s time to see you. I hope you’re happy, too.

Shooting off a message to Mom that night just felt right. I’d ignored her texts for so long, I’d almost forgotten that she had actually texted me a few times. She hadn’t specifically asked me to let her know that I was doing well, but she hadn’t said she wasn’t interested, either. So, I decided to let her know not to worry about me—in case that was a thing. Letting her know I was happy was more for myself. To let her know that even though she’d thrown me out on the side of the road on Two-Mile Trail, things had worked out.

So, there.

I’d had nothing else to do as I sat on my bed that night, waiting for the time to arrive to walk over to the barn. Reading would have been a great way to pass the time, but I found myself staring out at Possibly, thinking over the last few months. Thinking about the future. Smiling. I smiled a lot as I stared out at downtown Possibly in the dark.

When the fairy lights—which no one had bothered to take down—came on just after dusk, I grinned even more. No one knew who had put them up, but a new tradition had been made. There was no reason Liberty Lane—and the rest of Possibly—had to be so dark in the early evening. They weren’t left on all night, though. Amos switched them all off before he ventured to bed each night. Just in case anyone wanted to stargaze without light pollution.

The fairy lights were a remembrance of the town’s celebration and Lilly and Amos making up. They also served as a nightlight—a beacon—for everyone until bedtime.

It was a good new tradition. A nightly appreciation of what the mysterious hanger of lights had done for the town.

When eleven-thirty approached, I slipped my jeans and t-shirt back on, pulled on fresh socks, and slipped into my sneakers. Sneaking downstairs through the darkened house, the living room was aglow with electric blue light. Jack had fallen asleep in his recliner in front of the T.V. An old Scooby Doo Where Are You? episode was playing, the sound so low I could barely hear it.

I took a second to grab the old crocheted afghan off of the back of the couch to lay over Jack, somehow not rousing him from his slumber. Then I snuck out the front door, shutting it quietly behind me.

I took my time, strolling along the dark roads of Possibly on my way to Auggie’s barn. The utter darkness no longer bothered me, sent chills up my spine. The shadows that seemed to move of their own accord as I approached Bend of the Road Graveyard didn’t unsettle me.

It’s funny, what one becomes accustomed to once they’ve grown used to their home.

The Possibilian breeze whispering across Susurrus Creek and through town felt like a beloved older relative running their fingers through my hair as I approached the fork in the road by the graveyard. If I concentrated, I could still smell Starbucks’ treats baking in his ovens, though the café had been closed for hours. I could nearly hear the chimes from Windchime Hollow tinkling on the breeze. My mind imagined Wyatt was firing off a round somewhere near Lovelorn Pass Bridge, though I knew that to be some sensory memory repeating itself in my brain.

It all made me smile, not cower.

Possibly, like all towns in America—maybe the world—had its quirks. When a person first arrives in a town, it takes some adjustment. Change can be scary. Most of us find ourselves intimidated by the new; the strange and unusual. Over time, if we are patient and take time to try and understand—even if we can never find it in ourselves to fully comprehend the differences—we learn appreciation.

We learn that change is fascinating.

Soon, those things that once felt strange and unusual begin to feel like home.

I stopped at the north end of Bend of the Road Graveyard, standing on the pavement at the border of the grass as I stared at the large headstone that I’d seen the night Auggie and I had seen our ghosts. A smile came to my face as I stared upon it again, though I wasn’t sure if I was happy, sad, or just acknowledging yet another quirk of my new home.