Page 15 of Possibly Texas

The envelopes that I still held in my hand got folded in half so I could stuff them in my back pocket, and I took off down the road to Grandy’s Auto. It was less than twenty yards away, directly down and west from the post office, so there was no chance of getting lost. Of course, everything in downtown Possibly seemed to be “just ten or twenty yards away,” so if you got lost in Possibly, something was wrong with you.

Within a minute, I was walking up to the front of Grandy’s—three pumps, an air compressor, some squeegees—your standard small-town gas station. The building itself looked to be just big enough to have a check-out counter, a few shelves for snacks, and a few coolers for drinks. The place looked fairly modern from the outside. The pumps accepted debit and credit cards and all of the equipment looked new. Around the metal awning that went over the pumps, and was attached to the brick building, all of the paint looked fresh.

Maybe the designated town sign painter comes by Grandy’s?

Outside of the store, on two cinderblocks stacked on top of each other next to the front door, a man was sitting, staring off into space. Dusty blond hair and a beard of the same shade that was trimmed neatly to his face made him look young. However, the crinkles around his eyes and mouth let me know that he was probably older than I thought. The fact that he was wearing bib overalls with no shirt underneath, and I could see a sprinkling of gray hairs on his chest, confirmed that thought. In fact, that’s what the man was focused on while staring out at nothing. He was lazily scratching at the hairs on his chest as he stared and sat.

I’m sixteen years old, so I’m not, like, the most experienced person in the world. However, I’ve travelled enough with my mom across the country to know when someone should be treated politely, yet given some space. So, I gave the man a nod—just in case he noticed me—before stepping past him to open the door and go into the store. He didn’t seem to notice my greeting. He just kept scratching at his chest and staring.

Fine by me.

Inside of Grandy’s, I had the exact opposite experience I’d had in the post office. Everything looked modern, nice and clean, but it was stifling warm. There were a couple oscillating fans hung from the all four corners of the room near the ceiling, ‘stirring the stink around,’ as my mom would have said. However, it didn’t seem that Grandy had turned on the AC. I could see vents in the ceiling as I strolled through the tiny store, but they could have just been for heating purposes, I supposed.

As I had suspected, there were exactly two coolers in Grandy’s Auto. And he didn’t really keep a variety of drinks stocked. What he had, there was a lot of it, but the choices were limited. Coke, Sprite, Mountain Dew, and something called Mello Yello. There wasn’t even a forty ounce of beer in sight. In fact, there wasn’t any alcohol in sight—which was kind of strange for a gas station.

I selected a Mountain Dew—because, caffeine and sugar—and I shuffled over to the check-out counter tucked away in the corner next to the door. When I had entered, I hadn’t seen Grandy or anybody working, but I assumed they’d hear customers enter and come check things out. Maybe they were in the bathroom or something?

“Hello?” I asked of no one.

A glance in the direction of the bathrooms off the back of the place let me know they were unoccupied. They were just closet-size rooms and both doors were open. I could have easily seen if someone was in there…relieving themselves.

“Uh…Grandy?” I asked again.

I’m not sure how long I stood at the check-out counter, waiting patiently for Grandy to show up because I hadn’t brought my phone with me, and there didn’t seem to be a clock anywhere in the store. The fact that all I wanted to do was buy a soda and a pack of smokes for Jack—which, I suddenly realized, I didn’t know which brand he smoked—frustrated me. A guy having to wait so long to make a seven- or eight-dollar purchase was annoying. Without any other option, I set the Mountain Dew on the counter and walked back to the front door.

“Hey,” I said to the guy on the cinderblocks as I cracked the door, “do you know where Grandy is? Or someone who works here?”

“I’m…Grandy,” the man responded slowly.

He didn’t look away from whatever he was staring at, and he didn’t stop scratching his chest.

“Oh.” I frowned. “Okay? Well, uh, I’m ready to check out, sir.”

“Whatchu…tryin’…to…buy?”

I glanced over at the counter where my soda sat.

“Uh, a twenty-ounce Mountain Dew,” I said. “And I’m supposed to pick up some cigarettes.”

Grandy, the chest-scratching sky-watcher seemed to think on this for a moment.

“You…Jack’s…boy?”

“I’m his stepson.”

“Grab…him…a…pack of…them…Marlboro Reds,” Grandy’s drawling answer came. “Shorts…none…them…fancy…things.”

“Okay?”

“Then…come…on…out…here.”

Wow.

Possibly, Texas. Possibly this was the strangest damn place I’d ever been to in my entire life. Instead of asking Grandy further questions—it didn’t seem a great day for that—I went back to the check-out counter and grabbed my soda. I searched the rack of cigarettes behind the counter and found a pack of Marlboro Reds. I wasn’t sure if he liked the hard back or soft pack, so I went with the hard pack. Better safe than sorry.

When I got back to the door, I pushed it wide and stepped back outside to deal with Grandy. He, as expected, was still staring and scratching. I wasn’t even sure he was actually seeing whatever he was staring at in the distance. A quick glance over my shoulder provided a view of grass and trees beyond. Nothing all that interesting.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked, turning back to Grandy. “Just the soda and smokes, please.”